Words by Emily Schuermann / Photos by Rachel Waters

For all my time and education in the kitchen, I’ve avoided sourdough. Anytime the topic arises, I’m like a kid plugging her ears and singing loudly. I’ve even practiced this ignorance throughout 15 years of teaching cooking classes, while routinely encouraging timid or inexperienced students that, “You are the boss of the food—the food isn’t the boss of you” or “You can tell it what to do and it will obey you.”

That motto was essential as I learned to make homemade jams, proper salted caramel, cinnamon rolls, pain de mie, and many other complex recipes. But sourdough seemed different. It comes with rules *and consequences*. Rules about feeding and resting and consequences of starving and even *dying.* Maybe, I thought, sourdough is the boss in the kitchen. I didn’t need another boss.
Twenty-five years ago, however, I made a promise during a string of cut-short phone conversations with my former college roommate and bestie, Laura. While rushing off to play blocks or cars with our kids, one of us said, “When the boys are grown, we’ll have time to really catch up.” A year ago we realized those days have come and we had a promise to keep. That led to a monthly “cooking date,” each of us taking turns choosing a recipe we want to master, then working until we’re satisfied with our skills. The one rule? What one suggested, the other could not deny.

So, when it was Laura’s turn to pick, she—knowing full well about my aversion—did what any good friend should. Laura firmly stated, “It’s time for sourdough.” And I said the only thing I could.

Over the cooking date, I studied the art of sourdough. As I practiced at home, though, everything blurred together. Nothing seemed familiar or predictable and even with all of my cooking know-how, I became overwhelmed. However, my years of kitchen experience convinced me that order could come out of chaos and, somehow, I could become the boss of this bread.

I forced myself to work through the methods Laura had taught me and soon, I identified the three building blocks of sourdough.

the starter
the dough
the bake

With this structure, everything began to make sense and I knew I’d tame the beast.

Now, I’ve been making sourdough for almost eight months and it’s one of my most challenging and satisfying culinary experiences. Challenging, because I’m still randomly creating a sluggish starter or a depressingly flat boule. But satisfying, because I can make one minor adjustment and I’m right back to making lively starters and boules with that trademark large, beautifully curled ear. Here’s what I’ve learned:

Sourdough is a bossy girl. She needs feedings, rest time, and proper temperatures, but you can also put her in timeout for several days or weeks (in your refrigerator) and then resume her regular feedings and she’ll return to her happy self.
Timing is everything. Be sure you know how much time each step will require and plan accordingly. If your timing is off or you’re in a hurry, you might need to pick a different day because she can’t be rushed.
It’s perpetual learning. Mistakes are the perfect launch point. Your boule turns out flat or it’s finally developed the perfect ear? Consider why and remember it for next time.

As I’ve compared techniques and recipes, I’ve learned there are many right ways to make sourdough. But the steps Laura taught me are my preferred, and are listed below.