Sexy Yeast

The crust bursting and crackling - sharp shards splinter in my eye. Steam wafting like some second rate ghost, hovering and dissipating but sensual and seductive. I want her. Want to sink my teeth into her like a lover and feel her pale soft flesh in the moistness of my mouth - to waver between her coying voluptuousness and the sharp prick of her lusty crust.

This summer, I set out to capture her or, if not, one of her sisters, but was beatened down by self-doubt. Could I have her? Could I fashion her form - from frail and loose powder into a dome, golden and snapping?

I captured the yeast from the air and sealed it into a mason jar, feeding and nursing it, never sure if I was breeding a colony of yeast or hissing bacteria. After ten days of tending to my aloof patient, I took the plunge, dipping the metal measuring cup into the sticky, clinging liquid that drapped and drooled on the sides of the bowl.

There is something incredibly seductive about a loaf of fresh, warm, crackling, luscious sourdough. The crust crackles and splinters, accompanied by the glorious crunch of the bite. The revealed centre is moist and gives up a bit of a fight before yielding to the pull.

Aside from the pure pleasure of eating, is the visceral reaction I have to my yeast colony. Breadmaking is tactile and vigorous and tempermental and alive. When I feel low, my starter languishes and my loaves struggle to rise. I've taken a proofing loaf on car rides and to a friend's house. I commune with it every morning and watch it wake up and dance. It's not an ingredient, it's a relationship.

Last summer's mission was to tame the mighty Coquitlam sourdough. To take what is hovering in the air and make it do some delicious work. Yeast lives all around us; the magic of sourdough is to capture these little lovelies, give them a warm pad to party in and feed the darlings some food everyday.

I captured and started my sourdough colony by mixing 1/2 cup warm tap water to 1/2 part unbleached white flour. Every 24 hours, I dumped half of this mixture away and replaced it with 1/4 cup water and 1/4 flour. The little yeasties toyed with me for the first three days - there was nary a sign of life. But...on the 4th day, I spied some bubbles. On I fed. After 10 days, I had a healthy, sour, living colony of my own Coquitlam Yeast - San Fran can suck it.

If you live in or near Coquitlam and would like to start baking sourdough, email me and I will be happy to share some of my starter with you.