There’s something that happens once you start making your own bread.
At first, it’s just curiosity. A jar of flour and water sitting on the counter bubbling away while you wonder if you’ve officially lost your mind. Then comes the first loaf. Maybe it rises. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it tastes incredible but looks like a brick. Maybe it becomes croutons, breadcrumbs, or strata instead.
But then something shifts.
You begin to understand that bread is alive.
Not in the dramatic “yeast monster living in your kitchen” kind of way, but in the sense that every loaf responds to its environment. Temperature matters. Humidity matters. Flour matters. Time matters. Even your kitchen changes the outcome.
I started my sourdough journey in Scotland in a tiny little kitchen near the sea. Cold humidity. Warm apartment. Scottish flour. Slow fermentation. My first loaves taught me patience more than perfection.
Now I’m baking in Montenegro, and everything behaves differently.
The flour here is finer. The weather is warmer. The humidity feels different. The dough absorbs water differently. A shaggy dough that looked dry in Scotland suddenly only needs more mixing and resting here instead of extra water.
That’s the thing nobody tells you when you start baking bread:
you’re not just learning recipes.
You’re learning relationships.
You learn what your dough feels like when it’s underproofed. You learn what happens when you finally trust a longer autolyse. You learn that different flours absorb differently, that rye behaves differently than bread flour, and that weather can change your fermentation completely from one country to another.
You also learn that “failure” is rarely failure.
Dense loaf? Make strata.
Too crusty? Breadcrumbs.
Didn’t rise enough? Toast it anyway and slather it with butter.
Nothing is wasted.
One thing that made a massive difference for me was finally buying a kitchen scale. Most sourdough recipes work best in grams because flour measurements can vary wildly depending on scooping, humidity, flour type, and even country. Once I switched to weighing ingredients instead of cups, my bread became far more consistent.
But even then, consistency doesn’t come from controlling every variable perfectly.
It comes from learning to pay attention.
That’s the real magic of sourdough.
And once you start making your own bread — real bread, bread you mixed with your own hands, bread you waited for, bread you learned from — there really is no going back.
Recipe
Soft Rustic Sourdough Sandwich Loaf
Ingredients:
- 375g bread flour
- 125g all-purpose flour
- 300g water (start here)
- 100g active starter
- 10g salt
- 20g softened butter or olive oil
Optional:
- tiny drizzle of honey if you have it for a touch of sweetness
- or a pinch of sugar if you want slightly softer sandwich vibes
Method:
- Autolyse
Mix:
- flour
- water
until shaggy. Let sit 45 minutes.
- Add starter + salt + butter
Add:
- starter
- salt
- softened butter – I didn’t have softened butter. Mine was frozen, so I grated it directly into the dough. It incorporates nicely especially in 75 degree weather.
Mix really well. Give this dough a proper mix — probably about 5–8 minutes by hand until smoother and more elastic.
The dough should feel:
- soft,
- slightly tacky,
- but NOT soup.
- Bulk ferment
Let rest around 3–5 hours depending on your house temperature.
Do stretch and folds every 30–45 minutes for the first 2 hours.
Since you want softer sandwich bread:
don’t go crazy chasing massive artisan bubbles.
You want:
- strength,
- softness,
- good rise.
- Shape
Light preshape.
Rest 15–20 minutes.
Then shape tightly for the loaf pan. - Cold proof overnight
Put it in the loaf pan, cover, refrigerate overnight. - Bake next morning
Take out while oven preheats.
Let sit about 30–45 minutes.
Bake:
- 220°C or 425℉covered or with steam for first 20 minutes
- then uncover/reduce to 200°C for another 20–25 minutes
You want:
- golden top,
- soft interior,
- not super dark crust.
Optional:
Brush top lightly with butter after baking for softer crust.