Something in starter didn’t smell right to me.
The directions told me that by day three or four, the starter might be giving off a sour or “pungent” odor. I didn’t know exactly what pungent meant, but the smell coming from the mason jar seemed to match the word exactly. The bubbles were forming, the consistency had gone from a thick dough-ball into a bubbly batter-like form.
I wish not to bore you this day with ardent details of beginner sourdough bread-making. However, I feel as though I have started a story, with each of these blog posts leading into another. Overnight, between the fourth and fifth day, a brownish liquid appeared at the top of the batter. The smell was also especially pungent. I dumped half of it out.
Then I added another 4 oz of flour and 4 oz of water, covered the jar with a cloth, and set it again toward the back of my stove. These past several days the pungent smell has disappeared and in its place has come a gentler, soothing, bread-like yeast smell. There are more bubbles this time than there were before, and it looks, I think, like it should.
The garlic rosemary sourdough bread, at this point, is still a picture in my book. Who, truly, has time for this? This time, or lack of it, is the number one reason I have yet to start kneading. The jar stands now representing every dream and intention just waiting to be acted upon. As long as he sits, untouched, untried, I cannot say I passed him by.
The jar calls, still, and will not be ignored.