Bread porn is back!

Isn’t it ironic that when my paying day job becomes social media ALL DAY ALL NIGHT ALL THE TIME, my personal social media profile completely tanks? This is what happens when you’re the sole person responsible for breathing life into the social profile of a corporate brand. Sigh.

Sourdough

Sourdough is back baby!

Well despite this, I am starting to find my way back to the aspects of my old life that I loved and that made me feel whole: baking bread (or baking anything, really). It’s one of those nurturing acts of experimentation and creation that bring me back to myself and make me feel like I have an identity beyond the one I represent behind a computer screen at the office.

It’s hard to say exactly when my hiatus on sourdough started but it may have been as long ago as February 2013, if I go by my “bread porn” photos. My poor neglected sourdough starter was one of the last things left in our fridge before we moved into our temporary home with Dave and Linda in July, and then it sat at the back of a bar fridge for those 6+ months we spent there. Even after we moved into our new house, it was not exactly #1 on my priority list to get it going again. But I fed it a few times in February to bring it back to life, and in late March I made my first loaf in eons.

Sourdough

First loaf in eons

It was a thing of beauty, to be sure, but when I opened it up it had a giant hole in the middle; clearly I had not treated it appropriately in the bulk ferment, or when I prepared it for proofing overnight.

But last weekend’s attempt was absolutely gorgeous, inside and out (pictured at the top of this post). I was more brutal with turning it and giving it a good poking with my fingers during the bulk ferment, although ironically doing it a little less often because I was mostly outdoors enjoying the fabulously warm spring day. Who knew that a combination of neglect and aggression could result in such fantastic, perfectly crumbed bread?

But Chris’s complaint continues to be that it’s not sour enough. So I have decided to bring in the rye. Chris consulted the interwebs, and the interwebs says that rye is the key to the most sour of sours. But rye flour has less gluten, so I’m a little uncertain if I should go full rye or a 50/50 mixture of rye and wheat flour. I’ve started the experiment by turning some of my starter over to a 100% rye flour starter, so we’ll see how that goes first. After a few days it looks lively and bubbly, so that’s a good sign.

My hubby wants to taste his Oma’s bread again… so the new bread journey begins.

Sour goodness

Homemade Sourdough

Homemade Sourdough

Regular readers of my blog will note that I’ve been on a quest to achieve a good sourdough for years. First I had seemingly insurmountable issues just getting a starter going. Eventually though I managed to get a culture going.

Next, I had challenges getting a bread going that would rise. I followed numerous recipes and read up on the advice of bread guru Peter Reinhart. Eventually I came across the book Tartine Bread by Chad Robertson, and his advice to use a Dutch oven to achieve the beautiful caramelized crust that is characteristic of artisanal bread. And despite having beautiful looking bread, it lacked any real sourness.

I took a hiatus from baking bread for a long time this year, neglecting my starter in the fridge until it turned into a dark, smelly science project funk with a thick layer of hooch on top. But as fall geared up I felt inspired to try again, so over a couple weeks I woke up my starter, feeding it a few times before using it to see if it was even still viable. I’d read it was next to impossible to kill one once you had it going, so long as you kept it in the fridge. And low and behold, it was still very much alive.

Making this kind of bread is a weekend-long project. I start by making the leaven overnight on Friday night. Then on Saturday I make the dough and set it up for its first ferment stage. It’s a high moisture dough, so kneading isn’t necessary exactly but the dough needs to be turned several times while it does this first ferment stage. Then the dough is “cupped and seamed” on the counter as a means to develop surface tension on the dough, and finally, a couple of stretch-and-folds before it goes into a brotform for its final rise.

And here is where I’ve come to a revelation. The instructions I’ve followed from Chat Robertson’s book call for 3 to 4 hours at room temperature, or, you can retard the rise by putting the bread into the fridge for 8 to 12 hours, which is what I’d been doing.

But a couple weeks ago I decided to try leaving it out overnight on the counter instead of putting it in the fridge. The final rise is when all the flavour develops, and suddenly, I have the most flavourful bread I could imagine. It’s not only beautiful now, it’s sour and mouthwatering. I’ve been making it every weekend and its our new Sunday morning ritual. Speaking of which, I think this loaf is cool enough to cut now. Bye!

All warm and fluffy inside

This video was sent to my work Twitter account by the good people at Toronto Standard… I’m not entirely sure why they sent it there, but it’s one of those wonderful coincidences, because this video is far more relevant to me personally. This is a lovely profile of Toronto baker Jeff Connell, of Woodlot. I’ve never been to the restaurant, but obviously I have to go check them out soon. Their bread looks gorgeous.

Oh. And now more than ever I want to build me a wood burning oven.

Beautiful Bread

I’ve now made three batches of bread using the methods of Chad Robertson, outlined in his book Tartine Bread, and I’ve finally gotten the hang of it.

Today's Loaf

Today's Loaf

The first attempt came out quite dense, with all the air distributed in one giant hole located around the centre-top of the loaf. It was so dense it was hardly edible. It only really rose in the spot where the air was trapped. And while Robertson advocates for a less sour loaf, I wanted to attempt to achieve a fairly sour flavour, and this didn’t yet have it. Unfortunately most of the loaf was pitched because it wasn’t very edible after it cooled, due to it’s density. I figured I hadn’t turned it effectively during the bulk rise phase.

Beautiful crumb, with evenly distributed holes

Beautiful crumb, with evenly distributed holes

For my next attempt I made one of the loaves with dates, and the other just plain. Both of these turned out much better. They rose well and the holes were well distributed. For the date bread, I baked it after leaving it for it’s final rise in the fridge overnight. The round version of the loaf did it’s final rise in the fridge with the date loaf, but then I left it on the counter for the majority of the day, too. The result was a very flavourful loaf, even though it spent twice as long in the final rise as outlined in the book.

Great ears

Great ears

Isn't that lovely?

Isn't that lovely?

For the latest loaf (pictured at the top of this post) I split the recipe in half. The one in the book makes two loaves and we just don’t have the capacity to eat all that bread. My process is that I keep my starter in the fridge until the night before I intend to make leaven. Then I pull it out, feed it, and the next morning or evening, start the leaven (which needs to ferment about 8 to 12 hrs). This weekend my leaven was ready on Saturday morning, so I got the bread going and did the bulk rise phase through the day, turning it every so often. It spent about 15 hours or so in a basket for the final rise, overnight, and I baked it this morning. It tasted fabulous, and as you can see, had very well distributed holes.

A version with dates

A version with dates

Big holes

Big holes

First Tartine Bread Loaf

First Tartine Bread Loaf

Poorly distributed holes (er... um... hole)

Poorly distributed holes (er... um... hole)

I find that making the dough and the following bulk rise phase are the most challenging to time. I want to start playing with the timing, to see if I can tighten it up. It’s a 3 to 4 hour phase in the book, and I just find that so challenging to make happen during the week. It’s clear I can let the loaf take a really long time during the final rise without the loaf becoming overwhelmingly sour, so if I can get the dough made a couple times a week and then bake the bread when I get home from work, that would be the best option. On weekends its easier to manage but we easily eat half the loaf almost immediately, so it won’t last us more than a day or two.

Not Tartine Bread, but baked Tartine style

Not Tartine Bread, but baked Tartine style

Anyway, I am quite pleased with how the loaves are turning out now, and I feel like I can start getting creative with flavours, making things like olive bread, date caraway bread, and other fun things. The Dutch oven is key to the incredibly satisfying crunch of the crust. That caramelized, blistery surface is just gorgeous.

Another backpack with owls, another sleepless morning

Backpack for Auria

Backpack for Auria

Here I sit, at 4 a.m., when all other reasonable people and creatures (at least in my household) are sawing logs (rather loudly). This has been an extraordinary week at the ol’ day job, and as a result of the insane number of balls in the air, my brain just can’t let go. Even though all the crazy (or most of it) culminated in a big bash last night celebrating OCAD University graduates; even though the end is in sight. Even though by mid-day tomorrow (Friday) I’ll finally be able to relax. Sleep alludes. I realized about a half hour ago (at 3:30 a.m.) that I was hungry. And then… oh yeah! I didn’t get dinner last night! Sigh.

Backpack for Auria

Backpack for Auria

Up until this week I’ve actually gotten quite a bit of sewing and a little bit of knitting done. I’m prepping some gifts for overseas that my parents will take to a friend and her family in Norway. I made the toddler backpack above for my coworker’s little girl, too. I simply adore this fabric. I think my friend Alice’s infatuation with owls has rubbed off! And there is just so much great owl-themed ephemera out there these days. This fabric is called “It’s a Hoot, Jewel” by P Kaufman, and I picked it up via Tonic Living. Isn’t it adorable?

I’ve also continued on with my bread experiments using the methods in the book Tartine Bread. The first batch of loaves turned out not so edible (a post to come soon) but the second batch was really fabulous. This week hasn’t been a good bread week but I intend to get right back on the bandwagon this weekend. I think I can safely say that I now have a really good grasp on the properties and procedures to making great artisan sourdough breads.

Anyway, time for me to try my hand at courting the Sandman again.

Converting to the Church of Chad Robertson

On Monday I went to Kensington Market for my every three-month trip to the dentist, and took the opportunity to visit my favourite butcher in the city, Sanagan’s, as well as my favourite cook book store, Good Egg. Specifically I was on the hunt for a good bread book.

I’ve been working with my sourdough starter about once a week. I’d like to be baking more frequently, but in following Peter Reinhart’s instructions, I find the process incredibly complicated and even with my Virgo brain, scheduling in the process for making one of his simple loaves of bread has been a real challenge in my 9 to 5 life.

So far as the quality of the bread itself goes, I’ve progressed to achieving dependably airy loaves, with lots of (sometimes giant) holes, but so far, the flavour leaves a lot to be desired. Until I picked up Tartine Bread by Chad Robertson, I haven’t been able to understand why my sourdough just isn’t sour. The answer it seems, is in the bulk fermentation. Following Reinhart’s model, I’m pretty certain this is where I’m going wrong. His bulk fermentation is not long enough, at least not for me, and his books don’t offer a lot of help in troubleshooting or adjusting your timing and process according to variables like humidity, temperature, etc. Everything I know about bread goes against the rigidity of Reinhart’s directions. Robertson embraces experimentation and adjustment as a core principle of perfecting one’s bread.

Only two days into reading Tartine Bread, I’m totally re-inspired to keep pursuing my version of a satisfying loaf. Robertson has taken decades of refinement of his own bread recipe at his hugely popular bakery, and condensed it into ratios and techniques that will work for the home baker. He explains ingredients as percentages (and weights) and makes it really easy for the average baker to understand. One of Robertson’s techniques that differs entirely from Reinhart’s is the use of a dutch oven to get the right texture both of the crumb and the crust. He explains that because a conventional home oven is designed to allow moisture to vent, it is impossible to obtain the characteristics of bakery bread without a better way to trap steam, which a dutch oven does perfectly. I have two rounds of dough in the fridge right now (from Reinhart’s recipes) that I plan to bake this way. I’m really excited to see how they’ll come out, even though they haven’t been made with Robertson’s recipe. I also intend to convert my starter to Robertson’s proportions and method — the version I’ve been following by Reinhart makes a ridiculously large amount, and I just can’t bear to be throwing so much (expensive) flour away with each feeding.

So here’s to a whole new world of bread. My co-workers have already offered to be test subjects!

And… later that same evening…
LOOK AT THIS.

BREAD!

My first loaf baked inside my dutch oven

Doesn’t that look YUM? It’s far more appealing than any past loafs. In fact the last couple have been so underwhelming that I couldn’t even bare taking photos of them. I can’t wait until this cools enough to crack into it. Speaking of cracking… it’s cracking as it cools. Robertson calls this the song of bread. Isn’t that so poetic?

Two years later, attempting sourdough again

Over the last couple of Christmases I’ve been gifted a couple books by Peter Reinhart, artisanal bread guru, that I had on my wish list on Amazon.ca. I finally got my act together this spring to try my hand once again at sourdough. I’ve had some success — and some fail — this time around.

First and foremost, I figured out the key to getting my seed culture started was that I needed to aerate the mixture better. I couldn’t necessarily always do it the recommended three times per day, but I realized that I had likely only been stiring out the air in previous attempts, rather than whipping air into the mixture. Since you’re trying to capture wild yeasts from the air, adding air into the starter culture seems to be key. It took about 8 days before I had any life, and so I had to wing it a bit (Peter Reinhardt’s instructions give you 5 steps to work with, so when my culture wasn’t following his schedule I just had to keep feeding it, keep aerating it and hope for the best). When it did take off finally, it went hog wild, billowing into a lively bubbly cauldron of life.

From that point, one more step and I had myself a mother starter, which seemed quite different from what I’d been expecting to have. My mother starter was more like a heavy dough ball than a well-hydrated goo, which is what I was expecting it to be. Again I suspect that our Canadian flours behave differently than Reinhart’s American instructions suggest it will.

All the same, I went forth and attempted his San Fancisco Sourdough recipe from Artisan Breads Ever Day. The recipe requires you to create another starter from the mother starter, and then make the dough, of which there are two varieties — the purist method (no added yeast) or the yeast method, in which you add some instant yeast to the dough to help things along. I tried the purist version of course, and yet again, like previous attempts two years ago, my bread did not behave as planned.

I had separated the rather copious dough ball into two halves to make more manageable-sized loaves (especially since it’s just Chris and I here eating it). When the dough didn’t rise during the fermentation stage, I was ready to cry. If there’s one thing Peter Reinhart lacks in his books (I also have his Whole Grain Breads, New Techniques, Extraordinary Flavours), it’s a trouble-shooting section. There doesn’t seem to be any place in either book where he discusses what to do when the bread doesn’t cooperate. And since there are so many factors at play when making sourdough, I feel this would be really helpful — because I’ve discovered you can save that defunct loaf from the composter (and save that $$ from the flour).

A loaf of not-so-sour bread

A loaf of not-so-sour bread

As it turns out, you can rescue a non-cooperative ball of dough by going back and adding in some instant yeast, with some warm water to activate it, and a little more flour to get the right dough consistency. The risk here is ending up with a very dense, overworked loaf. But I stuck it back in the fridge for another day to rise, and it did, and it was saved. Above is the result. A completely edible loaf of bread, maybe a little on the dense side, but totally usable. It wasn’t at all sour tasting, of course, because the fermentation didn’t really happen the way it would with wild yeast. The second dough ball did this with, which sat in the fridge about 4 days longer, actually did have a tiny bit of sour taste.

I have since read from other sources (thank you Interwebs), that sometimes a starter doesn’t work to the best of its ability until it’s been around for at least a month. The more aged it is, it would seem, the healthier it acts later in the bread making process. Completely reasonable.

And when I opened up the mother starter in the fridge after a week of ignoring it, I discovered that it had lots of air pockets, and had an altogether pleasant and very strong sour aroma, much stronger than it had when I originally put it in there. Another thing that Reinhart failed to mention might happen.

So I’ll keep trying. I won’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. Perhaps one of these days soon I’ll be eating my very one authentic, purist sourdough bread. Maybe eventually all this hard work will pay off. Because if there’s anything I’ve learned here, it’s that our ancestral mothers had the patience of saints.

You can read about my previous attempts at getting a starter culture going and failing at the bread-making phase, here, here and here.

 

 

Macaron mastery

Macaron success!

Macaron success!

Last Christmas I came across Tartelette’s Eggnog and Candy Cane French Macaron recipe, and thought I ought to try making this delicate, pretty cookie myself. While it the results were edible, they certainly were not the pretty meringue pastries I had been aiming for. I also made the embarrassing mistake of accidentally doubling the butter in the filling, which made them into ridiculously rich little parcels. My friends and family however, always indulgent, ate them, and said they were delicious, and calls rang out to try, try again.

The meringue batter, setting

The meringue batter, setting

When the LCBO magazine Food & Drink published macaron recipes in their holiday edition, I thought perfect! They offered lots of tips and seemed to have simplified the steps. Their Gingerbread Macarons were the first ones I tried this season. The meringues did not bake up properly (failing to achieve the little ‘foot’ on the bottom of the meringue that makes macarons so distinctive), and what did result was sickeningly sweet, hurting your teeth to eat. They also encouraged the meringue batter to be piped into 2″ circles, which seemed way too big (keeping in mind that the meringues grow somewhat as they set) and their batter made far more cookies than the recipe suggested it should, which led me to believe they really didn’t test their recipes very well before publishing.

After further reading, I discovered that David Lebovitz had discussed the challenges in making macarons, as well as the differing opinions on whether to let the meringues set before baking, what temperature to bake them at, etc. He himself had seven attempts before getting them right. I decided to give his chocolate macarons a shot, and followed his advice to bake at 350 F and to not let them set. Those ones crisped up nicely but again, no foot, and variances in textures and shape resulted between each cookie tray I baked. They tasted fabulous however, and his proportions of ingredients seemed correct to me, making for a not-too-sweet cookie. The prune-chocolate filling was especially surprising and tasty.

I decided to try my hand one more time on December 23, since I felt I was close, knowing that the meringues that had rested for about an hour seemed to turn out closer to what they should be than those that had not. I really wanted to try making pistachio flavoured ones, but again, the LCBO recipe was seriously out too lunch on proportions (3 cups of icing sugar to 1 cup of ground nuts, making a huge batch of batter). I decided to follow Lebovitz’s proportions (1 cup of icing sugar to 1/2 cup of ground nuts, and 2 egg whites for the meringue). While the LCBO recipe called for half almonds and half pistachios, I had plenty of pistachios and so tried them with just the one kind of nuts.

I should also mention one of the key factors is not to over mix the batter. I think that in the attempts I made last Christmas, I folded the dry ingredients into the wet ones too vigorously. It’s important not to lose the loft of the meringue in combining the dry ingredients. I also have a tendency to cram too many cookies onto my cookie sheets, so it takes some self-control for me when piping out the batter. The batter will settle and ‘grow’ on the parchment paper while it sets, and they will lose their good looks quickly if they start to run together.

First batch to bake up properly

First batch to bake up properly

I let these babies rest for an hour, which I read allows the meringues to dry a bit on top. This seems to be a key factor in achieving the ‘foot’ at the base of the cookie during baking. If the tops are allowed to harden a bit in the open air before baking, they seem to remain stable in the oven and the bubbling action that raises the tops only cracks along the base of the cookie, where it should.

The photo above shows the first batch I baked, which I started them at 350 F, turning them down after about 5 minutes. Baking times for the cookies are generally published at around the 15-18 minute mark, but they really started to brown after about 10 minutes in the oven, so I pulled them. You can also see that a couple of the cookies cracked. A sure sign that the temperature was too high.

Second batch; better colour

Second batch; better colour

For the second tray (baking trays one at a time is important as these cookies won’t tolerate uneven heat in the oven) I started them off at 300 F and after about 5 minutes brought them down to about 275 F. They still cooked up within about 10 minutes however, so I think that I could even get away with starting them at a lower temperature, perhaps 280 F and dropping to about 260 or 250 F for finishing. It also appears that my oven runs hot, as I have a secondary thermometer in the oven now, ever since I had problems with the gas ignitor failing mid-baking about a year or two ago. The trick for me for future batches is to bake them without losing their delicate colours, to prevent them from browning too quickly or at all.

All in all I am very happy with these cookies. They look like they should, and that has taken about 5 attempts over 12 months to get here! Now I’m super inspired to try other flavours, but of course, I have to consider that there’s no one else at my house to eat them but me (Chris isn’t a huge sweets fan). Oh well. His loss!

Finished product a bit motley but nearly perfect!

Finished product a bit motley but nearly perfect!

I think I’d like to try these again with half almonds and half pistachios, as I think their texture might be improved that way, so I’ll post the recipe once I get it right. Perhaps this will be a whole new realm of flavour invention on my part. I’m very excited to finally have been able to pull together all the elements to make them turn out the way they should. I feel like the framework is mastered; now it’s simply a matter of variation on that. Hooray!

Next baking item up for mastery: sourdough. For Christmas I got Peter Reinhart’s Whole Grain Breads book, which includes directions on his sourdough method, so I’m inspired to go there again. Now that our house is well insulated and the temperatures won’t fluctuate as dramatically throughout the day, I think I might better luck. I also intend to buy distilled water since Toronto tap water has small amounts of chlorine in it which I suspect may also have affected my last attempts at starter. Also, his book includes a recipe for injera, so perhaps some attempts at Ethiopian food are in order!

Faking it

My sourdough experiments have left me massively frustrated and quite discouraged. Despite having had my starter do the bubbly-foamy dance that one time, it just hasn’t reacted the way recipes indicate it should every time I’ve fed it since. They say it’s supposed to foam up nearly double its size within about an hour of feeding it and despite that one time, the day I took this photo, it hasn’t reacted as awesomely since. And as of yet I haven’t made a single successful loaf of pure sourdough bread. This little experiment is starting to cost me (flour ain’t cheap these days you know).

Sourdough cheat

Sourdough loaf cheat

What you see above represents a total cheat. You see, in the world of bread baking, there are sourdough purists, and then there are those who are willing to cheat by creating a starter using a commercial yeast, and/or baking the bread with a starter combined with commercial yeast. I tried to be a purist, but that really hasn’t panned out for me. I had a recipe on hand that called for doing both, so I thought I’d try it out, using my “pure” all-wild starter but using commercial yeast in the baking process. The result was a very lovely bread, a nice combo of whole wheat, rye and all-purpose flours, but it can hardly be called sourdough.

Sourdough cheat

Sourdough loaf cheat

It didn’t taste sour at all, and that’s likely because the length of time the bread is left to rise was your standard 2 to 3 hours, as with any commercial yeast bread. That’s just not enough time for the bread to ferment and develop a fully-ripened sour taste. Chris commented that he thought it might have tasted a bit more sour the next day after I baked it, but I’m not convinced.

I thought my next attempt might be to combine both processes used in sourdough baking and regular bread making. That is, using my wild starter to get things going and let the batter proof for 12 hours overnight, and then add some commercial yeast in the second stage of rising to help encourage things to fully rise. I have yet to give this a try though, because I’m just not seeing my starter “do the foamy”. Sure, it bubbles, a little hooch develops and it’s certainly got some “air”, but it seems to need at least 5 or 6 hours to get that way, post-coming to room temperature from the fridge and post-feeding.

*sigh* … I’m nearly ready to throw in the towel on this whole thing and just keep my bread baking to the kind I know works, using commercial yeast, or my bread making machine.

Sourdough starter SUCCESS!

It’s alive!!! It’s really alive!!! I’ve finally had some success creating a healthy sourdough starter. It’s only my second attempt, too.

Sourdough starter success

Happy, active sourdough starter

I used the recipe and time frame suggested by Eric of Breadtopia, which he credits to Peter Reinhart – someone who I really need to start reading more of, because apparently he is the consummate artisanal bread guru.  This recipe calls for using whole wheat flour (or any other whole grain flour, like rye, but whole wheat is what I had handy), and pineapple juice. Weird, huh? But, as Eric says in the video, the citric acid kills a specific bacteria that will thwart efforts to create a starter about 40% of the time. There was little or no action in the first 48 hours, as expected, but I fed it, as directed, and within only another 24 hours I had life! I fed it again and it doubled in size in about 12 hours. As you can see from the photos – it’s very frothy – a description I certainly would not ascribe to my last attempt.

Sourdough starter success

Frothy sourdough starter

So I fed it one more time and it thickened up and became more like a bubbly, sticky dough. I just so happened to come across a Bulk Barn yesterday so I picked up some whole rye flour and decided to take a stab at making a loaf of bread.

Since Eric had not yet led me astray, I decided to loosely follow his directions for a rustic European style whole grain loaf. I decided to use rye, whole wheat and all purpose flour (my past bread experience is that whole grain flours used alone make for a pretty tough and dense bread that I don’t much favour).  Last night I set up step number one, mixing some starter with water and some more whole wheat (and in my case, whole rye) flour. The quantities Eric gives resulted in a very dense dough, and I think this may be my first mistake. I think it needed to be much more hydrated for that first twelve hours. I think some of the differences in consistency I’m experiencing are probably part flour type, and part something about Canadian flours differing from American flours – something I read somewhere once that I need to do more research on. This morning, mixing in the all purpose flour was a major challenge, since the original dough was quite dense. But I kneaded it together and hoped for the best.

Here also is where I drift from Eric’s directions, because I didn’t see the benefit of leaving the dough to rise in the fridge for 24 hours. He doesn’t explain this either. I mean, most of the reading I’ve been doing describes problems with sourdough bread rising in cooler winter kitchens, so why refrigerate? I’ve had it sitting out all day, covered in a plastic bag, with my little heating pad under the bowl to provide some gentle but constant warmth. There hasn’t been a ton of change but I’m trying not to be discouraged, yet. I know the starter was healthy and lively, so I’m going to try to have patience here and see what happens. Hopefully by tomorrow night I can report I have baked my first loaf of sourdough. If not, I guess I’ll pull the starter out of the fridge and re-feed it and start again. At least I’m halfway there with healthy starter, right?

Oh and by the way, there is a really great video, also by Eric of Breadtopia, on maintaining a starter, here.