Making sourdough bread is a process. Keeping the starter alive is the first milestone, followed by finding a recipe that resonates. It’s amazing that you can take a piece of that starter to make your levain, then add just flour, water, and salt. I have discovered that turning that sticky mound of dough out onto my surface and gently working it is so very satisfying. The method I use calls for turning and stretching the dough three times before its final proof in the banneton. It’s quite the hands-on experience, but the reward is incredible.
I missed out on the whole sourdough craze during the pandemic because I’ve been gluten-free since mid 2011. Recently, a friend told me about einkorn, an ancient, never-modified wheat variety that many folks can tolerate. So, I gave it a whirl, and great news, my body tolerates it! Why? Reasons vary, and I’ve not determined a clear answer. What I do know is that it’s never been modified from its original form or hybridized to increase yield. The flour I buy is made from einkorn grown organically in Italy, and it is not sprayed with glyphosate or other chemicals. The result is an ever-increasing number of home-baked products and pasta on my table. It is very satisfying.
If you have made bread, then you know the kneading process is quite aggressive and rhythmic. You “punch” down the risen dough. You press it away from you with your heel and then turn in back in rapid succession. You knead the dough into submission. Baking with einkorn is different. You have to gently stretch the dough and let it rest between sessions so it can absorb. Proofing times are watched, but the dough is never punched down. Gentle stretch, fold, rest, repeat.
As I think about the specifics of einkorn, I am drawn to comparisons for us as leaders and our individual journeys as humans. Treat your people with kindness, gently stretch, and then give them time to absorb. What results can be quite beautiful. For ourselves, it’s a bit more complicated. I am my harshest critic, and I would bet that most of you are the same. I can imagine you lying awake at 2 am, convinced you are not growing fast enough, adding more flour to a dough that just needs time. When bread has too much flour, is over-proofed, or kneaded for too long, it can become tough and inedible. What would happen if we treated ourselves like einkorn and abandoned the usual techniques: punching down, forcing, and demanding faster proof? What if instead we treated ourselves with kindness, gentle stretching, and yes, time to absorb. Not because we are fragile, but because we are original.
Working with einkorn forced me to slow down, to pay attention, and to let the dough tell me what it needed. I am applying that principle to my life. How are you shaping yours?
I would love to have that conversation with you.