Finding sourdough magic at home with help from Lost Bread’s Alex Bois | Craig LaBan

I had a crusty loaf pain au levain on my mind when we arrived to Metropolitan Bakery near Rittenhouse Square — but the doors were locked. The panic shopping of the shutdown had begun, so it wasn’t a total surprise. But the carb-deficient alarms inside me began to trip during the crazed hour that followed as I jogged from one market to the next in search of a baguette (no dice), then flour (good luck), then finally just a pack of instant yeast.

“What’s that?” the clerk at my neighborhood beer deli shrugged when I skidded into his aisle with a not-so-subtle look of desperation.

The message was obvious: I was going to have to take the pursuit of loaves into my own hands, and, those little yellow packs be damned, I was finally going to dive into the messy mysteries of making sourdough starter. The wild yeasts floating in the air of my home, on the flour, and on my (now meticulously washed) hands? We were finally going to be self-leavening bread buddies.

It’d been a long time coming. I was a terrible baker when I graduated cooking school decades ago in France, where my warm hands perpetually stuck to dough. I’m still a terrible baker. But I had the sense to land in a city flush with accomplished bread artisans who have blossomed over the years from great to extraordinary. My spontaneous starter tutorial could wait 'til the bread-pocalypse.

Now that day had come. And yet ... my eyes still grew bleary every time I cracked open the richly detailed baking bibles of Tartine Bread or The Sullivan Street Bakery Cookbook and tried to keep track of the “feeding schedules” and references to “autolyse.” Calculating hydration percentage suddenly felt like quantum physics. My initial attempt to mix flour and water to grow starter in a linen-covered plastic tub on my counter still looks like a take-out container of sludge with no sign of life.

Enter Alex Bois, and the gift of starter.

Bois, who first rose to prominence baking spiral-scored anadamas and roasted potato loaves at High Street on Market, has his own operation now, the Lost Bread Co. And not only is it still turning out exceptional loaves of thick-crusted whole grain breads (many Philly bakers, in fact, now have loaves back in circulation), Lost Bread is selling flour on weekends at its Fishtown storefront it mills from Pennsylvania grain — and is also giving away ready-to-use starter.

“There’s a reason ‘culture’ is the word you use for both humans and microbes — it’s important to share that,” says Bois. “If I’m baking somewhere the culture is going to be shared freely to whoever asks.”

Bois isn’t alone. Other local sourdough specialists, Chris Di Piazza of Mighty Bread Co. in South Philly and Michael Dolich of Four Worlds Bakery in West Philly, are also willing to share their starters, which can be used and perpetuated. But Bois’ version — a puttylike pinch of tight dough — was unlike the pancake batter-thick slurries I’ve seen. This is a “stiff starter,” Bois explained. It has half the amount of typical liquid commonly used in the mix for wet starters that blend equal weights flour and water. But when it’s ripe, it’s more durable and shelf-stable, able to last in the fridge up to a month, when you simply reserve enough of it, and then add flour and water to grow more.

But could this tablespoon-sized scoop of whole wheat Play-Doh possibly work? I had my doubts, based on my personal track record. But not only had I been gifted an invaluable head start with a master baker’s yeasty mojo, Bois had calming advice: “The worst loaves I’ve ever made were still delicious in some form," he said, suggesting making crisps or using it to thicken stews. “If you bake a brick, that brick is still food.”

Such improvisation would not be necessary. Bois talked me through the subtle details of his basic sourdough loaf step-by-step, from the ideal blend of seasonal flours (mostly soft winter wheat with a touch of stretchy spring; King Arthur’s all-purpose, he says, is also fine) to the desired texture on that first mix (shaggy and sticky), the shape of the rising container (straight plastic walls help build strength in dough) to the right cooking vessel. You want something heavy with a tight lid that helps re-create the kind of steam pro ovens infuse to build a good crust. A Dutch oven or pizza stone with a steel mixing bowl inverted into a dome works. But a “combo cooker” — a.k.a the tall-sided cast-iron pan I’ve always used to fry chicken — is perfect.

More importantly, my dough was rising!

Mixed the night before, it grew for 10 hours at the kind of slow, sweet pace that seemed unexpectedly calming as the crisis-driven news crawls on TV and the pace of work have accelerated to become more frantic. Gently shaping the dough was a balm. Resting it to proof several more hours was calming.

And then. .. the rush of 500°F heat. The blazing hot pan radiating through my hot pads. The quick razor slashes of my baker’s blade across the dough. The ambrosial smell of roasting bread filling my home during that initial 20-minute blast with the lid on.

When it finally emerged after 35 minutes from my oven, whose broken door I’d propped shut with a kitchen chair, I could hardly believe what I saw — a deep brown boule of leaping crust and tangy yeast crumb that convinced this often-failed baker I could create something truly beautiful in this moment of stress and fear.

“ ‘Look at that hot mama!’ ” said Bois after seeing a picture of my loaf, quoting his production manager, Sam Degennaro, after she bakes a round of particularly beautiful bread.

It also happened to make the greatest toast. But now? Time to finally crack those books and study up on how to feed, grow, and carry on the gift of Alex Bois’ starter.