Sourdough bread is one of my favorite types of bread.Â

Unlike rustic country loaves, the distinct tanginess of natural yeast adds more than just one layer of flavor. I also love baking sourdough, but the process is undeniably intricate. Preparation begins two days before the actual baking—starting with the levain, a mix of mature starter, flour, and water, which “awakens” the yeast within. Then comes the dough-making process: hydrating, mixing, bulk fermentation, shaping, proofing, and so on. Many of the technical terms remain a mystery to me.

Through learning, I discovered that among all bread-making techniques, sourdough is not only the most complex but also the most comprehensive discipline. Many experienced bakers, in my eyes, are more like scientists. They predict outcomes by controlling variables and even applying chemical formulas—a truly remarkable feat! Despite the advances in technology that allow us to knead dough without lifting a finger, I still prefer kneading by hand. Why? Because the texture of sourdough is identical to that of soft, jiggly jelly-like clouds.

Sourdough typically has a higher hydration level—the ratio of water to flour—than other doughs. During mixing, you can feel the transformation: the dough starts off sticky like glue, then becomes tacky like modeling clay. After a period of folding and fermenting, as more air integrates into the dough, its texture becomes astonishingly soft. With dampened hands, you can gently lift the dough’s airy, tender heart. It feels like scooping up a slumbering child-shaped cloud on a humid summer day—damp, delicate, and utterly irresistible to touch. The good news? This tactile delight can last for three to five hours. The bad news? The same.

Once the dough is fully prepared, the most thrilling stage begins: baking. From the moment the dough is placed into the blazing oven, a game of patience unfolds. The oven, pitch dark and scorching, hides the dough’s transformation as it rises, matures, and expands. I always try to imagine what’s happening inside, but my thoughts inevitably veer toward anthropomorphic fantasies. Watching dough rapidly evolve under high heat is both heartbreaking and exhilarating. Despite controlling every variable up to this point, what happens inside the oven feels like an entirely different world—unpredictable. I find myself checking the clock every few minutes, thinking, Why isn’t it done yet?

As the aroma of bread grows richer, my trips to the kitchen become increasingly frequent. My partner always teases me at this point, but they too sneak into the kitchen under the guise of fetching water. When the timer finally goes off, I don’t rush to the oven—I’ve likely been standing there for the past two minutes, waiting. Yet, even after pulling out the beautiful, aromatic loaf, you have to wait for it to cool! This is the cruelest game in the world: if you win, you get a perfectly finished loaf; if you lose, you settle for an imperfect but steaming hot one. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always let you win.

Hot sourdough melts butter in an instant, and homemade garlic-infused olive oil spreads effortlessly over its surface. One bite and the crispy crust, chewy interior, tangy bread aroma, and concentrated fat flavors flood every taste bud, utterly overwhelming them. The experience is unparalleled. Freshly baked sourdough tastes entirely different from store-bought versions. Compared to slices toasted to perfection, bread straight out of the oven is rebellious, demanding to conquer the world. Cooled bread becomes contemplative, strategizing its conquest. Packaged bread sitting on a shelf? It’s indifferent, saying, To hell with the world.

Sourdough—my King of Fighters ’97, my soulmate, my life mentor.