Rye, spelt, and time: a loaf that tastes of patience.
Sourdough isn't fancy — it's the oldest bread trick in the book, and autumn's the season when wild yeasts wake up hungry in Scotland. We're using rye and spelt alongside your wheat because they taste of something real. Build the starter in summer, bake it in autumn, and your kitchen smells like a proper bakery.
Combine bread flour, rye, and spelt in a bowl. Add 300ml water (reserve 20ml). Stir until no dry flour remains — a shaggy mass is fine. Cover and rest 30 minutes. This rest lets the flour drink and the gluten relax, so you'll handle it easier later.
Crumble your active starter into the dough (it should smell fruity and alive). Pour in the reserved 20ml water and sprinkle salt over top. Using wet hands or a dough scraper, fold everything together for 5 minutes until it's cohesive and the starter is fully incorporated. You're not kneading — just folding and turning until it holds together.
Place dough in a lightly oiled bowl. Every 30 minutes for the next 2.5 hours, wet your hand and perform a set of stretches and folds: grab one side, stretch it up and over the centre, rotate the bowl a quarter turn, repeat. You'll do four sets total. The dough will become smooth, elastic, and gassy. It should pass the poke test: prod it gently — if the indent springs back halfway, you're done.
Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface. Gently pre-shape it into a round, let it rest 20 minutes, then shape tightly with tension — imagine you're drawing the top edge toward you repeatedly, creating a taut surface. Place seam-side up in a floured banneton or bowl lined with a tea towel. Cover loosely. Proof 8–16 hours at cool room temperature (or pop it in the fridge overnight — autumn temperatures are your friend). It's ready when a poke leaves a slow, deep indent.
Preheat your oven to 240°C with a Dutch oven inside for 45 minutes. Flip proofed dough onto parchment. Slash the top with a sharp blade — one deep score down the centre, or a cross, whatever steadies your hand. Carefully place parchment and dough into the screaming Dutch oven. Bake covered for 20 minutes (steam is your friend), then uncovered for 25 minutes until the crust is deep mahogany and the loaf sounds hollow when you tap the bottom.
Turn loaf onto a wire rack. Wait at least 30 minutes before slicing — the crumb is still setting. Slice thick, smell the warmth, spread butter or eat it plain. This bread gets better over three days as the flavour deepens.
“This is bread — plate it simply. Slice it fresh, still warm if you can, and set it down on a wooden board or plain white plate. A napkin alongside. Maybe a small dish of good butter on the side, maybe not. The crust should crackle a little under the knife. Let people see the open, irregular crumb — that's the sign of proper fermentation. If you're serving it as a starter course, pair it with something it can lean against: smoked fish, good cheese, or a small bowl of sea salt and olive oil for dunking.”
First bite: sharp, salty, slightly sour tang from the ferment. The rye brings earthiness; the spelt adds a whisper of sweet nuttiness. The crumb is open and tender, not dense — you can actually tear it. The crust crackles and gives way to that yielding interior. It tastes like autumn and patience in equal measure.
The tannins cut the bread's sourness and the heat suits fresh-baked grain perfectly.
The acidity mirrors the sourdough's tang and doesn't fight the rye's earthiness.
Toasted malt echoes the bread's crust; hop bitterness complements fermented grain beautifully.
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