The Biology of Sourdough
About 34 years ago, Frank Sugihara recalls, he and Leo
Kline, a fellow microbiologist, set out to "solve the mystery of San
Francisco sourdough." The two scientists were working with baker's yeast
in a Bay Area lab run by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, so perhaps it was
inevitable they would wind up studying San Francisco's signature bread.
This crusty loaf, with its chewy bite and sharp acidulated
tang, was a long way from Wonder Bread, and few tourists left the airport
without a loaf. Local lore attributed the bread to Basque migrants from the
Pyrenees who arrived in San Francisco during the gold rush. Local bakers swore
that no one could reproduce it outside a 50-mile radius of the city. When they
gave dough to bakeries elsewhere, it inexplicably lost its "sour."
But was it — is it — truly unique?
Sugihara laughs. "It's hard to say."
The Ancient Tradition of Sourdough
The practice of making sourdough is as ancient as bread
itself. For 5,000 years or more, humans have mixed flour and water, waited for the
mixture to ferment, and when it was good and sour and full of gas, used it as
leavening to make dough rise. They found that they could propagate their
leavening by saving a bit of unused dough to sow the seeds of foment in the
next batch.
No one knew then that these "seeds" were living
microorganisms — it was Louis Pasteur, in the mid-1800s, who showed that
fermentation was caused by microbes. That knowledge led to the commercial
production of baker's yeast; strains of Saccharomyces cerevisiae bred for
speedy growth. Today baker's yeast rules. It makes short work of pumping carbon
dioxide into dough, and it always delivers.
Still, the old, slow bread-making ways did not disappear.
Sourdough, for example, not only survived in San Francisco — it has gained new
respect from artisanal bakers and sourdough hobbyists.
"Here's a sourdough board from Artisan Bakers in
Sonoma," says Danielle Forestier, a French-trained master baker in
Oakland, just across the bay from San Francisco. "I'm checking the package,"
she reports over the phone. "It's made of unbleached flour, water, and
salt. Three ingredients, lots of taste, great texture." Yet a typical
supermarket white bread has more than 25 ingredients and additives and still
tastes vapid.
The difference is those fermenting bugs. The baker's yeast
in supermarket bread creates a virtual monoculture of S. cerevisiae. The
sourdough board, on the other hand, is a product of natural fermentation
involving wild yeasts and bacteria. Almost all the bacteria are lactobacilli,
cousins of the bacteria that curdle milk into yogurt and cheese. "These
lactobacilli outnumber yeasts in sourdough by as many as 100 to one,"
Sugihara says. It is the acids they make that give sourdough its tartness.
Not only that, say European researchers, the bacteria also contribute carbon dioxide as well as aromatic compounds that infuse bread with flavor and delicious smells.
Sourdough Science
Keeping a sourdough culture alive requires good time
management and something like affection. An ecosystem begins to form as flour
mixes with water to make a starter dough. Enzymes in the flour split starches
into sugars. There are swarms of yeasts and bacteria everywhere — in the flour,
in the environment, and on the baker. They converge on the sugars "like a
rabble," says Jürgen-Michael Brummer, former head of baking at the Federal
Institute for Grain, Potato, and Lipid Research, in Detmold, Germany. Not to
worry, he says: The bugs will sort themselves out, and the "bread
friendly" ones will come out on top.
Natural Gas A sourdough begins with only flour and water, left to ferment. The resulting starter (A) is thick with wild yeasts and bacteria. A little starter is set aside for the next batch, then more flour is added to form a dough (B). The microorganisms feed on its sugars, forming carbon dioxide, acids, and ethanol. After fermenting at room temperature (C), the dough is chilled until use.
As lactobacilli convert sugars to lactic and acetic acid,
the dough noticeably sours, going down to the pH of mayonnaise, around 3.8.
Most microorganisms drop out of competition at this point, but yeasts that
tolerate acid come into their own and convert sugars into carbon dioxide and
ethanol.
Gas bubbles and fruity smells signal that fermentation is
under way. Served regular meals of flour and water — "refreshments"
in sourdough speak — selected organisms will multiply day by day. By day six or
so, the culture should teem with bugs and be ready to raise dough. Not all the
culture is used, and the remainder is fed flour daily so it can live on to make
bread another day.
A well-fed culture can last years. "I call it micro
farming," says Rick Kirkby, at the Acme Bread Company in Berkeley.
In their landmark San Francisco sourdough studies, Sugihara
and Kline showed how nicely yeasts and lactobacilli live together. The principal
yeast they found now goes under the name Candida miller, and the principal
bacterium, a species never found in nature before, is called Lactobacillus
sanfranciscensis.
Unlike baker's yeast, C. miller is exceedingly tolerant of
the acid that the bacterium produces. What is more, C. miller does not digest
maltose, one of the sugars derived from flour starch. This is unusual for a
yeast, and lucky for the bacterium. L. sanfranciscensis, it turns out, cannot
live without maltose. That tight, mutually helpful relationship may have
allowed some San Francisco bakeries to keep their sourdoughs alive for more
than 100 years.
Once scientists knew what to look for, they started finding
L. sanfranciscensis in starter doughs in other countries — in French levains and
German Sauerteigs, for instance, and in the dough for Italian panettone.
Wherever it shows up, says Michael Gänzle, a microbiologist at the Technical
University of Munich in Germany, it probably comes from bakers' hands.
What to make of the claim, then, that San Francisco
sourdough cannot be authentically made elsewhere? Will a San Francisco starter
stay true to form in, say, New York? Many bakers contend the culture will lose
its zip. "Local bugs join the party, and before long you've got
Lactobacillus newyorkensis," says Jeffrey Hamelman, director of the baking
education center for King Arthur Flour in Vermont.
Perhaps. Cultures are dynamic. Mess with their living conditions — room temperature, mealtime, brand of flour offered — and they will change. But how much? An ongoing project in France may offer a clue.
Local Sourdough Strains?
"Generally, we find the yeasts stay the same,"
says Bernard Onno, a French microbiologist looking into the biodiversity and
dynamics of sourdough. But in stable, established cultures, he says, "the
lactobacilli vary — not the species but the ratios between the species in the
dough."
Perhaps, then, if you transplant San Francisco sourdough to
New York, you should expect some reshuffling within the bacterial inhabitants.
The culture, however, is not always to blame for taste changes. "Fifty
percent of taste comes from culture," Onno says, but the other 50 percent
comes from savoir faire — the baker's craft.
"I think you can make San Francisco sourdough pretty much anywhere,"
Sugihara says. "It's such a self-protective system." Now 82, he still
consults for bakeries around the world.
"They do a good job of sourdough in Japan," he
says, "but they mainly sell it to foreigners." He has also persuaded
one large Japanese bakery to perk up its white bread with a shot of sourdough.
"They call the bread My Heart," he says with a chuckle. "As in
'I left my heart in San Francisco.' "

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