Sarah Owens - Sourdough - Recipes for Rustic Fermented Breads, Sweets, Savories, and More

My thanks go to Jeanne Rostaing and Marie Viljoen, whose articles on Gardenista and in Edible Brooklyn respectively spread the word about sourdough fermentation. Their writing caught the attention of my resourceful and intrepid agent, Coleen OShea, who is unfailingly available for career advice and a hearty chuckle. At Roost Books, to my editors Rochelle Bourgault and Julia Gaviria, who made sense of my text and recipes and whose gentle editing helped to shape my literary voice.

To my parents, who gave me a rich upbringing and encouraged exploration of nature in all its muddy iterations. Being grounded to the rose garden or bean patch eventually paid off! To Boshko Boskovic and my many close friends (extended family) who have investigated the beauty and tenderness of a creative life with me, even when a bit unconventional.

At the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Mark Fisher, the director of horticulture. His enthusiasm and support allowed my sense of curation and garden design to develop through liberal cultivation of the Cranford Rose Garden. To the Horticulture staff who tasted and tested every single recipe more than a few times with exuberant applauseeven when they were duds. To Publications, Interpretation, and Marketing for always being curious beyond the superficial beauty of roses. And to Human Resources for tolerating my long absences during the development of this manuscript and who always wanted more bread.

To Miriam and Gregg Weiner, the original founders of the Greenwood Heights CSA, who took the chance and allowed me to bring wholesome loaves to our Brooklyn neighborhood. It was through the loyal subscribers of this CSA that I honed the skills to bake good bread. To my friends, neighbors, and landlords Dan and Cindy Menz-Erb, who never uttered a peep about the clouds of flour wafting downstairs from my top-floor apartment.

For all the ace bakers who have devoted their lives to the craft and have shared their insight by writing books. I have a case full of your work, and they have been my biggest source of inspiration for chasing the elusive perfect loaf. Thanks go to the web development team at Food 52, who have been bread subscribers from the beginning. To the worldwide sourdough community on Instagram, whose openness and generous nature have kept the conversation going about #realbread.

Thanks to Frances Boswell, whose light and confident hand helped shape many of the images in this book. And finally to my photographer, Ngoc Minh Ngo, and her family, who patiently tolerated my learning curve with this project and endured its many stages of development. We met among the perfume of roses and have argued the placement of crumbs but will always have a mutual appreciation for the beauty and movement of the seasons.

It is a thick mid-July evening as hot air swirls around a small Brooklyn kitchen. I run an ice cube across my brow before dropping it into my drink. Twenty-one loaves of bread will be coming out of my tiny oven before sunup. As I remove lids from the cast-iron Dutch ovens housing dough, I make a concerted effort not to drop hot metal on my toes. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror: leaves still stuck in my hair from the days fieldwork, wearing only a sports bra and boxer shorts. This is my Friday night in New York City. This has become my life as a gardener-baker.

I ponder how and why I got myself into this task: there is no glamour in the modest manipulation of dough, the sweaty companionship of an oven, or the cultivation of earth. As a baker, I superficially provide a nutritious and satisfying loaf to a supportive community who appreciates clean food. But it is my intention to encourage the profound in the ordinary. If my customers respond with the slightest curiosity for the sourdough process or begin to question the origin of the grain in their bread, I am even more content. The ability to educate as well as satisfy a visceral hunger is the driving force that makes the long hours, exhausting heat, and marginal profit worth it. Labor of love would be an understatement.

As a public gardener, a large portion of my job is to provide a similar experience. In the context of the garden, it is one of beauty and reprieve from New Yorks sometimes-abrasive environment. If the visitor walks away wanting to know more about heritage roses or the balance between beneficial and predatory insects, it becomes more than just a job. This gardening and baking discourse keeps me grounded to my community in an otherwise fragmented urban setting. It is not a static relationship but one encouraged to develop as conversation. When this dialogue revolves around what can so easily be taken for granted, we begin to live life fully and inspire each other to do great things.