From the Streets of Hong Kong to the Guangzhou Countryside: My Sourdough Journey

I. The Beginning

I loved it.

The village where I lived was in the North District of the New Territories; because of its proximity to Shenzhen, it had long been strategically zoned as a new development area. Although most of the residents had been rooted there since their grandparents’ time, they lacked officially recognised land and property titles. Consequently, the government treated them as if they didn’t exist, and years of struggle failed to sway the official development plans. After graduating from university, I came here with a fragile sense of sympathy. I went from the high spirits of activism to the depths of despondency following a wave of suppression. In an environment where we were powerless, in a village where the end felt imminent, we clung to the smallest things in life. For instance, “tending to” a blob of dough—seeing it grow and contribute a little bit of starter every day, allowing us to bake bread—was a source of genuine joy.

That jar of fermented dough was the “sourdough starter”. By mixing grain flour with water and “feeding” it repeatedly, and allowing enough time for various yeasts and bacteria with different fermenting powers and flavours to take hold, a sourdough starter is created once the culture becomes relatively stable. Adding this starter to dough, fermenting it, shaping it, fermenting it again, and then baking it—that is how you make sourdough bread.

I brought sourdough bread to my neighbours in the countryside. Together, we made ‘old-dough’ steamed buns (mantou)—which are rare in the South, and especially in Hong Kong—and we even gathered by the fields to bake sourdough. Looking back, they might not have been particularly fond of sourdough itself, but their longing for new experiences and new friendships, and their aspiration for a fulfilling and healthy daily life, blossomed through the bread. In this way, the sourdough starter entered their lives, just as we did.

A sourdough starter requires daily maintenance, kept active by ‘feeding’ it flour and water in fixed proportions. Feeding is essentially creating a suitable, stable growth environment for a diverse microbiome. Temperature, the ratio of water to flour, feeding frequency, the type of flour… countless combinations mean countless microbial communities, which in turn bring an endless variety of flavours to the bread.

In a way, the villages of Hong Kong are similar to a sourdough microbiome. Regardless of the rise and fall of other industries, these villages have grown wildly amidst the torrent of urban expansion, forming loose yet resilient community networks. Scattered farmland and small-to-medium workshops are vital to the lives and livelihoods of many villagers; the elderly are relatively self-sufficient, many working-age adults can make a living away from the high pressure of the city, and countless creatures find precious habitats—even if, by the calculations of mainstream economics, none of this is considered significant.

These rural areas are somewhat like a neglected sourdough starter; they may contain stray bacteria with strange flavours and little leavening power, and while not exactly thriving, they can still produce a loaf of bread—occasionally even stumbling upon a uniquely special flavour.

In 2019, some villagers were forced into ‘voluntary relocation’ (renting or buying government-share high-rise apartments), bringing a decades-long, multi-generational history of self-reliant ‘wild’ rural life to a close. Demolitions destroyed any possibility of maintaining a self-sustaining environment, while the villagers themselves were recast as rogues, accused of occupying land simply to claim compensation. Those who moved into high-rise apartments became truly marginalised, forced to rely on chain stores, social welfare agencies, and meagre government subsidies and benefits, yet they still found no true peace or stability in their new homes.

The friend who introduced me to sourdough is called Xiao Dou. She became fascinated by it a few years ago and enthusiastically nurtured various ‘sourdough babies’ fed with different grain flours, actively sharing the starter and the possibility of easily baking sourdough at home. In her view, sourdough should not belong solely to high-end foreign bakeries, nor should it be reserved for those with overseas experience; it can be a part of life for housewives, busy workers, or any ordinary citizen who wishes to have a bit more control over their daily existence.

Compared to using instant yeast, making sourdough is time-consuming. Instant yeast consists of purified yeast strains; at the right temperature, the process from kneading to baking takes only three or four hours. If using an automatic bread maker, the entire process requires no supervision at all.

But what about sourdough? Before kneading, you first need to prepare an active levain, which takes at least three or four hours. Then comes the kneading, followed by two rounds of fermentation, and finally baking—totalling around six or seven hours. Ten hours for a single loaf—who has time for that?!

However, what if we shift our perspective and view baking sourdough as accompanying a community of living organisms? The microbial community that plays a key role in the fermentation process fluctuates—some strains flourish while others are suppressed, depending on the environment. If we create the right conditions (primarily temperature) to synchronise these microbes with the rhythm of our lives—for instance, by using low temperatures to slow their growth when we are too busy—we can break those ten consecutive hours into segments that fit our schedule, extending the process over two days or even longer. In this way, making sourdough is no longer a time-sink, but a companion to daily life. Once you find a rhythm where the sourdough fits into your life, you can freely enjoy the pleasure of nurturing a loaf of bread.

Xiao Dou’s learning circle brought together a group of friends drawn to sourdough. Meeting roughly once a month, they share the joy of making bread and other fermented foods, and swap ingredients. Each person is a microcosm, baking bread for those around them. Especially since 2019, these companions have supported one another through absurdity and despair, clinging to the courage to keep living.

3

Sourdough in Commercial Bakeries

In 2020, after baking bread at home for two years, I decided to take a job at a bakery. I wanted to see how truly exceptional sourdough was made, and I began to consider baking as a potential livelihood.

I chose what I considered to be the best sourdough bakery in Hong Kong. Unlike many shops that use “sourdough” or “natural yeast” as a facade to sell overpriced, fast-risen bread, this bakery—despite its scale of production—truly employs long, cold fermentation. The process, from feeding the starter to the final bake, takes three days.

It also differed from the tiny artisanal bakeries run by one or two people; it had a proper workshop where production was split into distinct stages. This was a point of great pride for the owner: proof that sourdough, despite the many unpredictable variables in its creation, could be produced on a large scale while maintaining consistent quality.

The bakery’s starter was incredibly healthy, fed at fixed intervals every day and fermented at a constant temperature to create a perfectly stable flavour. Each day’s recipes and production volumes were revised by the owner, printed out, and handed to the staff, who simply followed the established procedure.

The owner strove to account for every possible variable to minimise any unpredictability in the production process. He required employees to take photographs of key steps to report back to him, such as the temperature after mixing or the appearance of the dough before it entered the oven. The staff were the least important element of the bakery; as long as they had hands and feet and could follow simple instructions, they were sufficient. It is hard to say whether the owner strove for total control because the staff were devoid of value, or whether the staff were rendered valueless because the owner pursued total control.

After five months of working there, I was utterly exhausted. The physical toll was secondary; the real issue was that I could no longer bear to eat the bread. The aroma of baking made me anxious and nauseous, as if I were back in that workshop, thick with an atmosphere of reproach and grievances. I still believe the bread produced there was exceptional; I simply couldn’t stomach another mouthful.

The bakers were miserable, yet the customers remained entirely oblivious—and perhaps indifferent—because the bakery decoupled the workers’ experience from the carefully curated atmosphere and value presented to the public. I cannot deny the value the bakery provided in introducing quality sourdough to the public, but it was clear that I could no longer be a part of producing it.

Worse still, the joy I once found in baking and sharing had vanished; I was plagued by the feeling that my bread was never good enough. The dogs I was living with helped me eat a great deal of bread during this period—so much so that they eventually started turning their noses up at the sight of it. It was utterly disheartening.

IV. Sourdough Takes to the Streets

After 2019, and with the pandemic, many lost faith in the establishment, while their freedom of movement grew restricted. “Why not sell breakfast bread outside the MTR station?” suggested a friend whose stable job had been upended by the situation.

Outside a rural MTR station, there was an open space; one part was a government-planned weekend hawker market made of shipping containers, while the adjacent clearing was often filled with aunties and grannies selling home-grown produce or late-night snacks. Although spontaneous vending was illegal, and regulations became even more stringent under pandemic gathering limits and mandatory mask mandates, more people were forced to take risks just to make a living.

Operating on the principle of “I need to practice baking anyway, so it’s a bonus if people can eat it or even pay for it”, we set out with our bread. During the pandemic, an increased focus on health and food introduced more people to sourdough. Combined with the sympathy and support people held for the youth, we enjoyed a remarkably relaxed and friendly selling environment from the start.

Selling face-to-face allowed trust to blossom easily. Alongside sourdough and cakes, a friend who loved pour-over coffee joined us as a guest. We also brought sourdough starters to share with anyone who wanted some.

Even during the pandemic, people in masks accepted that we didn’t use pre-packaging, bagging the bread on the spot. Some even defied the law, pulling down their masks to eat bread, drink coffee, and chat and laugh.

Beyond selling bread, what excited us more was mingling with the aunties and grannies at their stalls: helping each other make a sale, asking them to taste new products, or collaborating to play hide-and-seek with the government departments coming to “clear” the area.

V. Migrating Sourdough, Yearning for Community

I returned from Hong Kong to the mainland before the lockdown was lifted, spending a week in quarantine with my sourdough starter. In Lingnan, even in autumn, temperatures remain above 25°C, meaning the starter requires feeding at least once a day. Before departing, I placed the starter in an insulated box with ice packs and packed enough flour for the feedings. Feeding it daily was not the issue; the real challenge was what to do with the daily discard. It was during this period of isolation that I actually made a breakthrough, steaming sourdough mantou that weren’t sour to replace the dreadful quarantine meals.

It was the most tense period before the reopening. As soon as my quarantine ended, I took my dog and headed for the Guangzhou countryside to visit a sourdough workshop in Yinlin Village, Conghua. Until then, I had many notions about the ingredients required for breadmaking, but little practical experience. Since I approached the starter and the dough as if they were living things, it seemed only natural to use additive-free or organic flour. Yet, I was quite surprised to find that the ‘Chi Tu’ workshop in Yinlin used flour sourced entirely from domestic ecological small-scale farmers. Imported organic flour is not necessarily more expensive than this local ecological alternative, but the latter is more inconsistent and differs significantly from European flour. This makes it even more challenging to produce bread of a stable quality that meets traditional European standards.

The flavour of the workshop’s bread is not particularly extraordinary, but it possesses a quiet, everyday strength; before you know it, it becomes a part of your daily diet, a food you find yourself longing for from time to time. In a healthy rural environment, baking also involves using mountain spring water—experiences I had never encountered before.

I was even luckier that the workshop is situated within the Yinlin Ecological Farm, making it commonplace to seamlessly incorporate the farm’s produce into the bread, such as brown rice, dried lychees, sweet potatoes, and lemons. I feel that the ecological flour, fruits, and vegetables from small-scale farmers are not simply used as substitutes for ordinary ingredients, but are the very heart of the bread. What is produced is by no means a mere replica of commercial bread with swapped ingredients, but bread possessing a unique spirit, radiating the vitality of the land where the workshop stands.

There are regular sourdough consumers within the village, and people’s lives are intertwined, exchanging home-grown ingredients and handmade goods for bread. The workshop collectively nurtures the starter, and the starter, in turn, nurtures a community encompassing humans and other living beings.

While here, I finished the German flour I was accustomed to and began feeding the starter with ecological flour from domestic small-scale farmers. Later, carrying this starter imbued with strength, I returned to the unfamiliar place of my birth, hoping to ferment new communities and relationships, and together create a symbiotic habitat where we can all thrive in ease.

Foodthink Author

San Jiao

Enjoys discovering food and ingredients; currently attempting to make a living through baking and connecting with all other beings.

 

 

 

 

Foodthink Says

Fermentation allows us to rebuild our connections with one another and create new communities and social relationships; it also enables us to reclaim a portion of our food sovereignty from an increasingly homogenised food empire. Want to learn more stories “fermented” from fermented foods? Tonight at 19:00, Foodthink and Lake Shore Culture will hold the fourth discussion of “The Fermentation Bible” reading group at the Rendez-vous bookstore, featuring wonderful shares from guests Shuyu and Jingyan. A few offline spots are still available; you are welcome to register or book the online livestream.

This weekend, the Foodthink “Fermentation Awakening Festival” will partner with the Chengdu Life Market (26 Nov) and the Nanning Urban Farmer’s Market (25-26 Nov) to hold fermentation markets in Chengdu and Nanning. We welcome everyone to taste homemade fermented delicacies from our farming friends and experience the charm of fermentation!

 

About the “Fermentation Awakening Festival”

The “Fermentation Awakening Festival” was launched by Foodthink in October 2023. In collaboration with dozens of farmers’ markets, farms, fermented food artisans, restaurants, publishing houses, and public welfare organisations nationwide, the festival centres on the theme of fermented foods. Over two months, it has carried out online and offline activities across multiple cities and communities, including screenings of “The Alchemy of Food” video series, fermentation-themed markets, reading groups, film screenings, sharing sessions, workshops, and tastings.

We welcome you to follow the Foodthink WeChat official account and the accounts of our co-creation partners across various platforms to get the latest videos, articles, podcasts, and event information, find local fermentation activities, meet more fellow fermentation enthusiasts, and awaken your life through fermentation!

Fermentation｜Awakening｜Life｜Festival 

– Organisers –

Foodthink  Beijing Organic Farmers’ Market

– Co-creators –

Lake Shore Culture  Bule Cheese  Yijian Bread  Xiucai Bean Workshop

Happy Lab  Nine-Inch Craft Beer  The Vegetable Garden  Da Xiao Coffee

Qiaolike  Beer Hall  White Tiger Village  coffea SHED

Chengdu Life Market  Nanning Urban Farmer’s Market  Fengnianqing

(List continuously updating)

– Supporters –

Tianren Culture  Heyi Holdings

Editor: Tianle