Falina’s Sourdough

The Recipe

Older than any of us can remember

Long before sourdough had a hashtag, Falina’s family kept a starter alive in a clay jar — fed each morning, covered with a cloth, passed from mother to daughter like a piece of jewellery. It crossed generations, kitchens, and borders, and it never once went out.

Falina bakes the way she was taught: flour, water, salt, time — and nothing else. Long, slow fermentation. A wood-dark crust. A crumb that smells faintly of wheat fields after rain.

Every loaf is scored by hand with the family’s wheat-stalk mark — the same cut her grandmother made, so the neighbours would know whose bread it was.