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Why Stoneground Wholemeal Rewards a Sourdough Baker

Wholemeal flour gets a reputation for producing bricks, and it is true that a loaf made entirely with stoneground wholemeal will be denser than one built on strong white. The trick is to stop treating that as a fault. Stoneground flour carries the whole grain — bran, germ and all — because the millstone grinds the entire kernel rather than stripping it apart. The milling runs slowly enough that the germ's oils stay sweet rather than scorched, which is why a good stoneground wholemeal smells faintly nutty and slightly grassy when you open the bag.

The bran is the difficulty. Those sharp flecks slice through gluten strands as the dough develops, so you will never get the open, glossy crumb of a white country loaf. What you get instead is a moist, close-textured bread with real depth of flavour, sturdy enough to hold a doorstep of cheese and robust enough to stand up to a bowl of soup or a pot of broth. That is precisely what a smallholding kitchen wants from a loaf.

A workable balance for most ovens and most bakers is around two-thirds stoneground wholemeal to one-third strong white. The white flour carries the structure; the wholemeal carries the taste.

Keeping a Starter That Suits Wholemeal

If your starter has been fed on white flour for years, it will still raise a wholemeal dough, but it will be happier if you introduce some of the same flour you intend to bake with. Feed it once or twice with wholemeal or dark rye and it will adapt within days.

• Feeding ratio: one part starter, two parts flour, two parts water, by weight. A 50g starter, 100g flour and 100g water is plenty for a single loaf.
• Water temperature: aim for 24–26°C. Slightly warmer than blood heat speeds things along without cooking the culture.
• Readiness: the starter is ready when it is domed, spongy, threaded through with bubbles, and has roughly doubled within four to six hours of feeding.
• Cold kitchens: in a draughty stone cottage, the airing cupboard or the shelf above a range cooker is your friend. Keep it under 30°C, though, or the culture turns sour and sluggish.

A Dependable Formula

This makes one large round or an oval loaf. Scale it as you like, but keep the ratio the same.

• 400g stoneground wholemeal flour
• 200g strong white bread flour
• 420g water, at about 30°C
• 120g active starter
• 10g fine sea salt

Mix the two flours with the water and leave them alone for 45 minutes. This rest lets the bran soften and the flour hydrate properly, which makes the dough far easier to handle later. Then work in the starter, kneading or squeezing it through with wet hands until it is evenly combined, and rest for another 30 minutes. Finally add the salt with a splash of water and mix again.

From there, give the dough four sets of stretch and folds, spaced about 30 minutes apart. Wet your hand, lift one side of the dough, stretch it upwards and fold it over the middle. Work round the bowl a quarter-turn each time. You will feel the dough tighten and begin to hold its shape by the third set.

The Slow Rise That Builds the Flavour

Leave the covered bowl somewhere cool — 18–20°C is ideal — for four to six hours. You are looking for a rise of roughly half to two-thirds, a domed top, and a few bubbles creeping up the sides of the bowl. Wholemeal doughs rise more slowly than white ones, so judge by the dough rather than the clock.

Then comes the part that matters most. Put the bowl in the fridge for twelve to twenty-four hours. This long, cold fermentation is where the flavour comes from: the gentle acidity that makes the loaf taste of something, the softening of the bran, and a texture that slices cleanly instead of crumbling. A loaf taken straight from a warm bulk rise tastes flat by comparison. The cold retard also means you can fit baking around morning milking, a school run, or a wet afternoon in the polytunnel.

Shaping and Baking a Sturdy Loaf

Tip the chilled dough onto a lightly floured surface, shape it into a rough round, and leave it covered for 20 minutes. Then shape it properly — fold the edges into the centre, turn it over, and use your cupped hands to drag it into a tight ball against the worktop. Place it seam-side up in a banneton or a bowl lined with a well-floured cloth. Coarse wholemeal or rice flour stops it sticking; ordinary white flour will be absorbed and let the dough grab.

Let it prove at room temperature for one to two hours, until a floured finger pressed into the side leaves a dent that springs back slowly but not instantly. Meanwhile, heat the oven to 250°C with a cast-iron pot, lidded casserole or a heavy baking stone inside for at least 40 minutes.

Turn the loaf out, score it firmly at a shallow angle across the top, and bake under a lid for 25 minutes. Remove the lid, drop the heat to 220°C, and give it a further 20 to 25 minutes until the crust is deep brown and the base sounds hollow. A probe thermometer should read 96–98°C in the middle.

Then leave it alone. Wholemeal sourdough needs at least four hours to cool and settle. Cut it warm and the crumb will gum up, however patient you have been until that point.

On the Table, and in the Tin

This is a loaf built for the business end of country cooking. It is excellent alongside a thick vegetable or lentil soup, sliced thin and toasted to accompany a sharp Cheddar or a wedge of Stilton, and it takes butter and damson jam, green tomato chutney or piccalilli without falling apart. A slab fried in dripping makes a proper breakfast with eggs from the run.

Keep it cut-side down on a wooden board, or in a cotton bag in a bread crock. Avoid plastic, which softens the crust to leather. It will stay good for three or four days, and any that goes past its best can be sliced and frozen, or turned into croutons and breadcrumbs for stuffings and treacle tart. A sturdy loaf, honestly made, rarely goes to waste on a smallholding.