Proto-Dough for the Proto-Purist, and Biscuits

I think I mentioned once before something about my romanticized fondness for sourdough. Cowboys, sagebrush, beans, mom's old green crock and pancakes all figure into the equation. But I have come to discover that the sourdough I grew up on is something which purists can not sanction. It is started, lo and behold, with yeast. Not wild yeast, but commercial yeast, and is therefore an animal of quite a different kind.

And I say to this (for now)...oh well. There are many other ways in which this sourdough seems to break the rules. It lives contentedly by itself in the fridge, developing an alcoholic blanket. If you are in need of it, it asks nothing more than to be taken out the night before, stirred, given a dose of flour and water, and left undisturbed until morning. Then it cheerfully surrenders itself to pancakes, or bread, or biscuits, and goes back to the fridge to await its next mission. Low maintenance doesn't even begin to describe it.

I was pleased to find that Alton Brown is also fond of this unassuming form of sourdough. He even coined a term for it. He calls it proto-dough, and while I still unabashedly call mine sourdough, I do think it is kind of catchy. I like his instructions for proto-dough, which are incredibly similar to how Mom taught me, and if anyone is overwhelmed by the thought of starting and maintaining a sourdough, then please, start with this. It does, with use, develop some wild yeast of its own, and though it is not incredibly tangy to begin with it will sour nicely with age. Here are his instructions, along with a link to a recipe for a Country Loaf, which I have tried several times in my bread machine and been quite pleased with each time. (Note: at least in my experience, sourdough bread may be different every time you bake it. It is part of the adventure.)

But let's not talk about bread. Sourdough bread is fine and all, but sourdough biscuits are something in a class all by themselves and I have never, ever, seen them anywhere but Mom's kitchen and my own. The recipe comes from an old, old western cookbook and you can't help but picture a Dutch oven full of beans when you see these particular biscuits. They are not the tall and fluffy biscuits made for a spoonful of jam or gravy. Sourdough biscuits are humble round disks, low-rising, with a chewy golden crust and and a substantial but tender inside. They are divine as breakfast sandwiches, with a fried egg and sausage tucked inside. They are wonderful with hearty soups, capable of swiping up the last best bites like a ciabatta, maybe, or focaccia. My parents use them for sandwiches when they have long days of riding, for they can endure a rough day in a saddlebag and still come up whole for lunch. They are, in my book, indispensable.

Old-Fashioned Sourdough Biscuits
(makes approximately 15 biscuits)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
Place a generous amount (about 3 tablespoons) of canola (or other) oil on a cookie sheet and tilt to coat the pan evenly.

Begin by mixing together thoroughly (if you don't you will have little brown spots in the biscuit from the sourdough reacting with the baking soda, but don't worry, the spots are harmless):

1/2 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar

In a medium bowl place:

2 cups sourdough

Add the flour mixture to the sourdough and mix lightly. Then start adding more flour until a soft dough is formed. The dough will pull away from the sides of the bowl and form a sticky but kneadable mound. The amount of flour you need will depend on the wetness of your sourdough. I usually end up using about 1 and 1/2 cups more flour.

Gently turn the dough out onto a well-floured surface and knead lightly about 5 times. Roll out into a circle about 1/2 inch thick. Use a biscuit cutter or drinking glass to cut into biscuits. We like our baking powder biscuits small in diameter, but our sourdough biscuits large (about a 4 inch circle).

Take each biscuit and swirl in the oil on the pan, then flip over so that both sides get gently coated. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until the bottoms are golden brown and the tops slightly less so.
Cut open with a serrated knife and serve, or simply eat them as they are.