High-Altitude Sprouted Spelt Sourdough: The Bread That Tried to Melt (and What I Learned)

There’s a certain satisfaction in baking bread from grains you’ve sprouted and ground yourself. It’s one of those homestead moments that feels both ancient and modern — until your dough decides to melt into a puddle at 5,000 feet. Here’s the story of my flour-covered kitchen, the science of spelt, and how I finally coaxed a loaf to stand tall in mountain air.

The Great Flour Storm

My first attempt at grinding sprouted spelt was... memorable. I’d read about the fresh flavor, but no one warned me it behaves like fairy dust. Within minutes, my kitchen sparkled like a snow globe — golden flecks everywhere, including the dog. Now I grind outdoors, feeling every bit the mountain homesteader as the wind carries away the extra flour.

Altitude, Spelt, and a Loaf with Attitude

At 5,000 feet, spelt’s gentle gluten structure can’t quite handle the fast-rising enthusiasm of yeast. Fermentation races ahead, gases expand too quickly, and your perfect dough suddenly slumps. The trick is shorter fermentation and less water — around 65% hydration. The dough should feel supple, not sticky.

My New High-Altitude Routine

Here’s the routine that finally works for me:
• Morning: Build levain while I sip coffee.
• Afternoon: Mix, fold, and admire.
• Evening: Shape and cold-proof just 4–6 hours (not overnight!).
• Late evening or early morning: Bake straight from the fridge for that perfect rise.

Even in the fridge, yeast stays busy at altitude — so shorter cold proofing keeps the dough perky, not overproofed.

The Happy Ending

These days, my spelt loaves rise proud and golden. The crumb is tender, the crust sings, and the kitchen stays mostly flour-free. I even use leftover flour for dog treats — because in a homestead kitchen, nothing goes to waste. Baking up here may be a little wild, but that’s part of the charm.

This dish towel is available in the Farm & Faith Store.