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How to Teach a Sourdough Workshop, Start to Finish | Episode 145

2 minutes ago
10 min read

Listen on Apple Podcasts


For a long time, I did not think I was allowed to teach a sourdough class. I am completely self-taught. I have never taken a baking class in my life, and the first time someone asked if I taught workshops, a little voice in my head asked who I thought I was to teach anyone. Several dozen workshops later, I can tell you that voice was wrong, and if you have the same one, it is wrong about you too.


This is part one of a three-part series on teaching sourdough workshops, and today I am walking you through my whole class, start to finish, exactly how I run it in my bakery right now. Part two covers group size, getting help, and pricing. Part three is all about selling workshops as Christmas gifts, which you will want to start planning for sooner than you think.


You do not need a certificate, you need to be a few steps ahead

When you are self-taught, it is easy to believe you lack the credentials to teach. There is no certificate on my wall. Here is what I had to realize instead: the people who sign up for a beginner sourdough class do not need a pastry chef. They need someone a few steps ahead of them who can explain things simply and make them feel like they can actually do this.


You already know more than you think you do. Maybe you have killed more than one starter. Maybe you have pulled out a flat loaf or cut into gummy crumb. Every one of those mistakes is something your students are going to run into, and you already know how to get them through it. That is exactly what they are paying for.


Start with one friend before you open to the public

What finally got me over the hump was teaching one friend before I opened classes to the public. I walked her through the whole process, right in my kitchen, completely casual, no tickets, no pressure, just the two of us. Saying everything out loud in real time helped me find the awkward parts, the spots where I over-explained, and the order of steps that did not quite make sense yet. She was not judging me, she knew she was part of my trial and error, and watching her go home and keep baking afterward was genuinely energizing.


That one afternoon gave me the confidence to open a real group. My very first classes were in my home, three to five people at a time, starting in the spring of 2024. They were not perfect, but they went great. If you are sitting on the idea of teaching but feeling nervous, pick a friend, pick a date, and run through your class from start to finish like it is the real thing. One afternoon like that teaches you more than weeks of just sitting and thinking about it.


Show them the big picture before you start

Right now I teach in my bakery, capped at 12 people, since that is what my space can comfortably hold, and the whole class runs about two and a half hours. One of the tools that took me the longest to figure out, before I ever started teaching, was how to compress a two-day sourdough process into two or three hours without losing people.

My answer is a simple paper timeline. As soon as everyone is seated, after a short three or four minute introduction about who I am and my own self-taught origin story, I pull out that timeline and show the whole sourdough process from feeding your starter all the way to pulling bread out of the oven. Since we are squeezing a two-day process into one short class, the steps get reordered, so I come back to that same timeline repeatedly through the class and point to exactly where we are. People get much less lost jumping between mixing, shaping and baking once they have seen the whole map.


Before any of that starts, I also keep a simple check-in list with everyone's name on it, and I check people off as they arrive. It sounds almost too basic to mention, but one weird situation with an unticketed guest taught me to never skip it. While people are arriving and settling in, I go around and ask about their experience with sourdough, whether they have ever had a starter, tried and given up, or just watched a lot of videos. That tells me exactly what level of sourdough language the room is going to understand.


Why I bake first

The very first thing we do, before mixing anything, is get loaves into the oven. I shape loaves ahead of time and keep them chilling in bannetons in the fridge, so we pull those out right at the start, turn them onto parchment liners, and everyone scores their own loaf with a few different techniques I demonstrate. I explain the oven the same way most of them will understand it at home, comparing the steam vent on my bread oven to the lid of a Dutch oven, closed for the first 20 minutes to trap steam, then opened for browning, the same as lifting that lid.


Baking first means the bread is actually coming out of the oven while class is still happening, so everyone goes home with a loaf they scored themselves. I also bake one extra loaf that we cut into later in the class, for a reason that becomes clear in a bit.


Mixing, pre-shaping and the questions that come early

While the bread bakes, we move to mixing. Each person gets a small stainless bowl, pre-measured flour, salt, water, and starter already set out at their spot, and I walk through using a food scale since not everyone has used one for baking before. I mix my own bowl alongside the demo so people can see exactly what a shaggy, dry-bit-free dough should look like.


One small thing I have learned: people really love it when you check their bowl and tell them it looks exactly right. You can watch them physically relax. It is such a simple thing, and it goes a long way toward building confidence in a room full of strangers trying something new.


Once the mixed dough rests, we move to pre-shaping, using a separate batch I mixed earlier that day so it is fully fermented and ready by class time. I give everyone a small portion, not a full loaf's worth, since this dough is not going home with anyone and I do not want to waste product on practice. Pre-shaping is muscle memory for me by now, but it is genuinely awkward for almost every first-timer, so I come alongside each person individually and talk them through the motion. I also warn people ahead of time that little bubbles on the surface are completely normal, because somebody always panics about them, and naming it before the panic saves a lot of reassurance later.


Build your class around the starter questions, on purpose

Starter questions start the second people walk in the door, and I used to try answering them as they came up, which constantly broke the flow of the class. Now I tell people upfront that we are going to spend real time on starter right around the middle of class, and that I am not forgetting their question, I am just putting a pin in it. I will even jot a question down if it is a good one, so they know it is coming.


When we actually get there, it takes 20 to 30 minutes to go through what starter is, how it differs from commercial yeast, and what it looks like at its peak, using a jar of my own starter as a live example. Everyone feeds their own starter to take home during this stretch.

I will be honest that when I first started teaching, I actually made starter more confusing by over-explaining it. I was so determined to be thorough that I buried people in information they were not ready for yet, and created new questions instead of fewer. What has actually worked is paying attention after every single class to what landed and what made people's eyes glaze over, and tightening my explanation one rep at a time. That is not something I can hand you word for word. It has to become your own, built through your own reps, but taking notes after every class is how you get there faster.


My goal by the end is never that every question gets fully answered. Some of becoming a baker is struggling through a little uncertainty and owning the process yourself. My goal is that people leave feeling confident enough to go home and actually bake. I also give everyone access to a private Facebook group, which is not highly active, but gives them somewhere to ask a follow-up question or share a photo of their first loaf.


The snack break that becomes the best part of class

About halfway through the starter conversation, we pause to shape the dough that has been resting, and I demonstrate one shaping method for beginners and show a second option on my own dough so people can see there is more than one way to do it.


Then we take a real break. I always bake that one extra loaf specifically to cut into during this part. Before slicing it, I walk through a quick anatomy of the loaf, the shoulders, the belly, the ear, and what each one tells you about how the bread fermented. Then we cut it open and look at the crumb together, and I talk through what overfermented and underfermented bread actually looks like, so people have a reference point when they cut into their own loaf later. I am always clear that ugly bread still tastes good, and if anyone is ever in doubt, it is better to lean slightly overfermented than under.


I set out a simple olive oil dip with herbs and balsamic, plus some cookies or brownies, and this is genuinely where the best part of class happens. People relax, start telling stories, and the room warms up in a way that the technical steps alone never quite create.


What everyone takes home

After a final stretch and fold, people pack up dough that is mixed, pre-shaped once already, and ready for them to finish at home: let it rise, pre-shape again, bench rest, refrigerate, and bake whenever they are ready. That dough goes home in the same four-quart stainless bowl we mixed in, which I buy for well under two dollars each from a restaurant supply site, along with a shower cap to cover the bowl and a rubber band marking the starter's fed level on its container. The baked loaf goes into a bread bag, and everything gets packed into one paper bag so it is easy to carry out.


I used to include bannetons in the ticket price, but I have since changed that. Most people who sign up already have some exposure to sourdough and some of the basic supplies, so now I lower the overall ticket price and instead give everyone a discount on anything they buy from my shop shelves that day, bannetons, lames, dough scrapers, cookbooks, and weck jars for starter. That discount usually more than makes up for what I used to charge for a ticket that included more supplies, and people only go home with what they actually need. For anyone without a banneton, I simply suggest a bowl lined with a tea towel as a workable substitute.


Everyone also gets a printed recipe guide to take home, and I have learned to hand that out at the very end of class rather than the beginning. Pass it out early and it ends up covered in water spots, flour, and dough before anyone gets to read it.


The timing that actually works

My very first classes ran closer to three hours. With more practice, two and a half hours has turned out to be the right length for a group of 12, enough time to get every question answered without the day dragging. Do not stress if your first class runs long. The more you teach it, the tighter it gets.


Plant this seed now

Before you close this out, one quick note for later. In two weeks we are talking all about selling workshops as Christmas gifts, and it is one of my favorite ways to fill classes. But if you want to sell gift tickets this year, the planning has to start now, not in December. As you are working out your own class flow this week, start thinking about a date for a gift-ready class too, maybe even a January class you put on the calendar before you feel fully ready, so you can start selling tickets while people are doing their Christmas shopping, even if you are still working out the details behind the scenes.


I believe more people need good bread, and I do not need to be the only one baking it. Workshops are also one of the strongest ways to add to your monthly revenue with far less hands-on effort than baking the equivalent amount of bread would take. Compare how much you earn teaching a two or three hour class to how long it would take you to bake bread worth the same amount, and workshops really can hold their own!


If you want this made easier, I put together a full planning kit with a fill-in class timeline next to my real one as an example, a checklist for your own practice run with a friend, a printable student handout pack modeled on the one I give my own students, and marketing templates to help you fill your seats. It is $19 through the end of November, then $27 after that, and it stays available either way.


Cheering you on,

Caroline


Keep going

If this got you thinking about teaching your own workshop, these three go further.


Links to things you might like!


Sourdough microbakery owner looking back at lessons from her first year selling bread

 
 
 

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