And why I think it might be the most useful thing I've ever made.
Five months ago I didn't know what bulk fermentation was.
I mean that literally. In January I mixed my first sourdough dough, covered it with a towel, and stared at it for five hours because a recipe told me to. I had no idea what was happening inside that bowl. I just waited. And hoped.
That loaf was a disaster.
But here's the thing about me — I don't walk away from disasters. I study them. I'm the person who bought a pH meter before most bakers buy a bench scraper. I'm the person who started a spreadsheet on day three. I'm the person who, when a loaf came out wrong, didn't throw it away — I tasted it slowly, took notes, and started asking why.
Sourdough became my obsession at exactly the right moment. After years as a full-time caregiver, I needed something that was entirely mine. Something that asked everything of me — my attention, my patience, my analytical brain — and gave back something warm and tangible and real. Sourdough did that. The kitchen became my laboratory. The dough became my teacher.
The problem I couldn't stop thinking about
The more I baked, the more I noticed something nobody was talking about directly.
Every recipe I found gave me a clock. Bulk ferment for 4–6 hours. Proof overnight. Bake in the morning. But my loaves kept coming out differently — even when I followed the same recipe, the same flour, the same starter. Sometimes magnificent. Sometimes dense. Sometimes a puddle.
It took me a while to understand what was actually happening. Fermentation isn't driven by time. It's driven by temperature and biology. Your dough at 68°F needs a completely different timeline than your dough at 78°F. A cool kitchen in January is a completely different environment than a Florida kitchen in May with the AC running. Static recipes can't know any of that. Static timers can't adapt.
The clock wasn't lying to me. It just didn't have enough information.
What I did about it
I'm a maker. Always have been. I make soap, candles, and now apparently — software.
I started working with AI tools to build something I genuinely wished existed. A companion app that thinks the way I think about sourdough — scientifically, but warmly. Something that takes your dough temperature, understands the biology, and gives you a living timeline instead of a static one. Something that stretches or contracts your bulk fermentation estimate in real time, based on what your dough is actually doing.
I called it DoughPace.
The core idea is simple: your dough has its own pace. A 76°F dough in Cruise Control is on a completely different schedule than a 68°F dough taking the Scenic Route. DoughPace reads that temperature, assigns a pace, and adjusts your estimated shaping window accordingly. Every time you log a new reading during a stretch-and-fold, the timeline recalculates. It's the app equivalent of a very calm, very knowledgeable baker standing next to you at the counter.
What DoughPace does
- Live Dough Pace Engine — log your dough temperature and your timeline adjusts instantly
- Stretch-and-fold reminders — timed to your dough type, with technique tips for each fold
- Support for inclusion loaves — jalapeño-cheddar, cinnamon-honey, enriched doughs all get adjusted timelines and fold schedules
- Liquid and stiff starter support — because not everyone bakes the same way
- Overnight retard tracking — the Coasting Period tracker shows your dough's 4-hour cooling journey and calculates your optimal baking window for the next morning
- °F and °C toggle — because great bakers live everywhere
- Printable bake summary — a complete record of every bake, every temperature, every fold
Who it's for
Honestly? It's for the baker I was in February. The one who knew something was off but couldn't put their finger on it. The one who had good instincts but needed the science to back them up.
It's for the hobbyist making one or two loaves a week who wants to understand what's actually happening in that bowl — not just follow instructions and hope for the best.
It's for the baker in a cool UK kitchen and the baker in a hot Florida kitchen and everyone in between.
It's not for professional bakers who already know all of this intuitively. It's for the rest of us who are still learning — and who find comfort in the precision of understanding why.
The part that surprised me
I've been baking sourdough for five months. I've been blogging about it almost as long, documenting every variable, every pH reading, every failure and triumph. And the thing that surprised me most about building DoughPace wasn't the technology.
It was how much I already knew.
Five months of obsessive, data-driven, notes-in-a-spreadsheet baking had given me a genuine understanding of fermentation biology. Enough to know what the app needed to say. Enough to know when the numbers felt right. Enough to know that the Scenic Route at 68°F needs a 45% time adjustment, not 25%.
Sourdough taught me that. The kitchen laboratory taught me that.
And that — more than anything — is why I think you should trust this app. It wasn't built by a software company. It was built by a baker who couldn't stop asking why.
Try it for yourself
DoughPace is available now at doughpace.com for a one-time purchase of $9. No subscription. No monthly fees. Works on your phone, tablet, or desktop — no app store download required.
If you've ever stared at a bowl of dough and wondered whether it's ready, whether it's overproofed, whether the temperature in your kitchen is working for you or against you — this was built for you.
Have questions about DoughPace or want to share your first bake using it? Drop a comment below or find me on Instagram @islandthymesoap. I read every single one.
