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Ben Bohen is a local chef and food writer.

Sourdough dates back to the ancient Egyptians, and was the primary means by which bread was leavened across many cultures until the advent of commercially prepared yeast in the 19th century. The fact that a small amount of starter can be used as the basis for a variety of starchy, protein-rich breads made this practice particularly well suited to those who needed to travel or work far from developed areas - including, of course, the prospectors who arrived in the Juneau area in the 1880s and '90s.

Over the years, the use of sourdough starters in Alaska has evolved from a matter of sustenance into one of taste and tradition. In some families I know, treasured pots of starter have been passed down from generation to generation.

But despite this illustrious history, it is easy to find doubters who suggest keeping a living starter has little impact on the quality of the final product. These cooks rely upon starters just a few days old, often based upon commercial yeast.

To judge the veracity of these conflicting claims, I recently conducted a tasting of hotcakes, which are still believed to be the truest expression of sourdough flavor by many Alaska aficionados. One batch was prepared using the 100-year-old starter kept at the Silverbow Bakery. The other was leavened by a sourdough that I started in my kitchen four days prior to the tasting using equal parts flour and water, a bit of sugar, and a package of dried yeast. To keep things straight I'll refer to the older starter as "truly sour" and the newer one as "not-so-sour."

I set both starters with flour, water and sugar and allowed them to stand overnight. Immediately before cooking I mixed in to each batch a bit of sugar, salt and an egg (admittedly an ingredient not available to the early prospectors, but acceptable in Alaska recipes dating back at least to the 1940s). Finally, I dissolved a teaspoon of baking soda in a tablespoon of water and gently folded it into each batter. Both reacted visibly to the addition of the soda, bubbling and rising in their bowls. But while the not-so-sour batter slowly added a couple of inches to its height, the truly sour expanded so rapidly that only the removal of several ladles full prevented it from overflowing.

Although both batters resulted in thin, nicely browned cakes, there was no comparison in flavor or texture. The not-so-sour cakes were chewy with a fermented edge. The truly sour cakes were a revelation - their almost fruity tang balanced by a crisply browned exterior and a meltingly airy crumb. My panel of Alaska tasters proclaimed these to be among the best pancakes possible.

So my advice for this week is: find someone you know who keeps a pot of sourdough - they will surely be willing to share both their starter and their favorite recipes for it - and take the time to indulge in what was once the staff of life. In an Aunt Jemima world, the convenience food of the pioneers is now worth the extra effort.

Ben Bohen has been a Juneau caterer and food writer for five years. This is his last column. He has left for New York City to study the restaurant business and gourmet cheeses.