I want to tell you about the Saturday morning I stood in my kitchen holding two identical loaves of bread, completely convinced I had ruined both of them. Flour on my shirt, coffee going cold on the counter, my dog staring at me with what I can only describe as concern. This was my grand … Read more
I want to tell you about the day I served my mother-in-law a loaf of sourdough that tasted like a gym bag. Not slightly tangy. Not “rustic.” A full-on, eyes-watering, where-did-you-go-wrong gym bag. She was very polite about it, which somehow made it worse. That loaf was the moment I finally got serious about understanding … Read more
It was 11 PM on a Sunday, and I was standing at my kitchen counter staring at a bowl of dough that looked absolutely, heartbreakingly wrong. Flat. Sticky. Smelling faintly sour but not in the good way. I had spent two days nurturing that loaf, and it was destined for the trash. That was the … Read more
