I pulled the loaf out of the oven, set it on the cooling rack, and felt genuinely proud of myself for about four minutes. Then I sliced into it. The outside was a deep, beautiful brown. The inside was a wet, gummy, almost raw-looking disaster. This was my third attempt at sourdough discard banana bread … Read more
I want to tell you about the night I accidentally became the most popular person at my friend Diane’s dinner party. Not because of my sparkling wit or my stunning outfit (it was a cardigan, let’s be honest), but because of a small pile of crackers I almost didn’t bring. It started, as most of … Read more
I want to tell you about the Saturday morning I accidentally served my family what I can only describe as sourdough frisbees. Flat, dense, vaguely rubbery discs that my husband cheerfully described as “interesting” while my kids pushed them silently around their plates. I had been so proud of myself for finally using up my … Read more
I want to tell you about the morning I confidently announced to my husband that my sourdough starter had “really come into its own” — right before I picked up the jar and accidentally poured half of it down the front of my pajamas. It had the consistency of gray pancake batter, it smelled vaguely … Read more
I want to tell you about the morning I stood in my kitchen, nose hovering over my sourdough starter jar, convinced I had somehow created nail polish remover. My sourdough starter smells like acetone, I typed frantically into Google with one hand while fanning the jar away from my face with the other. My husband … Read more
I opened the fridge to grab some leftover pasta, and there it was — a mason jar shoved all the way to the back, behind the mustard and a suspicious block of cheese, wearing a gray-brown liquid hat like some kind of sourdough Ghost of Christmas Past. I had completely forgotten about my starter. For … Read more
It was 6 a.m. on a Tuesday in February, and I was standing in my kitchen in two pairs of socks, staring into a jar of what can only be described as sad, flat, defeated goo. My sourdough starter — the one I had been nurturing for eight months — had not budged a single … Read more
It was day fourteen, and I was standing in my kitchen at 7am, staring at a jar of what looked like slightly lumpy paste. No bubbles. No dome. No signs of life whatsoever. My sourdough starter won’t rise, I typed desperately into Google for what felt like the hundredth time, flour dust still on my … Read more
It was 6:47 in the morning, I hadn’t had coffee yet, and I was standing in my kitchen staring at my sourdough starter like it had personally betrayed me. There was something growing on top of it. Something white, flat, and very much not supposed to be there. I immediately grabbed my phone and typed … Read more
I want to tell you about the morning I nearly threw away a starter I had been nurturing for three months. It was a Tuesday, I had just shuffled into the kitchen in my pajamas, and when I lifted the lid off my jar I was greeted by what I can only describe as the … Read more
