Sourdough Train

I finally did it - I jumped on the sourdough train. It took me approximately forever to get here because—confession time—I hate baking. Like, deeply. Baking is fussy and requires precision and I am not precise.  I'm a disaster, there I said it.  Baking is not my jam.

To make matters more humbling, my grown daughter is basically the Queen of Sourdough. Like, it’s not even fair. She’s over there at a fancy bakery whipping out artisanal loaves that belong in a glossy magazine, while I’m over here flinging flour around like a medieval peasant who's been stung by a swarm of bees. But since she lives seven hours away and I can't easily get my fix from her, it was time to take matters into my own messy hands.

If you were one of those kids who loved squishing around in wet, gloopy mud, you're going to love making sourdough. It’s a full sensory experience—super sticky, wildly uncooperative, and determined to permanently bond with every surface in your kitchen. Including your soul. And don’t get me started on clean-up. I live in constant fear of accidentally nuking our septic system with a rogue glob of raw dough. I dread the day I have to  tell my husband "Here you go, sweetie—fresh bread! Also, don't mind the backhoe digging up our septic system out front—I accidentally sent 0.0002 ounces of wet starter down the drain."

That said… I do love the bread. Like, genuinely. It’s not fancy. It’s not going to win any awards or spark joy in any professional baker’s heart. But it’s real food, made with just three

Not beautiful but at least they're tasty!

ingredients, and I don’t feel bad feeding it to my family. Will I keep making it? Probably. Will I also need to invent some sourdough-specific breathing exercises to keep from losing my mind in the process? Definitely.