The goop came in a six ounce mason jar with my name scrawled in black sharpie on the metal lid. A Post-It note with a clear message clung to the glass.
“Call for instructions.”
Carrying the package inside, I placed the mysterious ingredient on my counter. At the same time, the biggest historical event of my lifetime crept closer from overseas.
In February, I was given a small batch of sourdough starter. A family friend fed and split the mix for the last twenty years. With roots in Alaska, the starter followed her to Oregon, and ended up on my front step in Colorado weeks before the pandemic hit. Spanning decades and miles, the mysterious form of life brought history to my steps.
The longevity of life struck me. Halved again and again, the mix kept working as it relied on consistent feedings to stay strong. Someone removed the old to make room for new growth.
From the table in my kitchen, I stared at the white mixture. What could we create together?
I am a lover of bread. When vacationing, I reroute to bakeries and patisseries. I’m dedicated to the search of the satisfying fall of a flaky crumb. Ripping crust into hunks, I enjoy sopping up olive oil with drizzles of balsamic — dark and sticky marring the stark white of the dough.
Bread is a love language.
I did not consider what would need to be discarded to allow for new growth.
As stay-at-home-orders buzzed through my phone, I realized travel to far off cafes would not be happening. I cancelled a trip to Ohio and declined wedding invitations. Travel guidebooks to Canada and Maine were tucked in return slots at closed libraries. For adventure I turned, instead, to the jar of potential living in my fridge.
I picked up the phone and was coached through a basic recipe.
Flour. Salt. Water. Starter. Mix. Wait.
Let heat and time combine as fermentation brings bubbles to the surface.
Knead once. Wait again.
Knead twice. Turn and fold and slice with a razor, creating space for the steam to release.
Wrestle parchment paper and a dusting of flour to situate the loaf just right.
