A lively, foaming bucket of home-grown sourdough starter, resurrected after having been kept in the freezer since before Passover. After thawing it out, a few daily feedings were sufficient to wake it up and keep it happy.
This is my starter. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My starter is my bread’s best friend. It is my loaf’s life. I must master it if I want lively loaves. My starter, without me, is useless. Without my starter, I am useless. I must feed my starter well. I must ferment my dough better than my competitors who are trying to outbake me. I must bake or be baked. I will...
My starter and I know that what counts in baking is not the number of loaves we bake, the clatter of our pans, nor the aroma we make. We know that it is the taste of our loaves that counts. We will bake tasty loaves...
My starter is made of cells, even as I, because it is a living being. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its components, its behavior, its leavening power. I will keep my starter well fed and ready, even as I am well fed and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...
Before Gawd, I swear this creed. My starter and I are the defenders of our dough. We are the lords of our leavening. We are the saviors of our sandwich bread.
So be it, until we can boast of our baguettes and drink a toast to our toast!
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