I was distracted as I mixed up the ingredients for my sourdough bread today. We had just gotten home from meeting an old friend for coffee, I was making a couple of different kinds of bread, another friend was here talking out a wedding dress crisis with Heidi. Even so, I feeling pretty accomplished as I finished the dishes and wet my hands to do the first stretch and fold.
Something seemed a little off with the dough, and I paused a moment before putting the cover back on and allowing it to rest for another 15 minutes. What was it that jogged my memory? I can't say, but it occurred to me that I had never even gotten my starter out of the fridge. What was in the bowl in front of me was a pound of flour, some water, and salt-- basically a brick waiting to be baked. With nothing to lose, I kneaded the leavening in to the dough, covered it, and hoped for the best.
Bread has earned its reputation as the staff of life over many millenium. In 2018, scientists found evidence of bread-making at a 15,000 year old dig site in Jordan. Fortunately, something so old must also be forgiving, and my bread was. Even as I write, my bread is rising in the kitchen, and so there will be loaves tomorrow.
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