Spending so much time at home in 2020, I wanted more creativity in my cooking. I also longed for comfort food, so the obvious choice was baking.
While scrolling Instagram, I noticed a resurgence of bread baking. This created a challenge, because not only did we have a shortage of toilet paper, we also had a shortage of yeast. With no yeast in sight, sourdough came to mind. Sourdough bakers came out of the woodwork and to the forefront. Maybe I would become a sourdough bread baker.
Back in the 90’s, my mom was given a sourdough starter. A sourdough starter is needed to bake sourdough bread. The starter is a mixture of ingredients taken through a process to become sour or fermented. This starter is used in place of yeast to make the bread rise.
The remaining sourdough starter must be stirred and fed more ingredients on a regular basis to keep it alive and active. It’s almost like having a plant or a pet. The health and lifespan of a sourdough starter is dependent upon its owner.
My mom’s sourdough starter all those years ago was used to make the fluffiest, sweetest sourdough bread, unlike other sourdough breads I have eaten since, which in my opinion have a twang to them. Her starter was fed with potato flakes, water, and sugar. It was the best sourdough bread of my life.
As I scoured the internet, I found many blogs with sourdough starter recipes. I previously thought a starter had to be purchased or received from someone. When I learned I could literally create my own starter, I accepted the challenge.
I researched many recipes and was surprised by a couple of things. First, the recipes did not include potato flakes and sugar with the water. They simply included flour and water. I assumed they would be healthier and more waist conscious, so I forgave them for that.
My second surprise was to find many bakers used weight measurements for their ingredients instead of cup measurements. Since I was not born in the UK, I would not be weighing my ingredients. I would leave such methods to the Great British Baking Show. This decision narrowed my options, and I eventually settled on a recipe I felt was doable.
I bought a pretty glass jar with a blue lid for my starter, as recommended by the baker I had chosen. Apparently, the prettiness of the jar determined the quality of the starter and ultimately the deliciousness of the bread.
And then my baker-instructor gave an interesting suggestion. She encouraged a name be given to the starter. Strange, I thought to myself. She named her starter after her firstborn son. Even stranger, I said out loud. But for some reason, I began choosing a name for my starter. I refused to name it after either of the children I had birthed, but I concluded Ethel would be a good name for my goopy mixture. I always liked Ethel on The Lucy Show and found her to be strong and spunky.
My Ethel turned out to be strong and spunky, as well. Ethel bubbled and smelled healthfully sour, and I was impressed with my starter making skills. I baked a couple loaves of bread, and they looked lovely and tasted good, but I quickly tired of feeding and caring for Ethel. Then I remembered Shane and I don’t really eat much bread. Ethel seemed too much of a responsibility. In fact, Ethel became a burden.
Next, I made a discovery. Throwing away a mixture of flour and water is no big deal; but when that same mixture of flour and water is named Ethel, it is difficult to starve her or dispose of her in the garbage.
I pondered Ethel’s existence a while longer. I told her I appreciated her hearty bubbling and delicious bread. Then I poured Ethel into the trash can.
Farewell Ethel. It had been fun, but I was done.
2020 had been hard on us all.