Sourdough, Year Three: A Progress Report

The starter, whose name is Gerald, turned three this month. He has survived two moves, one week of neglect in a hot car, and the brief period when I tried to convert him to rye. He is more reliable than I am.

The loaves have improved in ways that are hard to describe and easy to taste. The crumb is more open. The crust crackles when it cools. I no longer weigh the flour to the gram, which feels like either mastery or giving up, and I am honestly not sure which.

What I did not expect was how much of baking is waiting. Mixing takes ten minutes. The rest is a day of checking, poking, and leaving it alone. Bread has taught me more about patience than anything else I own.