How I Fell in Love / Became Obsessed with Bread / Your First Loaves

“Howdy, ol’ boy! I’ve just spent the last three weeks hiking around some woods, and I think I’ll be moseying your way in a few. Ya still got that comfy couch of yours? Mind if I spend a few nights on it?”

George was a buddy from my childhood in Vermont. A few days after the above inquiry he showed up, as he always did, with a backpack towering a foot above his head, tin cups and instruments strapped all over, and a smile from ear to ear.

We were chatting in my kitchen over some tea (maybe some whiskey, too) when I noticed that he had a little jar with a brown lump of clay in it. I asked him what in the heck he was doing carrying that around. He told me that it was sourdough starter, which he’d gotten from a local bakery. I asked, “Why’d you bother to get that stuff? Can you even make decent bread in a home oven?” He chuckled, and proceeded to scribble down some ridiculously simple instructions for making a loaf of sourdough bread.