Sourdough starter - often thought of as an intimidating, difficult-to-control baking project to take on only when you can dedicate your full attention and all your time (and flour) to it. For me, though, it’s the least intimidating, most controllable, and most comforting thing around me right now. Several times, I've tiptoed on the edge of tears in moments following pure joy spent with my family, or breathing in fresh air outside. Life and emotions - both of which belong to me - seem unpredictable and uncontrollable right now.
I had two promising job opportunities for which the final interviews were being scheduled the week before the coronavirus plagued the U.S. I had just started a relationship, the first one I’ve truly believed in since… well, it’s been a long time. I was finally settling into life in this new-ish-to-me state of Minnesota after the cold winter snow had melted, restaurant patios were gearing up for their Spring openings and my list of places to visit and things to do and explore was growing in pages by the day. For the first time in - wow - almost 2 years, I felt genuinely happy and excited for what was to come. And in (what feels like) an instant, those job opportunities closed like the doors to my favorite coffee shops. Suddenly, I didn’t know when I’d see my guy again and we were forced to jump into long-distance and the whole deeper side of a relationship that involves talking about feelings, family struggles, job losses, and loneliness within 3 weeks. And my list? Pointless because restaurants and bars (which constituted most of the list) and popular parks had closed.
Everything, upside down and inside out and… closed and restricted. Stay home, reduce contact, refrain from frequent grocery store trips (which used to be my Monday-Friday hobby and part of what makes blogging and cooking/baking such a passion). So, what can I control? What can I lean on for joy, comfort, reassurance?
Even though many, many parts of life feel terrifying, there are parts that haven’t caught COVID-19. For me, that’s my sourdough starter. It’s always there for me, tucked away cozy on my kitchen counter, needing nothing more than a small and simple meal and gentle stir once a day, always bubbling with recipe opportunities - Pretzels! Bagels! Biscuits! Cinnamon rolls! Each one brings me joy and comfort throughout the entire process, from imagining to levain-ing to rising to to eating.
Each one teaches me patience and trust in the slow passing of time - the arts that must be mastered in the sourdough process. Just because my loaves, English muffins, and pretzels haven’t flopped (yet) doesn’t mean I’ve nailed the patiently waiting and trusting part, though. Like Brené Brown says, “Trust is built in the small moments.” With each recipe and each proof within the recipe, the dough rises over a period of 4-8 hours, much longer than what’s required for yeast-risen doughs. The loaves, muffins, and pretzels are made with slightly different doughs and consequently show slightly different signs of rising. Patience is built in the waiting, and trust is strengthened in the small risings.
This quarantine makes time pass more slowly than ever, and demands of me my patience and trust as each day brings a new set of updates, changes, restrictions, cases, and sadly, deaths. I’m challenged in every way - some make me feel tall and confident, while others leave me feeling small and powerless. Some make me feel like I do when my dough has risen properly and doubled in size, and others leave me feeling as flat and useless as an unfed sourdough starter.
In the former moments, I embrace the joy, confidence, and faith. In the latter moments, I lean on long walks with deep breaths of fresh air, family dinners and movie nights, time in the kitchen, and my sourdough starter. Though I can’t plan any events in my calendar or create a work schedule each week, and I can’t look forward to a happy hour at a new restaurant on the patio or take my time strolling through the produce section perusing my dinner options, here’s what I can do: I can hug my loved ones (the ones in my home, at least), I can move my body in ways that feel good, I can stand in the kitchen all day with my apron tied around my waist, and I can look forward to another process of imagining, leavein-ing, rising, and eating, where I savor simple, homemade joy and comfort.
Photo by Karly Ann Johnson.