I hopped on the sourdough bandwagon about three years ago. Though I’ve learned a lot, I feel there is still so much to discover. My interest was born from the desire to cook more of our food from scratch and eliminate unwanted chemicals from our diet. Baking has been a big leap for me. The saying goes, “Cooking is an art and baking is a science:’ I am more of an artist by nature, so teaching myself about sourdough and creating my own starter has been a big exercise in patience. And since it is customary to name your starter, mine is aptly named Patience.
Patience and I have gone through plenty of ups and downs, including a six-month “timeout” in the back of the refrigerator. With a great deal of patience-and about a half cup of Patience-I’ve successfully created traditional loaves, dinner rolls, cookies, and even bagels, which have become a favorite among family and neighbors. Sometimes the results are less than perfect, and other times they become lessons.
One thing I’ve definitely learned is that numerous varying factors play a role in both successes and failures.
Temperature and humidity are the most common, as well as the most frustrating. The addition of inclusions, depending on the item or ingredients selected, creates another variable. Sourdough has a way of reminding you that you’re not fully in control. Just when you think you’ve mastered the perfect rise, the dough decides it has other plans.
Working with sour-dough has also changed the way I think about food in general. When you nurture a starter, you’re literally cultivating life. You’re watching wild yeast and bacteria
transform simple flour and water into some-thing nourishing. It’s the same quiet magic I see in the garden-tiny seeds becoming tomatoes, herbs drying into fragrant blends, produce turning into meals that feed people I love.
Sourdough has be-come the bridge between my suburban backyard and my kitchen table. It’s the daily reminder that homemade food doesn’t have to be complicated to be meaningful. It just has to be real. And in a world full of shortcuts, preservatives, and “just add water” solutions, real feels revolutionary.
Somewhere between the failed loaves, the triumphant ones, and the bagels that disappear before they cool, I’ve realized that sourdough isn’t just a hobby. It’s a practice. A relationship. A reminder that good things grow when you feed them, tend them, and give them space to breathe.
So while I still have plenty to learn-new techniques, new recipes, new ways to coax Patience into cooperation-I’m grateful for the journey. Sourdough has taught me to slow down, pay attention, and embrace imperfection. It’s taught me that homemade food carries a kind of nourishment you can’t buy. And as I continue exploring this farm-to-table life, one loaf at a time, I’m reminded that patience isn’t just the name of my starter. It’s the ingredient that makes everything rise.
Andrea Wallace writes about creative food solutions and home-based sustainability. You can reach her at ajbattwall71@gmail.com.
