Chopping the rhubarb
It speaks to how odd I must be that the bowl of bubbling tannish glop in a glass bowl on my countertop is something I consider to be one of the more exciting things I’ve ever done. I am finally doing it. That bubbling oozing mess is the “mother”, my very own sourdough, right here in my very own kitchen in Seattle.
Yes, it’s only day two and I have heard stories, lurid and gory, of bowls of raisin water and flour going horribly awry, with streaks, bubbles and mounds of blue and black mold forming on the top of the dough before the natural airborne yeast can wrest control of the situation. Still it’s exciting – even if this mess does go moldy on me. At least I’ve started on the journey of building bread with no commercial yeast. I’ve always wanted to. There’s no going back now!
Mixing the mother
All mixed up
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