[To the tune of 'I Don't Know How To Love Him':]

I don’t know how to love you

What to do, how to use you

You’re some yeast

You’re just some yeast

And I’ve had so many breads before

In very many ways, you’re just one more

 

I’ve made cupcakes and cheesecakes and carrot cakes, pie crusts and brownies and  yeasted bread of all sorts, but I cannot — I can not — manage to get a good sourdough starter.

They erupt out of their vessels like frothy wet volcanoes or fling themselves off the warm spots of my kitchen in showery spatters of goo. This one you see here first blew up all over my kitchen and then apparently died and turned gray.

So… you win, sourdough. I give up. You are an unholy mystery that I will never grasp and I will go to my rest without having ever mastered you.