[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.