As early as I can remember, I’ve loved food. Everything about it. I love the smells, I love the tastes, I love the accomplishment in a good bake or a good meal. I love the creativity; I love growing and harvesting it. But most of all, I love sharing it.
Food…cooking…baking… those are my love languages. Making and sharing food with others is one of my greatest passions. It’s therapy. It’s cathartic. It’s how I show my love and appreciation to others, and it is one of my favorite forms of self-expression. It’s like that saying, “you can tell so much about a person by how they decorate their house.” I feel like the same could be said about how people spend their time in a kitchen. What’s in their kitchen? What ingredients do they use? How do they organize their utensils and space? What types of recipes and cookbooks speak to them? What kinds of food do they make and love and share? Is it where their family gathers every day, or is it a space only used on holidays?
For years my kitchen was primarily filled with cake decorating utensils and tools. Piping bags and tips, offset spatulas of EVERY shape and size, a turn table, so many cake tins and assorted muffin wrappers. Sprinkles, an air brush machine and ALL the edible glitter.
And sure, some of that is still here. Making wedding and celebration cakes was a huge part of who I was and what I did for many years. Cake decorating was a good friend of mine, and it’s still something I spontaneously do for family birthdays or momentous occasions. But as of late…the hundreds of piping bags and piping tips have been replaced with stacks of bannetons and fabric bowl covers. The baskets that once housed silicon fondant molds and gel food colorings are now full of bread lames and various size digital scales. I own more Dutch ovens than I ever have before and I treat my pizza steel like an endangered species that needs the utmost tender care and protection.
Why, you ask?
Because there’s a new kid on the block. She’s bubbly, temperamental and she’s a force to reckon with.
Olivia Gluten John is my sourdough starter and I love her as if she’s another member of our family.
It’s safe to say that I am officially in my sourdough chapter of life. Well, I say I’m in this ‘chapter’ of my life, but I wholeheartedly believe it’s become more of a lifestyle than anything.
Sure, we all dabbled with sourdough during COVID. We made the cinnamon buns and the pancakes and gifted each other starters in our mailboxes. My friends and I would send each other constant updates about our starters on the regular and it felt like we were part of some joyous bread club in the midst of a pandemic. But then times slowly went back to normal, and all of our starters went into the fridge where they were gradually shuffled to the WAY back and were forgotten about.
I know because I did it, too.
But then this past December I felt some totally random and totally frantic desire to get back on the sourdough bandwagon. Thank goodness one of my trusty sourdough buddies during covid still had a starter living and well in her fridge because Lord knows mine had gone to Mold City and never returned. She gifted me Olivia Gluten John and I haven’t stopped making bread since.
Sourdough has become a part of my soul. It’s nourishing, unpredictable and open ended in ways that normal bread just isn’t. My starter is loved and cared for in the same way our children and pets are. She’s fed regularly, kept cozy and warm, and spoken of with fondness and admiration. I bake sourdough bread or goodies more often than I don’t and it’s become my favorite thing to gift to people I care about.
So, as I love on this stage in my food/cooking/baking journey, I hope you know that if ever you’re one of the people who eats my bread or sourdough treats, there’s more than good bacteria and flour in there. There’s deep appreciation, joy and most of all love. A whole hell of a lot of it.
I hope you can taste it.
