During my recovery from total knee replacement surgery, my sourdough starter died.
Well, okay, I killed it. Through neglect. I didn’t feed it for
about four weeks because I could barely stand to look in my refrigerator
(except to get some sparkling water), and I didn’t seem to have the energy to
measure out starter, water and flour, much less to mix them.
So it died.
However—my friend LQ, who gave me my original starter back in
2019, saved the day. Last Friday, after she fed hers, she gave me enough of the
discard to get my own going again. It seemed appropriate that I should return
to the fount of my sourdough experience and begin again.
Here it is after having been fed and rested.
Pizzas and rolls coming up. And I’m so grateful to know that
every time I take a bite, I’m tasting friendship.
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