I didn't want to get my heart broken again. I've been hurt too many times by bread. I've been hurt by starters that would never become sufficiently foamy, by doughs that sullenly refused to rise, by boules that baked into oversized hockey pucks.
As far as I'm concerned, one of the better things about our later pandemic era has been that it's become acceptable to go back to ignoring sourdough. Like everybody, I tried. And what I learned is that there is literally no way I can cultivate a jar of gray gloop with more nurturing attention than I've given most of my relationships.
