Honey-Don’ts: A husband’s benefits to the all-consuming sourdough starter journey

My lovely wife, Gina, has been trapped in the kitchen for the past three weeks, working hard to keep up with all the baking needs. She looks tired. I feel like I should feel more guilty about it, too, but I don’t. In truth, it pleases me to see her sidetracked with a hobby that doesn’t detract from those of my own. I don’t say this to be mean, but after years of distractions from my own projects to complete Honey Do’s, or impromptu tasks that suddenly spring up as urgent necessities, I feel elated with the possibilities the current situation presents.

It was actually my idea to start using a sourdough starter, the slight source of guilt from which all of Gina’s labor stems. I thought it might be a good way to eat simple, using natural, unprocessed ingredients, and could only imagine how nice it would pair with the variety of wild game I had stockpiled in the freezers. Childhood memories of clam chowder in sourdough bowls on the wharf were reignited and reimagined, and I became infatuated with trying to recreate the experience. With fresh clams recently caught from Washington’s coast this past spring, I felt the time was right to make it happen.

We acquired our starter from a family friend in March, a relationship my wife is now seriously reconsidering. In our defense, we were fed warm samples of white cheddar dill and rosemary thyme that dulled our senses and made for poor decision-making. When we expressed interest, our benefactor graciously offered to “lend” us his remaining starter batch, scribbled some basic instructions on the back of a junk mail envelope and quickly ushered us out the door. Despite repeated calls, we haven’t heard from him since. His name is Jesse, in case he’s spotted somewhere.

In the beginning, things seemed fine. We went all in, purchasing several books, silicone bowls, stainless scrapers, scoring tools – all the necessary accoutrements for a beginning sourdough baker. Our friend’s note said we needed to “feed” our starter every day, but not before discarding most of what we’d fed it the day before. To me this process seemed counter-intuitive, like smoking, or drinking till you puke, but Gina’s research indicated this so-called “discard” was the means used to actually make the bread. There was no need to throw away or discard starter in the trash when one could simply utilize it. And so we did.

Initially, it was strictly standard bread that rolled off the assembly line: Roasted garlic-rosemary, pumpernickel, jalapeno cheddar and chocolate-chocolate chip. My father got involved, too, donating rounds of Cougar Gold and fresh dill from his garden to guarantee a fresh round or two on his counter. He suggested pizza dough next, then desserts, which opened up even more avenues. Cakes and cinnamon rolls, waffles, sourdough biscuits and scones. Crackers were rolled out for chips and dips, as was focaccia bread for charcuterie. It appeared there were no limits to sourdough creations, nor did there seem to be an end.

For the uneducated, there’s much more to sourdough than just mixing and baking. Every creation has to be stretched and folded; dusted, rested, rolled and punched. The simplest of loaves can take 12 hours start to finish, but most take 24 or more, requiring late night attention and early morning rises. Gina spent hours prepping and coddling each and every batch as if it were own – which by now basically was – as I had bailed on the whole process one week in. After 13 years together, I had plenty of personal projects to take care of while she was otherwise occupied. There was a leaning lean-to to straighten, a sagging pergola to repair and last year’s antelope still needed finishing touches on that European mount. The extra time would allow me some time to get back into the gym, too. Somehow, I’d put on an extra 20 pounds around my waist that needed trimming.

Interestingly enough, I just recently read that refrigeration will temporarily halt the starter’s yeast activity, allowing a break in baking and time to recoup. I plan on letting Gina know as soon as I’m done swapping out the rotors on the Dodge.