Today, I embarked on what can only be described as both a culinary experiment and an exercise in embracing chaos—I started a sourdough starter. This humble jar of flour and water now sits in its designated spot on my kitchen counter, silently bubbling away in what I hope will be the first step toward creating homemade bread. Its success is not guaranteed; this is, after all, a process that relies on bacteria and wild yeast behaving themselves—not exactly a foolproof team. But optimism is the cornerstone of any good experiment, and I’m choosing to nurture it. Part of why I decided to take this plunge is simple: food prices have skyrocketed to a point where I feel personally insulted every time I see the receipt. Bread, that most basic of human staples, is now priced as though it contains gold dust, forcing me to reevaluate its place in my budget.

Sourdough starters are fascinating in their ability to connect us with history, offering a tangible link to the culinary practices of generations past. Some starters, carefully nurtured and maintained, can be traced back hundreds of years, passed down from one baker to another like cherished heirlooms. Their longevity is a testament to the resilience of wild yeast and bacteria, which thrive when given consistent care and nourishment. Hell, when I asked my AI for conversion help the follow up question was what I named it. Hey, AI has its place if used properly.

These starters are often preserved by drying or freezing, allowing them to become dormant and remain viable for revival years, even decades later. Alternatively, they can be fed daily, ensuring their perpetual fermentation and vitality. Stories abound of families maintaining the same starter for generations, using it to bake countless loaves that carry the unique flavor profile of their ancestral environment.

Beyond families, some bakeries have become custodians of ancient starters, treating them as the cornerstone of their artisanal bread-making. These living legacies are celebrated not only for their rich history but also for the depth of flavor and character they impart to bread—a complexity that only time and tradition can achieve. However I do not know anyone who has a starter already established so I have to start a new one sadly. However that said let’s face it, there are usually reasons things stick around for so long, and that’s because they work.

To think that the simple act of feeding a mixture of flour and water could preserve something so enduring is awe-inspiring. The sourdough starter is more than a tool for baking; it is a living artifact, carrying with it the wisdom and flavors of the past into the present.

There’s another layer to my decision, however, beyond mere economics. It’s about health. The yeast used in most commercially produced bread these days has undergone so much processing that it barely resembles its natural ancestor. While it serves its purpose of making bread rise quickly and consistently, it hasn’t evolved alongside our bodies in the same way wild yeast has. This creates issues—notably for digestion—since our systems aren’t designed to handle the preservatives and additives that sneak their way into mass-produced loaves.

Real sourdough, the kind I’m attempting to make, relies on fermentation through wild yeast and bacteria. It’s a process as old as civilization itself and yields bread that’s not only simpler in composition but also easier for the body to break down. The beauty of it lies in its simplicity. Genuine sourdough contains just two ingredients: flour and water. That’s it. Unless, of course, you choose to embellish it with seeds, herbs, or other fancy add-ons, which remain entirely optional. Compare this to the supermarket “sourdough” varieties, whose ingredient lists often look like the contents of a chemistry set. I plan on doing cheese, garlic and butter once I have the basics down.

On top of being more natural, sourdough also boasts some promising health benefits. I’ve delved into the research—and by “delved,” I mean stumbled into a rabbit hole—and learned that sourdough’s fermentation process can reduce inflammation. The active probiotics created during fermentation can help with gut health, breaking down gluten and other potentially irritating compounds in ways that modern bread simply doesn’t. While I’m far from declaring sourdough a miracle cure, the evidence so far is compelling enough to make me hopeful. It’s fascinating to think that something as unassuming as bread could have such a positive impact on overall well-being. The prospect of creating something nourishing and beneficial from scratch feels both rewarding and wildly ambitious.

The inspiration for this undertaking didn’t spring entirely from my own imagination. Enter lady.sourdough, an Instagram powerhouse who makes sourdough look like both an art form and a science. Her videos are equal parts mesmerizing and intimidating, showcasing loaves with golden crusts and soft, airy interiors that are nothing short of perfection. Meanwhile, my starter looks like a sad bowl of thick pancake batter (it started out as a ball but apparently that is normal I was told), but I’m determined to follow her advice and see it through. She’s provided me with invaluable tips about hydration levels, fermentation timing, and even troubleshooting when your sourdough inevitably misbehaves (because it will—it’s practically a law of nature she shares her mishap if you go back far enough).

The world of sourdough is far deeper than I ever imagined, and her content has been a lifeline in navigating it. She has lots of stuff that is free and other things that have a cost to it. Which is ok, she gives the most important things free the rest you can learn on your own. It should be noted though that she does bake at a micro bakery level so her measurements are pretty precise, so a kitchen scale is handy. Oh and she makes more then just bread with sourdough, cookies anyone? Apparently that is a thing to! Who knew. I get the feeling there are going to be more food posts coming your way.

As I wait for the starter to show signs of life, I find myself reflecting on how this little jar might become a centerpiece of my culinary routine—or, alternatively, a fleeting experiment consigned to fond memory. The process demands patience, which is perhaps the most challenging aspect for someone accustomed to modern conveniences. Yet, there’s a peculiar joy in stepping back from the fast-paced, digitized world to engage in something as elemental as fermenting flour and water. It feels almost rebellious, a quiet protest against the instant gratification that permeates so much of daily life.

Beyond the prospect of a basic loaf, sourdough opens a door to an entire world of healthier, creative uses in the kitchen. From sourdough pancakes that boast a slightly tangy flavor to waffles that combine crispiness with a probiotic punch, the possibilities are vast. You can craft sourdough crackers that are perfect for snacking, offering an alternative to the overly processed varieties found in stores. Even pizza dough can benefit from the sourdough fermentation process, resulting in a crust that is not only delicious but easier to digest. And yes, sourdough cookies are indeed a thing—offering a unique combination of indulgence and natural fermentation benefits that make them stand out.

What’s truly fascinating is how these sourdough creations retain their health-promoting qualities. The probiotics and fermentation process reduce gluten content and enhance nutrient absorption, making these sourdough variations kinder to your digestive system. In essence, sourdough’s versatility isn’t limited to bread; it’s a gateway to reinventing other staples with a focus on simplicity and well-being. Thinking about sourdough as a base for diverse recipes has only deepened my excitement for this journey, and the thought of experimenting with twists like garlic-herb flatbreads or seed-studded crackers fills me with anticipation.

I’ve also taken this opportunity to dive into the science behind sourdough. The interplay between wild yeast and lactic acid bacteria is fascinating, a microscopic dance that transforms a lifeless mixture into a living, breathing culture teeming with activity. Each strain of yeast and bacteria contributes its own character, influenced by the geography, climate, and even the very kitchen in which it resides. In essence, no two starters are alike—each one becomes a snapshot of its environment, a unique fingerprint in the world of bread-making.

There’s a meditative quality to the routine of feeding the starter, observing its progress, and making adjustments as needed. It’s a process that forces mindfulness, a rarity in a world where multitasking is the norm. The thought of eventually slicing into a loaf—or flipping a sourdough pancake—that encapsulates days, even weeks, of care and attention is enough to keep me motivated, even when doubts creep in. Plus the fact I am picky about my foods this gives me another ingredient I like to work with. If I like it, only time will tell though there.

Admittedly, this venture into sourdough-making is a departure from my usual routine. Change is not something I embrace easily, particularly when it involves introducing an entirely new process into my daily life. Having both autism and ADHD—often referred to as AuDHD—means I approach change with equal parts resistance and skepticism. My default setting is to cling to the familiar, and sourdough-making, with its unpredictable fermentation times and need for constant monitoring, feels like a challenge designed to push me out of my comfort zone. And yet, here I am, fully committed. There’s something undeniably appealing about the idea of creating bread from scratch, even if it means navigating the quirks and chaos of this microbial experiment.

There’s also the undeniable financial aspect of this endeavor. Food costs have reached absurd heights, to the point where I’ve had to rely on my overdraft just to stay afloat. Bread, despite its simplicity, has become an expense that feels disproportionately heavy in my monthly budget. I’ve taken to using points and rewards programs to stretch my food budget as far as possible, but even those systems can only do so much. Sourdough, on the other hand, offers the promise of affordability. Flour remains one of the most cost-effective ingredients, and water—at least for now—comes free from the tap in an apartment. Plus dichlorination of the water I already know as I do this for my semi hydroponic plants so that is a well established process for me. If I can master this process, I’ll have access to fresh, homemade bread for a fraction of the price of store-bought loaves. The thought of reclaiming even a small piece of control over my grocery expenses is incredibly motivating.

So, the starter sits, quietly fermenting, while I oscillate between cautious optimism and mild apprehension. Will this experiment succeed? Will I end up with loaves of bread that rival those showcased on lady.sourdough’s Instagram? Probably not but hopefully I will have edible loaves like hers are. Or will my efforts culminate in nothing more than a failed science project destined for the compost bin, probably more then a few times knowing me? I can’t say for certain, but I’m willing to try. For now, I’m choosing to embrace the chaos, nurture the starter, and see where this journey takes me. Let the fermentation adventure begin.

Do you have any hints for me? Any recipes that you enjoy? If you eat sourdough period what do you like to have with it? So many questions in my mind and I must know. If that wasn’t clear already by my randomness with posts here. Oh and do you want progress photos on my starter as I go or on the things I cook? Let me know below.