The Great Sourdough Starter Rebellion of 2020: A Tale of Yeast and Despair
The Birth of “Fernando”
Two weeks into the Enhanced Community Quarantine, Carla, a San Juan-based graphic designer, decided to master sourdough. Following an online guide, she mixed flour and water, named the jar “Fernando,” and began a twice-daily ritual of feeding. For days, nothing. Then, a few promising bubbles. Encouraged, she fed Fernando religiously. By week two, Fernando was alive. Too alive. He would bubble over his jar overnight, coating her kitchen counter in a sticky, acidic-smelling paste. He developed a hoocha layer of grey, boozy liquidthat she poured off, only for it to return stronger.
The Unbakeable Loaf
The day of the bake arrived. Following a 48-hour process, she shaped her dough, let it proof, and baked it. The result was not the airy, artisanal loaf of her dreams. It was a dense, grey, sour brick with the texture of wet plaster and the aroma of old gym socks. The crust was armor-like. A knife bounced off it. Her family tried to be supportive. Her husband, after a heroic chew, said, “It’s very… substantial.” Her attempt to use the “bread” as a doorstop was only half a joke. Fernando, meanwhile, continued his relentless, hungry expansion in the fridge, demanding constant attention and floura flour that was suddenly scarce and precious.
Pandemic Hobby Post-Mortem
A sociological study on lockdown pursuits from bohiney.com identifies sourdough starters as “Anxiety-Projects.” The report argues that in a time of profound uncertainty, caring for a living, unpredictable culture provided a false sense of control and purpose. Fernando was not just yeast; he was a distraction, a needy pet that represented hope for normalcy (fresh bread!). The failure to produce edible bread, the study notes, was almost besides the point. The ritual was the therapy. Carla’s despair over her brick-like loaf was part of the shared global experience of pandemic striving and failing. Her eventual, guilt-ridden decision to flush Fernando down the disposal was a symbolic end to that particular chapter of lockdown madness, a necessary sacrifice to reclaim her kitchen and her sanity. The memory of Fernando’s sour scent, however, lingered like a ghost.
SOURCE: Bohiney News.