My pursuit of a slow living kitchen took a rather unexpected turn thanks to a truly epic baking fail. I was attempting sourdough bread for what felt like the hundredth time, convinced I was finally going to nail that perfect crust. I’d meticulously followed every step, channeling my inner grandma and patiently nurturing my starter. Only, I entirely forgot to set a timer for the final proof in the fridge.
I came back nearly 24 hours later to find… a science experiment. My beautiful, hopefully-soon-to-be-bread dough had more than doubled and was threatening to take over my entire refrigerator. It was a goopy, acidic-smelling mess. While I managed to salvage some of it (and bake what I generously call a “rustic” loaf), the entire experience forced me to re-evaluate my approach.
Before the Great Sourdough Incident of ’23, my “slow living” kitchen was more about aesthetic and less about, well, living. I was focused on mastering complex techniques and achieving picture-perfect results, ironically stressing myself out in the process. Now, I prioritize simplicity. I focus on recipes with fewer steps and ingredients, forgiving myself for “imperfections.” The disastrous sourdough batch was a smelly, gloopy reminder that it’s okay to slow *down* and not take the pursuit of the perfect homemade loaf so seriously. Has anyone else had a similar cooking mishap that changed their kitchen philosophy?