Full disclosure: beyond being a beautiful image, my first sourdough starter was an epic fail. It never began to bubble or rise. It never started.

So too many of my initial naive thoughts about what this pandemic pause might be: the perfect opportunity to organize, to “make a plan” for the days and weeks to come. Things fell apart pretty quickly: while cleaning my closet I discovered I owned 13 cream coloured and 15 black turtleneck sweaters. I texted my boyfriend. “I think this is a problem,” and because he is a wise ass, his response was, “I think you have some shopping to do.”

There comes the moment when you realize your pandemic flexing is over, when you come to terms that binding oneself to busyness is merely an attempt to not be overwhelmed by the waves of sadness, fear and even rage. There is nothing perfect about a pandemic, except the perfect moment, the only moment to get quiet, and to find grace in all that we do have, what it is we can embrace, and all that even in times of isolation, we still have something essential to offer.

I think that’s why I cook, because at least a recipe “offers the solace of a plan. follow the steps, measure carefully, and even the worst failures are minor and contained.” (Molly Fischer)

Now more than ever, it is critical to be honest with ourselves ~ to welcome our feelings, neither as successes or failures, but merely to honor where we stand. Regardless, we are still here.

So here is my second confession: I purchased a live sourdough starter from breadtopia because clearly a pandemic was not the time to pretend I am a scratch homesteader. Hopefully this second start will be a trace, a taste of remembrance of what I did, when I could seemingly do nothing. A return to what I know, what I have always known, my recipes for (re)collection.