What I think about when I’m making sourdough

I was speaking to a mate a while back about Murakami’s What I talk about when I talk about running and how it had a big impact on him when he first read it. And when he revisited it more recently, it fell a bit flat and didn’t spark the same flames as last time. But it got me thinking and so a new series is born. Read the first story in the series here.

Conspiracy theories, like sourdough baking, thrive in times of uncertainty and chaos. In 2020, facing down the barrel of indefinite detention while the world scrambled to understand how to best manage a pandemic, I sought novel ways to distract my mind from the uncertainty that stopped the world. As so many of us did, I had grand plans to carpe every diem and finally do all those things work had obfuscated. I sought a lock-down appropriate escape from the demoralising pressure of finishing my book (more on that here) and the discomfort (and that’s all it was, like wearing not-quite-dried-yet underwear, stealing a wave hello from someone behind you or a slightly too tight skivvy) of being locked down.

It was a bit of a natural progression I guess. I fell for baking thanks to a lucky experiment baking a cake showed me how easy and delicious it was. I always thought baking was an exact science that punished even the slightest mismeasurement but it’s not the case. Natural Confectionary Company Sour Worms and Dinosaurs will always be the “Weeeey-oooo” to my sugar craving’s, “Well a boom, boom, boom, let me hear you say weeeey-oooo”. But there’s a special satisfaction tucking into still-warm chocolate cake.

As I scrambled for a hobby to give my days some purpose, Facebook Marketplace and (Facebook-owned) Youtube served up an algorithmic “miracle”. As Zuck would have it, there were hot, lonely sourdough starters in my area and a compelling short video that showed me what my sourdough should look like. It was a sign from the shadow lizard government running the world and putting microchips in vaccines. And who was I to disagree? The more research I did (yep, mainly watching Youtube videos like those other researchers at the time), the more I uncovered complex layers to making a good (and good looking) sourdough. I quickly fell for the novelty and nuance of maintaining a sourdough starter – like an edible Tamagotchi – and baking my own bread. It wasn’t until two years later that I worked out why.

A conspiracy theory is just a coping mechanism that’s been polished, rolled in glitter and renamed. A way for the aspiring conspiring theorist to self-soothe. A way to reassure themselves that because they understand the complex and implausible machinations (invisible to everyone else) behind whatever is causing the current chaos (pandemic, xenophobia, stolen elections, natural disaster, global recession, et cetera) they are in control. Of course, they’re not. And as a generalisation, thay are less in control than your average non-theorist simply because they refuse to acknowledge the unpleasant truth at the heart of all existential stress – so much in life is beyond our control.

Chaos, which also goes by its less scary name “change”, is a universal constant and that often creates questions we simply can’t answer. And that is scary. Sometimes really scary. Sometimes that unknown, that uncertainty is so scary the idea no one knows the answer is too much to handle and so they find an answer – never mind how implausible – and it feels good. It feels special to know the truth that so many billions of people are too stupid to acknowledge.

But why? Because we like being in control. Being in control makes us feel safe and powerful and brave enough to face up to life, which is a plaited braid made from chaos, stress, and the occasional deep breath of relief as something makes sense or goes to plan. The first loaf of sourdough I baked looked like someone dropped a bowl of porridge on the floor of a sauna and left it for a week. Like that one friend we all have, it wasn’t much to look at but was good company and warmed the room, if only for a moment. Even ugly loaves that don’t rise still taste delicious. They still taste sour and doughy and are a socially accepted vessel to ingest deplorable amounts of butter.

As weeks of lockdown uncertainty and mounting deaths gave way to hopeful vaccination and relatively early freedom (compared to those living in Melbourne), my sourdough bread became more consistent. More reassuring. Despite the chaos, confusion and conspiracies, baking sourdough made me feel in control. While the world froze and each country’s government agonized over how to best manage the pandemic and their people, I fretted over how to achieve better oven spring in my loaves. I set about developing and rolling out a roadmap to a sustainable baking practice so my bread could adjust to our new life in the “new normal”. I sought greater control and, by extension, greater comfort.

Eventually, life did return to normal for me. I caught covid and escaped with no complications. Weeks after clearing isolation, the Nothern Rivers Region’s third hundred-year flood in five years supplanted the Covid chaos. And in the unbelievable confusion that followed, Covid conspiracies were dropped as the community picked up shovels to help their neighbours while the Morrison Government watched on. Echoing the Covid deaths that already felt like historical statistics, and the silent death of Covid conspiracies, my sourdough starter died with a whimper. There was no uncertainty, no conspiracy, no complex and implausible reason for its death, I simply didn’t feed it for too many consecutive days to the point where it was no longer able to be revived. But it was okay. I didn’t need it anymore. The world’s collective chaos, the mass hysteria, and even the local trauma of the floods had released us and the usual cues – social and mass media, conversations with friends, baristas and bar staff – told us it was time to move on from discussing pandemics by simply not bringing it up – classic Australian stoicism.

The world was healing, growing like a sourdough starter. And sometimes, that is what I think about when I’m making sourdough.