Beauty and the Yeast

my starter, a large portion b/c I couldn't bear to discard any

At this point in my sourdough story, I seem to have achieved neither beauty, nor yeast, nor great taste. This may be an exercise in learning my limitations, but a man's got to know his limitations, so Dirty Harry says (and I presume a woman should know hers, too) and so I proceed.

 My starter is rather soupy and not very promising looking, but my first batch of bread did rise in the oven. NB: I used mostly whole wheat flour (use all-purpose next time?) and I added only a pinch of salt. The resulting bread tastes like communion wafers, according to my husband and is inedible, according to my kids.


I actually enjoy eating it with lots and lots of butter. I've stiffened my resolve (stiffen being such a suggestive word, but I'm sticking with it firmly because it's hard not to find innuendo in lots of words) and disposed of some of the growing collection of starter. I've also expanded my research resources. I started with The Lost Art of Real Cooking, which is delightfully vague in its directions and made me feel sure I could at least try making sourdough. I've also looked in to what Ma would have done (Ma Ingalls, of course) in The Little House Cookbook and what Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall suggests in The River Cottage Family Cookbook. Now my challenge is to find a warm nook in my house for my starter to bubble and grow.