I have a long and sordid history with sourdough starters. I adore sourdough bread and have been trying, for what seems like for-ev-er to get my own starter growing in the kitchen. The first one died a sad, smelly, pink, bacteria-filled death. The second was literally eaten by the dog (ew). The third and fourth attempts, even with the additional watchful eye and helpful hand from a handsome gentleman failed miserably. I thought we were destined to live a life without that wonderful tangy goodness in our lives.
And then the clouds parted, the angels sang, the heavens aligned and Justin was seated next to a generous sourdough-loving, starter-possessing couple at a church function not too long ago. He told them our sad sorry tale and a few weeks later they brought us our very own jar of deliciousness to church.
Now we have an overflowing jar of sourdough starter in our refrigerator, sourdough pancakes in our bellies, and our third loaf of bread just came out of the oven. Life is good.