Reviving Helga: A Stubborn Tale of Sourdough Resurrection

Reviving Helga: A Stubborn Tale of Sourdough Resurrection They say baking is a science, but I am convinced sourdough is witchcraft, which might I add normally I am good at. How else do you explain the delicate balance of flour, water, time, and a bit of sheer willpower that creates something so divine… or, in my case, something that seems determined to die on me? Meet Helga, our dearly departed sourdough starter. She was born with great promise, a bubbly, hopeful little thing, taking ten whole days to reach her prime. She gave us one glorious batch of bread—the kind that makes your family sing your praises and convinces you that maybe, just maybe, you were meant for this life. And then… she perished. Gone. Flat. Lifeless. No bubbles, no rise, no tangy scent—just a sad jar of pasty flour water mocking me from the counter. Now, any reasonable person would have accepted the loss and moved on to easier baking pursuits. But not me. No, I am far too stubborn to let a lump of fermented carbohydrates win. My family has tasted victory, and they want more. So here we are, four days into The Great Helga Reboot, armed with nothing but determination, a fresh bag of flour, and the faint, lingering scent of failure. The process is simple—mix, feed, wait, repeat. And yet, the emotional rollercoaster of keeping a starter alive is on par with raising a toddler. One day, she looks promising, full of air pockets and that signature tang. The next, she’s a flat, listless mess, and I’m questioning my entire existence. I whisper words of encouragement over the jar, hoping Helga 2.0 will feel inspired to rise. I contemplate whether this starter would benefit from a different feeding schedule, perhaps filtered water, maybe a warmer corner of the kitchen. I’ve even debated whether she needs a pep talk or a firm scolding. At this point, I’m one failed batch away from hiring a sourdough whisperer. And yet, despite the setbacks, I refuse to quit. Because when sourdough works, when it truly thrives, it’s magic. The smell of fresh bread filling the house, the crispy, golden crust, the chewy, tangy interior—it’s the kind of reward that makes all the trial and error (and inevitable existential crises) worth it. Will this be the successful time? Will Helga rise again, stronger than before? Only time will tell. But if not… well, flour is cheap, and I am nothing if not persistent.