Maybe it wouldn't change my life-unlike Lois, I don't see myself having the wherewithal to construct a bread oven in my backyard, or wake up early enough to consider baking as a sustainable career-but after reading Sourdough, I'm convinced my life would become just a little more magical. And like baking bread, its quirky details (a secret, experimental farmers' market a club for only women named Lois an eccentric culinary librarian who collects stacks and stacks of old menus a sourdough starter that's a little bit Little Shop of Horrors) work together to create a work that's greater than the sum of their parts.įor days after I finished the book, I found myself looking up from my laptop and towards my sad, New York City kitchen (an oven that only works half the time no counter space) and wondering what might happen if I could bake bread.

Like baking bread, the process of reading it is where the true pleasure lies, not the end result. But Sourdough is less of a mystery to be solved than a joyful unfurling of its strange and inviting world, one almost like ours, but a bit more zany. And then she discovers something else: This starter, which needs music to bubble happily and creates loaves of bread with strange faces baked into them, isn't like other starters.

Lois, who works at a company that creates industrial robotic arms, quickly discovers how satisfying it is to create something using her own arms, fulfilling some human need she hadn't even realized had gone unfulfilled. This is the realization that San Francisco engineer Lois Clarry has in Sourdough, when she inherits a mysteriously potent sourdough starter from two brothers she orders delivery from every night. You combine ingredients that you've had sitting in the pantry all along-nothing in my hat, nothing up my sleeve-and by stirring them in the right ratio and plopping in the oven, you've turned inedible, tasteless powders into bread. Baking has always seemed a form of magic to me.

Sourdough by robin sloan