Steffi came round for dinner Friday night. She shamefacedly admitted she’d killed her starter – she did a sourdough course with me several weeks ago. I couldn’t be angry with her – she had a bottle of finest pear schnapps in one hand and red wine in the other. Plus I didn’t believe her starter was dead.
To be fair, nothing looks deader than a starter that has been neglected for several weeks.
A lifeless putty-like mass covered with a layer a of grey liquid – you can understand that someone relatively inexperienced would think it was beyond redemption. So, while she and the remains of the bottle of schnapps are partying with friends down in Birmingham, all I I’ve had to do was pour off the liquid, scrape off the top layer and stir in equal weights of flour and water. That was Saturday morning.
It’s very hard to kill off a starter.