R.I.P. Sourdough

My first sourdough of the year was a dud.

It was supposed to smell like fresh paint. It smelled like rotting citrus. Not good. I had to chuck the whole thing in the garbage.

Undefeated, I decided to bake my first loaf of bread. A Moroccan anise loaf, which I have made many times.

But the gods are angry with me for not taking better care of my sourdough. It is not in the stars for me to succeed in my first baking endeavor of the year. They seek to humble me.

I look for my baking sheet to discover I can't find it.

I open up the oven to check my oven thermometer, only to discover that it is covered in caked-on gunk.

I am out of whole wheat flour and semolina, which I need for this recipe.

I will not be deterred from my plans. I will bake bread! I substitute with rye and unbleached white and cornmeal.
The bread rises beautifully, gently. The oven is hot and the breads go in.

Unfortunately, the oven isn't hot enough (which I can't tell because my thermometer is kaput) and so all my bread is doughy and bland. Unpalatable.

But the crust is nice. I rip the crust from its doughy innards and toast it inside the still warm oven. I slather on butter and bite down.

This is all I wanted, all I needed. I spit in the eye of the bread baking gods. I will have my bread and eat it too.