A Very Sketchy (and Successful) Sourdough Reunion

This sourdough starter actually began its life in my kitchen.

Before we moved across the country, I shared it with a friend back East—one of those quiet, meaningful handoffs that feels a little like passing along a family recipe. When we packed up and drove west, I tried to bring my original starter with me. Ten days in a car, desert heat, long nights… she didn’t make it. Somewhere along the way, she was lost, and once we arrived in Arizona, I started fresh with a new starter and kept baking.

Fast forward to the holidays.

I was back East visiting, and my friend still had her starter—the one that originally came from my kitchen. Strong, bubbly, very much alive. It felt like running into an old friend you didn’t expect to see again 🍞

So, we did what any reasonable sourdough people would do: we dehydrated her.

She went into a baggie. The baggie went into my carry-on. I boarded a plane with an unmarked pouch of flaky beige powder that looked… suspicious at best. Airport security asked no questions. I did not volunteer information.

Back home in Arizona, I rehydrated her slowly, fed her patiently, and waited. And just like that—bubbles, movement, life. Against all odds, she made it west.

There’s something comforting about that kind of return. A reminder that good things can pause, travel, even disappear for a while—and still come back to life when given care and time.

Taylor Sift has officially returned to my kitchen, and she’s already baking loaves here in the desert. Proof that some things are worth bringing back—even if the journey is a little sketchy.