The Sacred Life of Bread by Meghan Murphy-Gill

Author:Meghan Murphy-Gill [Meghan Murphy-Gill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781506482248
Publisher: Broadleaf Books
Published: 2023-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Recently, I pulled a dormant sourdough starter from my fridge. The hooch, the alcoholic byproduct that the yeast secretes after eating the sugars in the flour, had turned a murky, seawater gray. I poured off the liquid and stuck my nose into the wide mouth quart jar for a sniff test. The scent of it was a bouquet of charred oak, vanilla, and springtime. A memory was triggered and I was immediately sent on a journey to my favorite neighborhood pub, a Belgian-style bar that serves hot buttery mussels in broth with half baguettes and a piping hot frites, served in a paper cone with miniature cups of thick, garlicky aioli. Things just smell ferment-y there, in the best possible way. Life bubbles away vigorously in this pub, in the beer, in the bread, in the people who gather.

I recalled an afternoon when I left work early for a haircut and then, with freshly trimmed bangs, made my way to this sacred watering hole for a bite and a pint before the after-work crowd filed in. The air would be vibrating with the din of conversation in just a few short hours, but it was quiet for now. A couple in the corner leaned their heads together as they pored over the extensive menu of draft and bottle beers, occasionally coming up for air to take in the vintage signs. My husband and I spent ten childless years seeking out the best and most beloved off-the-beaten-path watering holes when we traveled, and there was a likeness to the couple that I recognized. I guessed that they were not from here but adventurers from another neighborhood, state, or perhaps even country.

I’m not a heavy drinker. I cannot have more than two of anything without suffering the consequences for a full day or two afterward. I love to quaff a crisp lager on the hottest days and sip fine wine while indulging in a good novel. Cocktails made bright with citrus and a salt rim, unmixed spirits poured straight into a glass, dark and brooding. This may scandalize the Methodist teetotalers I know and love, but I believe all these beverages offer a taste of heaven, most especially when quaffed not at home but in a bustling pub. I blame the fermentation that made them possible and also the presence of others, whether squeezed in snug as sardines into a corner booth, with friends perched at a bar top, or alone with my book, imbibing and eating. Breaking bread in the presence of others, being together, sharing stories, surrounded in a cloud of conversation is sacred space. Here is another altar of transformation.

Should it be any wonder that I’m sent to that altar simply by smelling my dormant sourdough starter? Even dormant, it is alive, always beckoning me back to a practice that I love and that changes me, even if I have set it down for a while.

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