Great Expectations

Here is the dough lovingly made from my homemade Sourdough Starter.  I babied it.  I stirred it every day for a week and thought of the day warm Sourdough would come out of my oven.  My kids love Sourdough.  They could eat it every day.  They will love me and declare me the best mom ever for making this.  I will feed my starter and make sourdough bread, waffles and pancakes often. 

Here is the bread that came out of the oven.  I baked it on a baking stone as directed.  I turned down the oven temperature after 10 minutes as directed.  I set my timer and took it with me when dropping off the girls at a church activity.  Rushing home to take my precious bread out of the oven.

Here is the mouth-watering bread sliced up and ready to eat.  There is nothing better than the aroma of fresh bread hot from the oven.

Here is the bread's new home.  In the outside freezer next to the chocolate chips and edamame (underneath 4 gallons of ice cream).  The bread was awful.  How can homemade bread be awful?  I didn't think it was possible.  How did this happen?  It had zero taste whatsoever.  Glenn agreed, the kids agreed.  No one liked it.  It didn't hurt my feelings.  I was proud of them for recognizing bad bread when they had it.  That 1 Tablespoon of sugar should have tipped me off.  How can 1T possibly be enough for 2 huge loaves of bread.


This bread will be used for french toast.
The starter will be thrown away.
I will be normal and buy my Sourdough from now on.
I will justify my fail by telling Glenn that  in order for true Sourdough to turn out I need to live right by the salty water on The San Francisco Bay.
My kids will ask for the next 10 years when we're moving.
We might be moving.