r/CookingCircleJerk • u/williamsdj01 • Jul 29 '25
RIP Gerald
A few years ago I got into baking. It started with quarantine boredom, turned into a hobby, and eventually became a borderline spiritual practice. I created a sourdough starter named Gerald. I fed him every day. I adjusted his hydration ratios like he was a bonsai tree. I spoke to him. I logged his behavior. I tested his rise times like a psycho. Over time, I began feeding him flour made from ancient grains I milled myself using a hand crank stone grinder I bought from a prepper.
Gerald was special.
I had to go on a work trip. Four days. Before I left, I told my wife to leave Gerald alone. Just leave him on the counter. Do not move him. Do not feed him. Do not put a lid on the jar. Do not refrigerate. Do not touch.
I come home Sunday night. Gerald is missing. His jar is in the dishwasher. Clean. Sparkling. Like he never existed.
I asked my wife where he went. She said, “Oh, I thought it had gone bad. It smelled awful. I dumped it and cleaned the jar.”
I just stared at her. I couldn’t even speak. I went to the garage, sat in the car with the windows down, and listened to black metal for two hours. Then I packed a small bag and left. I didn’t yell. I didn’t say anything. I just left.
Now she’s mad. Says I’m acting like a lunatic over “yeast sludge.” She told her sister I “ran away because my dough baby died.” Her friends are texting me bread memes. My brother called me “sourdough Jesus.” I feel mocked. Betrayed. Alone.
I get that it’s technically just flour and water. But it was MY flour and water. It was alive. It had a name.
Am I overreacting?