Rebel Rule #1: Your starter works for you—not the other way around.
Some folks will tell you sourdough has rules. Rigid routines. Timers, temperature logs, and hydration ratios calculated to the decimal.
Not in this house.
I’m a rebel sourdough baker.
My starter—bless her bubbly heart—is named Bubbles, and she fits my life, not the other way around. Chronic illness has shifted my mornings. I’m not waking up at 5 AM to feed my starter like a farm wife from 1847. I rolled out of bed just before 10 this morning—later than I planned, but my body needed the rest.
And guess what?
That loaf still rose. That starter still sang. That bread will still be baked with love and eaten with joy.
I don’t chase hydration percentages. I go by feel—good ol’ Southern instinct, just like Mama taught me. This feed was a thick one. I’d used nearly all of Bubbles earlier in the week—saving just about 70g after whipping up sourdough discard waffles for our chicken and waffles night.
And when I fed her, I went a little heavy on the flour.
Why? Because I live in Texas, where the humidity is relentless and the heat rolls in like a preacher at a tent revival. Onsteamy days like this—when the air’s so thick it feels like you’re wading through soup and your bare feet stick to the kitchen floor—it’s all I can do to keep Bubbles fed and myself upright. A heavier feed stretches her a little longer, and on days like this, that’s exactly what we need.
Because around here, sourdough isn’t about perfection. It’s about peace. It’s about presence. And it’s about showing up with what you have, when you can, and letting grace do the rest.
Maybe with a side of waffles.
Simple Southern Mommy 