Sourdough starter from a past mentor,
recipe from my cousin,
a dipping oil with vinegar and spices from my roommate's stash and expertise,
and my fresh loaf.
Me and her standing in the kitchen at 6:30 pm eating warm pieces of bread from the same slice in content, giggly silence.
This is exactly how I pictured adulthood. Me and my bread that took a village, enjoying it with people I love. This was such a simple yet profound experience, that it was basically religious in my half dark kitchen. I'm in love with my life.
