Doris...
This is her offspring...
Back in the days of us living in Ludlow my son and family came to stay. They loved my bread so much I offered them some starter, the equipment and Poppy's(me) guide to making sourdough. Now what I didn't know was mixed in the magic of this particular bread making was something mystical, which inadvertently was being carried back with them to York. He named his starter Fred and between them they went from strength to strength. From that day on my bread was a dead ringer for a frisbee tribute band, flat boring and definitely out of tune. So much so I gave up, resorting to making my normal yeasted bread. Disgruntled (not one to bear a grudge?) I carried on, between times we moved and life took lots of different turns, some good, some not so. All the while deep down I chuntered on about my son having nicked my sourdough crown. Each time they came I requested nay demanded a loaf which squirrel-like I froze and in only-child-like fashion I kept strictly for me! This obviously couldn't carry on; humble pie was eaten and an SOS went out to please bring me offspring of Fred on their next visit.
He arrived with the starter which he had named Doris, And more importantly a refresher course for the teacher by the pupil. A couple of weeks went by and my efforts were slowly improving, too slowly for me. Until yesterday when I finally feel I've cracked it.
