In a beautiful piece of writing, Alice Feiring honors her friend Joe by nurturing his sourdough starter. Joe passed unexpectedly, and on looking around his apartment—complete with laptop still open—Feiring requests one thing to take away: “The putty-colored slurry” in his near-empty fridge. Entwining it with her own sourdough starter, Feiring finds a way for Joe to live on. Making bread, she thinks of him, and the decades of friendship they shared.
The night I brought Joe-the-Starter home, I pondered whether I should keep him pure or blend him with my own. I went the sentimental route: I mixed us together, and as I poured his into mine, I remembered our last trip together. Six weeks before his unexpected death, Joe orchestrated a return to Flat Rock for a long-overdue reunion. Call it our version of The Big Chill. This was Joe’s first foray into the world after the pandemic shutdown, and it had been a full 20 years since we were all in that sacred spot. Some came from Ohio, others from New York and New Jersey, everyone laden with all sorts of provisions. Of course, I did what I do. As someone who has written about wine and its culture for the past thirty years, I brought more bottles than we could possibly drink. And Joe and I both brought loaves.
More picks on grief
I Rewatch “Gilmore Girls” to Remember my Stepfather
“I find echoes of the man who raised me every time I watch the iconic mother-daughter show.”
Center of Gravity
“Sometimes, the center of gravity lies outside the body.”
The Cat Who Woke Me Up
“Even though my brain is confused and I’m struggling, always struggling, to see if my writing is good, I still want to write. And the writing that matters the most to me isn’t about Alzheimer’s. It’s about a cat.”
Blood-Blue Sky
“How horseshoe crabs and ecological grief connect with the wonders of the human heart.”
Death, Divorce, and the Magic of Kitchen Objects: How to Find Hope in Loss
“As they pass through different hands, cooking utensils can magically connect us to loved ones who are no longer with us.”
Losing My Dad in Installments
“Back then, it felt easier to say goodbye to each part of him as they left.”
