In Memory of Herman: A Sourdough Tragedy

Three weeks ago, Marcus discovered sourdough. He named his starter Herman, set daily phone alarms for feeding time, and started talking about “Herman’s needs” like he was discussing a newborn. I watched this man research hydration levels and gluten development with the intensity of someone defending a PhD thesis.

The pride before the fall. Herman was producing… bread-like objects.

Herman produced… let’s call them bread-adjacent objects. Dense. Flat. Occasionally edible if you were very hungry and very forgiving. But Marcus was so proud of each loaf, taking photos like he’d birthed them himself. The kids started asking for “regular bread” from the store, which Marcus took as a personal attack on Herman’s honor.

Then came the work sprint. Marcus got buried in a project deadline and forgot to feed Herman for four days. FOUR DAYS. When he finally remembered, Herman had gone to the great bread bowl in the sky. The smell was… memorable.

In Memory of Herman: A Sourdough Tragedy

So naturally, Marcus held a memorial service. In our kitchen. Sophie and Theo sang “Amazing Grace” while Biscuit ate the last loaf of Herman’s legacy. Marcus said a few words about gluten development and letting Herman’s spirit live on in future baking endeavors. I stood there with my phone, documenting my husband’s complete break from reality, and thought: this is exactly the man I married.