The art of
wild ferment

About me

What began as a way
to quiet my mind

I joined my first sourdough workshop during an emotionally charged period of my life, searching for something grounding to hold onto. That day, I came home with a bubbling jar of starter named Maya — and somewhere between flour, water, and fermentation, my mind became quiet again.

As I navigated personal changes and new identities, sourdough gave me focus. I watched dough rise at midnight, set alarms for 2am folds, obsessed over crumb structure, and found comfort in the slow rhythm of the process.

I've often heard that sourdough is equal parts science, art, and patience. But over time, I've realised it is also deeply emotional — a reflection of care, presence, frustration, joy, and state of mind. Some loaves fight you. Others surprise you. Some feel almost like healing.

I am still learning every day, and perhaps that is part of why I love it so much. Through this space, I want to share that process honestly: the beautiful bakes, the imperfect ones, casual gatherings, notes from the kitchen, and occasionally, a poem when a particular loaf moves me to words.