What a mighty break it has been since our last installment in the Kitch Lit series. Turns out that perhaps absence really does make the heart grow fonder. My first foray back into the genre, Robin Sloan’s Sourdough, took me by surprise, delightfully so.
Simply stated, Sourdough is the story of robotics programmer Lois Clary who, after moving to San Francisco for a new job, learns the art of baking sourdough bread.
The city of San Francisco is in for quite a challenge in trying to win over Lois, a Michigan native. Mostly, it doesn't. But how could it? Her job at General Dexterity requires long hours - employees are known to sleep at the office – and, in turn, her social circle is limited to her coworkers who eat together at the Slurry table in the cafeteria. Slurry is the Soylent Green-esque food product meant to sustain life without the hassle – or enjoyment – of cooking and eating.
When Lois discovers Clement Street Soup and Sourdough, a most likely illegal restaurant operation run by two immigrant brothers, and her world opens up. Her order of spicy soup heals her weary soul and earn her repeated orders earn her the title of Number One Eater. When the brothers face imminent deportation, Lois, not entirely understanding her own motivation, agrees to keep their sourdough starter alive. As Lois begins to master caring for the often rebellious starter and transforming it into delicious bread she simultaneously begins a journey of self discovery.
That story may sound like, well, not much. And, before reading the first couple of chapters, I would have perhaps thought the same thing. The story lacks almost all of the usual narrative tropes that overrun the bookshelves. No romantic entanglements, family drama or treacly enlightenment. A simple, charming story unfolding enjoyably is in and of itself a treat. In Sloan’s hands, the story is elevated with a simple grace. His prose is superlative: descriptive without being too wordy, expressive without veering into the overly dramatic. Rather delightful.
Reading Sourdough reminded me of the shear joy of reading J. Ryan Stradal’s Kitchens of the Great Midwest. I went in with no preconceived notions and was rewarded with a story and writing that took me places I did not expect – as simple as those places may be. The kicker here is that I don’t like sourdough. But for a slice of Lois’ bread I would be willing to give it another chance.
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