I've been working on something special, and thanks to a brilliant Hook-Look framework shared by a fellow Skool member,thanks @jason arnopp, I was able to shape it into something I'm genuinely proud of. So let me introduce you to Blub. Blub is my 15-year-old sourdough starter — born in 2011, and still rising. He's been with me through thousands of loaves, early mornings, and flour-dusted dreams. And now, he's ready to travel. Here's the plan: I'm drying Blub, crumbling him into little packages of potential, and sending him out into the world. To people I believe in. To curious home bakers who feel the magic of tradition. To anyone who's ever wondered how the very first bread was discovered. Nobody knows who baked the first bread in history. But we know who could help you bake yours. Blub has already been to Belgium, Thailand, Germany, and Switzerland. The question now is: where will he rise next? If you want to follow his journey — or maybe even become one of his ambassadors — stick around. Something beautiful is rising. 🥖🌍 Where would you like to see Blub travel next to?

😊Alright, dough-heads and crumb-chasers — let's meet the Brotherhood. Before we get into the flour-dusted chaos, let's break the ice. Three things I want from you: ❤️ Introduce yourself and share a pic of your workspace.Could be a bakery, a home kitchen, or just the sad corner where you burn toast at 2AM. No judgment. I've set fire to worse. 📊 Vote: what's the superior bakery pet? A) A cat that judges your lamination technique. B) A dog that "cleans" the floor flour. C) A sourdough starter you named and now have emotional attachment to. ❤️ Share your favorite movie, book, or travel destination. If you say *Ratatouille* we're legally required to be friends. --- I'll go first: I'm the guy who wanted a bike at fourteen and got a bakery job instead. Thirty years later, still no bicycle. My workspace is currently covered in enough flour to dust a small country. My starter is named Frank and he's moody. Favorite movie? Anything where the underdog wins. Favorite destination? My bed, which I never see. --- Your turn. Don't leave me hanging — I've cried alone in a walk-in freezer before and I'll do it again.

Blub, Benny, and the German Sourdough Trick My sourdough starter was called Blub. Blub. I didn't name him — my neighbor and best friend Benny did. Benny lives in Thailand. He's a chef. The kind of chef who doesn't just cook food, he understands it. The kind of guy who makes his own bread because supermarket bread is, in his words, "an insult to flour." Benny gave me Blub. Not just any starter — Blub came from a 15-year-old mother starter that Benny had been feeding since before I even knew what sourdough was. Fifteen years. That starter had survived moves, power cuts, tropical heat, and probably a breakup or two. Respect. Then Benny taught me something I'd never seen before. A German technique. He took his mature starter, scooped half of it out, and spread it thin across a silicone mat. Popped it into an oven that had cooled to about 50 degrees after baking. Left it there for half a day. The thin layer dried completely. He broke it into pieces, stuffed them into a sealed plastic bag, and threw it in the freezer. "That's it," he said. "Sourdough for life." No more daily feedings. No more guilt when you forget. No more funerals in the walk-in freezer. Just a bag of dried starter fragments, ready to wake up whenever you need them. I stood there, holding this bag of what looked like sourdough cornflakes, and felt like someone had just handed me the secret to immortality. Blub is still alive, by the way. Parts of him are in my freezer. Parts of him are in loaves across the city. Benny, if you're reading this — you're a genius and I owe you a beer.