I want to tell you about a sentimental potato-based sourdough yeast sponge.

But first I need to tell you about a chair…

Like most girls, when I was little I had a miniature doll set. Most of the pieces were correct to scale, but I did have a few random pieces that were too big for the “world”. One of those random pieces, was a small grey living room chair. It was purchased separately and was too big to really fit into the fantasy, but I loved the markings on it, and I smiled each time I looked at it. So no matter what anyone else said, it stayed in the set, and we played and played.

Time went on, and I grew up, eventually giving away different parts of the doll set until it was basically gone. It’s funny how I ended up keeping the “odd” pieces, though. And of course I kept the chair. It was thrown into a box marked “special things” and over the next few years, it was moved around in the basement of my parent’s house. That chair became one of those possessions you forget about until a day comes when you open a box and suddenly you are flooded with beautiful memories from your past. And that would have happened to me someday in the future, but my brother had a different idea.

One night, my brother and his wife invited all of the family members over to their new home for dinner. So, from different parts of the state, we all made our way up to his home, bringing our assigned dishes and gifts for the impromptu house warming. Sitting down for dinner, I was admiring the decor when my eyes caught the trinkets on the center piece of the dining room table. Placed among a bunch of random items was my little grey living room chair. As if he was watching me, waiting for me to see it, my brother spoke through a wide eyed grin, “You see your chair there, Carole?”

Feeling a bit confused as the memories of playing with that chair started rushing back into my head, I answered, “Well, yes. That’s my chair. What is it doing here?”

He said, “Well, I know how much you liked that chair.”

Thinking of how many times, as a young girl I had told him not to touch that chair, I said, “Yeah. So what is it doing here?”

He continued, “I remember many times playing with you and those toys. Do you remember when I wanted to use that chair for my batman action figure?”

Re-living that moment, I answered, “Yeah. And I said, ‘Absolut-’”

“You said, ‘Absolutely not!”” He had interrupted my dramatic point. “You were serious about that chair!” he said, smiling at me. Then, he looked over to his wife and said, “You wouldn’t believe how serious she was about that chair!”

She smiled, and I could tell that she had heard this story before.

He started passing the food around the table, so I took this moment to really study the center piece. I noticed a bottle cap, a key, a hair barrette, a match box car and a few other items that together could all be found in any kitchen junk drawer. But there was an order to the placement in the center of his dining room table.

The questions came bubbling out before I could think to hide my judgement, “What is this about? How did you get my chair, and why is it in the center of the table?”

Still smiling, he said, “Well, I’ve had the chair for a while. I found it in a box when you went off to college.”

I corrected him, “You mean you went through my personal things and decided to take whatever you wanted since I was ‘off to college?’”

His smile started to fade, “Well, you were gone, and the chair reminded me of you.”

Missing the deeper point, I continued throwing words at him from my place of righteousness. “I didn’t give you permission to go through my things, Ben.”

“I know.” he answered looking down. “But the chair reminded me of you. I know it’s your chair. It still is your chair.”

“How is it my chair when you took it and made it your own? I didn’t even know you had it all this time!”

There was a long moment of silence while I tried to find a way to forgive the obvious thievery so that we could still have a nice dinner. I took a deep breath, and leaned over to try to grab my chair from the rest of the trinkets.

My brother, without raising his head said softly, “I knew how much it meant to you, Carole. That’s why I kept it all these years. It felt like a part of you was with me, even though you were away.”

I slowly pulled my arm back to my body and sat down in my seat.

He raised his head, and went on to explain in more detail. “See, all of these items belong to people I love. Normally they are kept in a box, or a drawer. Each time I’d randomly come across them, I’d stop and think of the owners of these items and I’d smile, or I’d say a prayer for them, or I’d pick up the phone and call to check on them.”

He had moved passed my rebuke, and was lost in the feelings and memories the trinkets were bringing back to him. The smile returned to his face as he said, “And now they are all here as the center piece of our dining room table where I can look at them, and honor them.”

The excitement in his voice was growing as he explained a little more about each item. He picked up a few trinkets and told us about the friends connected to them. “… but they aren’t MY items.” he said, adamantly. “They still belong to each person.”

That’s the part I didn’t understand. He had my chair all this time, but it was somehow still mine? He must have read my face, because he quickly answered my thoughts, “So, if you want your chair back Carole, you can take it. But I’d like to keep it here, in my home, as a reminder to you more than me.”

“What do you mean, ‘a reminder to me?’” I asked completely confused.

He picked it up, and looked at me with an expression only my baby brother could give me.

“Well,” he said, “no matter where you go, I want you to remember that you will always have a chair in my home.”

I can still see his face as he held up the chair, waiting for my reaction to his loving joke. And after he passed away, I took the chair back into my possession as a reminder of that gesture. After all,  he said it was still my chair. And now it represented a special connection that I never want to forget.

This brings me to the potato-based sourdough yeast sponge.

A yeast sponge is a bubble-filled mix of flour, water and yeast used as the starter for baking many types of rich tasting breads.

The year my brother passed away (a few weeks before, as a matter of fact) I made my first yeast sponge to be used for all the festive baking of the Christmas holiday. I had studied and learned as much as a person could learn through Google and websites, and I was finally ready to try it out. I made my sourdough sponge with a potato base because I love the sweeter taste of potato bread.

Over time, the sponge aged, developing a richer, more sour flavor. When that happened, I’d refresh the sponge with a new potato base. I already know what you’re thinking, “But that defeats the point of a sourdough sponge.” And maybe you’re right. But this “potato refresh” practice was perfect for the type of bread I wanted to create and enjoy.

And with every refresh, I was able to give part of the sponge away to friends and family, who in turn gave part of theirs away to friends and family. After a while, that sponge was spread out across the country, shared in so many homes of the people I loved.

The idea behind this “sponge sharing” was the connection it created between all of us. It was right up my brother’s alley to share something like this with the special people in my life. And he was so excited the first time I presented each member of our family with the message of “connection” through their own jar of my potato-based yeast sponge.

“So remember,” I said with a Ben-like grin on my face, “No matter where you are when you sit down to eat this bread, we are all connected. It will be like we’re breaking bread together!”

The corniness was almost too much to take. But my family loves the corn. And we all laughed and smiled at the thought of breaking bread “together” even though we’d physically be apart.

After Ben passed, I kept that sponge going. Each time I refreshed it, I took special care not to kill it because it represented more than a yeast sponge to me. It was connected to that last Christmas with my brother. It was his “chair” in my home. And that sponge survived for several years.

But last December, we moved our entire family to Minnesota in the middle of the worst recorded winter in 30 years. During that move, I accidentally lost the sponge. It was one tough moment when that reality set in. So, I decided to stop making bread completely, and try out a new hobby.

For over six months I tried not to think about that sponge. I didn’t want to ask my mother or sister if they were still using theirs. I just wanted to forget the whole thing. But the idea of it was too special. So, when summer came to Minnesota, I decided to start fresh, and together with my children we planted potatoes. The idea behind the effort was to use some of the harvested potatoes to make a new sponge. I thought, it could be a “Minnesota Fresh Start” sponge.

I started to feel better, and with that new feeling came the ability to talk about it. One day, the kids were on the phone with their grandparents discussing their abundant potato harvest, when the inevitable question came up, “What are you going to do with all those potatoes?”

We had committed some of the harvest to fries, and some to chips. And in the pause that followed that declaration, I couldn’t help but say, “I also plan to use a few to make a new potato sponge.”

My mother-in-law said, “Oh, like the one you gave me a few years ago?”

It still kind of hurt to think about it, so I answered her reluctantly, “Yes, like the one I gave to you a few years ago.”

I wanted to change the subject, but she quickly said, “You know, I still have mine. It’s right there in the back of my refrigerator.”

Did I hear her correctly? She still had the sponge? That meant the connection was still alive! What? It was too wonderful to believe, so it couldn’t be true. But it was true. She had the sponge, and she gladly gave it back to me so that I could make that connection again.

And that brings us to today.

Today, full of too much emotion to quantify, I baked a loaf of bread using a blend of our “Minnesota Fresh Start” sponge, and the sponge directly connected to the bread my brother ate with me that last Christmas we spent together.

I can’t describe to you how it felt to take that first, warm bite.

The steam was rising from the loaf, carrying with it that unmistakeable smell connected to so many memories of holidays at home with my family.

I thought of my brother Ben, and that little chair he kept with him to “keep me close” for all of those years.

I thought of all of the people who were a part of the sponge sharing project we started together so long ago. In a strange way, I was thankful that I had lost the first sponge. Without that loss, I might never have made a “Fresh Start.”

And I thought of the value of keeping a real connection alive between you and the people you love.

I closed my eyes to savor the taste, and I could see my brother’s big smile across his wonderful face.

And I smiled… grateful for this moment.