Before bread became a personality type, it was just magic — flour and water left alone long enough to come alive. This week we wade into the warm, slightly sour world of sourdough obsessives: the people who name their starters, mourn their deaths, and find something almost meditative in the rhythms of feeding, folding, and waiting. It's about bread, yes — but it's really about patience, ritual, and what happens when you slow way down.