The kitchen ritual that helps me and my family get through the pandemic

• Click to share on Facebook (Opens in a new window)
• Click to share on Twitter (Opens in a new window)
• Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in a new window)
• Click to email a friend (Opens in a new window)

EDITOR'S NOTE: Vanessa Hua is the author of the short story collection "Deceit and Other Possibilities" and the novel "A River of Starts". He is a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle and has written for many publications on Asia and the Diaspora. The opinions expressed here are those of the author. Read more opinion on CNN.

(CNN) - While in many parts of the country people are under orders to stay home, some people welcome dogs or cats.

Our family has adopted a sourdough bread.

Or rather, I put one in a glass jar, attracting it with a small piece of dough. It seemed unpromising, but patience would reward me, I hoped so. I texted my friend, a bakery expert, asking if she was supposed to look like Play-Doh or a little runny, like pancake batter. A firm starter is less sour, he explained. A thick one tastes more sour.

In sourdough language, there are firm versus liquid starters; the former has a mild flavor and the latter a bit of an acid taste. They are kept slightly differently.

Keep it in the fridge if you don't bake every day, added my friend, then refresh it for two days before using it for baking.

"Have fun!" She said to me.

The fun has been scarce for many of us, as we are concerned with how to protect ourselves and our families, how to juggle working from home while our children study at home. Even hiking is difficult, as we try to maintain social distance. If we see someone coming, I take my eight-year-old twin boys aside, reminding them to walk single file, to keep each other at least two meters apart.

I am not the only one trying to grow a sourdough during the covid-19 pandemic. Yeast is the new toilet paper for many. For weeks, we couldn't find any in stores; there are reports of shortages in supermarkets and on the internet. Eventually, the supply chain will catch up, but for now, I am taking care of my pet.

• An astronaut's advice to control anxiety from spending too much time in confinement

View this post on Instagram

#sourdoughpet chocolate birthday cake

A post shared by Vanessa Hua (@ mononoke97) on Mar 26, 2020 at 5:42 pm PDT

I've been exhausted, dejected by the death toll, worried about the doctors and nurses, the supermarket clerks, the delivery workers, and everyone on the front line.

However, my yeast gives me joy and excitement when I see it bubble. The bumps and craters on its pale surface resemble the surface of the moon. I inhale its bittersweet scent as it doubles and triples in size.

Every morning I feed two tablespoons of sourdough with equal parts flour and water. I feed sourdough, and so far, it has fed us with cookies, waffles, bread, my husband's birthday cake and more. The glass jar is in my office, away from sunlight, in the warmest part of the house, in these blustery first weeks of spring.

I showed the sourdough starter to my children, in an impromptu science lesson, one of many I've been preparing.

"It smells," said one, wrinkling his nose.

"Where did you get the yeast from?" Asked the other.

It's all around us, I said.

People can become very attached to their yeasts, forming a bond that endures through breaks, job changes, and multiple movements across the country. A friend who forgot his yeast recovered it by mail. Another friend fondly remembers the one she kept in her 20 most carefree years, a gift from her parents' neighbor, who had started it years before in another city.

View this post on Instagram

#Sourdough biscuits #sourdoughpet

A post shared by Vanessa Hua (@ mononoke97) on Mar 25, 2020 at 11:39 am PDT

Those days feel far away now. Even a couple of weeks ago it feels like another era, before and after the coronavirus forced us into our homes, and what once seemed like an amateur's obsession now feels more essential, vital. Maybe it always was.

They push me in a dozen directions at all times, but taking a minute to feed the yeast is a breather. It is a small measure of control, when both are out of control.

We have become so fearful of viral dangers that the natural world feels somewhat threatening. What other invisible risks circulate among us?

But Lactobacillus yeast is in our bread, our beer, and our cheese, a part of our homeland that shapes the way we've eaten for millennia. How simple our meals could be, without that flavor and fermentation. I've been thinking how long that yeast has resided in our mammalian guts, both co-evolving in a symbiotic relationship.

The sourdough starter also puts me in affinity with American pioneers, such as the Ingalls family of the Little House series in the late 19th century who feasted on what was in their limited stores.

With Isidore Boudin, the French immigrant who started producing his crisp breads in San Francisco during the Gold Rush, and to this day, that wild yeast lives on his baguettes, bagels, and bread bowls.

I also think of Tie Sing, a rural cook who fed a men's expedition in 1915 that would become the National Park Service. Every day, the Chinese-American made a new batch of dough that he wrapped and stored against a mule, the body heat of which helped the cookies rise in time for dinner. Ingenuity, using what we have, will take us through the next weeks and months.

So now and forever, sourdough starters have thrived. In a world where it has turned around so much, it is the kind of consistency I now need.

confinement