I'm fascinated by things I don't understand (except for the mail system and factories, which actually make my mind melt), this list includes cults and the Amish, which I would never place in the same category other than the pleasure center of my brain.
Anywho, that was a longwinded write up to tell you this: While the world is on a sourdough journey, including across the street from me where Hannah is committing to becoming the world's greatest sourdough baker (and of course my own kitchen, where I'm pumping out 4 loaves of soft baked sourdough sandwich bread weekly), I'm busy making Amish happen.
I was introduced to Amish friendship bread over a decade ago, and I went HAM on it. I even looped in an ex-boyfriend who tried to impress with his own dedication to the craft, but instead irritated me beyond comprehension and accelerated the breakup that had been looming since day 1. But alas, that's another post.
Here's the long and short of this baked good:
it's Amish. It's friendly. It's not super healthy. It's low maintenance. It's delicious.
Where sourdough tends to be the hot, popular girl at school eager to selfie her newest outfits and nail art, Amish friendship bread is the nerdy kid sister who is hellahot under her turtleneck and transitions lenses*. You can make the starter easily and without guesswork, then all you do is squish the bag of it around for 5 days, feed it without having to weight anything, squish it around some more, then bake it. Baking day yields multiple measures of starter that you can share, hence the friendliness of it (or make like an extreme introvert and throw it away, OR make like an introverted 3w2 and keep all of it for yourself and smugly take care of multiple bags, make 100 loaves, and self-righteously drop them on friends' porches like it was nothing).
If you're looking for an alternative to artisan loafing, become Amish. Like quarantine me.
*this is not a personal commentary on Hannah's transitions lenses.