Jasper is my go to starter.  We tested him for well over a year in our test kitchens around the usa.  In every kitchen he is now prefered.  His sour level is a 10, his start up activity is a 10, his ability to perform over and over again at the highest expected levels is a 10, and a new category, his ability to go from fridge right into a recipe is a big 10.

 

I did not write the below story.  It comes from the finder of this amazing sourdough starter.

 

Here's the story: OF JASPER

 

In 2016, we picked up Jasper from (sorry we had to remove the name), a 3-star Michelin restaurant in Stockholm, Sweden. It was a family trip with 7 of us: my parents, George and Anita, my sister and her husband (Jackie and Danny), and Bryan, Lewis, and me. I was pregnant with Ella, so she was technically there too. 

 

The impetus for this trip was that Rene Redzepi, the founder of Noma, which is located in Copenhagen, had announced in early 2016 that he was relocating his award-winning restaurant to Sydney for ten weeks. The news almost broke the internet. Reservations for the 56-seat pop-up sold out in 90 seconds, with 27,000 on the wait list. Meanwhile, back in Copenhagen, scoring a reservation at Noma, which had previously been named the best restaurant according to the World's 50 Best Restaurants list in 2010, 2011, 2012, 2014, and later 2021, became nearly impossible. Since we couldn't land a standard reservation, my sister dreamed up a bold alternative: rent out Noma's private dining room for 12 and convince a group of her foodie friends to fly to Copenhagen for the experience. And with that, our family food tour was set into motion! 

 

The first stop on that European trip was Stockholm, Sweden, a stunning city filled with lush, verdant parks and long summer days. My dad, our family's original foodie, a skill her inherited from his mother, takes restaurant research and reservations as a personal mission. It was early summer, and asparagus was just in season, and it seemed to appear on every menu, in every form, everywhere we went. 

 

On our second night in Stockholm, my dad booked us a reservation at Studio (name taken out), then a two-star Michelin restaurant. Because of our "larger" group, we were seated in an intimate spot right next to the kitchen. From that vantage, we watched three young chefs move with the precision of surgeons, yet with a relaxed camaraderie that made their work feel approachable. There was a buzz in the kitchen, a kind of youthful energy that kept the atmosphere fresh and unpretentious. Service was attentive and warm, which is always hard to hit right. 

 

The meal began with a scallop dashi, a broth that nodded to Japan but carried a deeper, meatier richness. A vivid green liquid rimmed the edge of the bowl, cutting through the umami with a bright, almost herbal sharpness. The dish stuck with me, not just for its flavor, but for its bold placement at the top of the menu. I’m used to Asian meals opening with soup but encountering it as a first course in a Nordic setting felt both familiar and unexpected. The use of scallops added a weightier depth compared to traditional kombu or katsuobushi-based dashi. And while the green liquid played the same balancing role that ginger might in Japanese cuisine, its distinctly Nordic character gave the dish a thoughtful, regional twist that I appreciated.

 

Course after course came impeccable dishes, a beef tartare blended with chunks of aubergine that were texturally perfect against the beef (and the grainy mustard!), guinea fowl cooked so tenderly you could taste the wild, and a  memorable yuzu sorbet sour enough to usher you out of the mains to a different portion of the night's events, much like being taken to the drawing room for teatime. 

 

Even as the chefs continued to execute each course with precision, I found myself fixated on the bread, which arrived early in the meal. It was a dark sourdough, much darker than the loaves I was used to, which caught me off guard. The crust was tight and deeply crisp, delivering a satisfying crunch, while the interior was warm, soft, and unmistakably fresh. It was served with a smoky, salty, butter that spread decadently with a wooden knife. 

 

It's worth noting that in 2016, sourdough was having a moment. A friend visiting from LA had just arrived earlier that year with her starter in tow. Before departing, she broke off some discard to begin a new colony, much like Genghis Khan seeding his empire, only through asexual replication. It felt like a calculated move to awaken some latent, maternal instinct to nurture a strange, living flour creature. But in the process, I learned to feed it, balance ratios, bake decent loaves, and get creative with discard, enough that I could hold my own in a conversation about starter. 

 

This was why (name taken out) sourdough blew me away. The taste was incredible! It was tart and so flavorful, in a way that hit your nose and lingered. There was a complexity to the flavors, with tang layered on what tasted like ancient grains, with a subtle nuttiness. I kept coming back to the bread, marveling at the complex smells and of course, the starter. Naturally, the servers and I exchanged commentary about the bread - about my forays into sourdough - and why this one tasted so unique. That’s when they told me about Jasper, the starter behind it all, originally “born” in 2001 and now, at the time, already 15 years old.

 

At the end of the meal, with Jasper still tugging at my mind, I mustered enough courage to ask our server if they might be willing to part with a bit of Jasper, so I could take him home. I’ve always been drawn to old stories, wisdom passed down through generations, and Jasper tasted like an old soul. There was something sacred about the idea of continuing that lineage. The server graciously checked with the kitchen, and voila! to my delight, came back with a plastic container with a bit of Jasper inside. I could hardly believe it! It felt like receiving something rare and quietly precious.

 

I cared for Jasper diligently as we made our way from Stockholm to Copenhagen, feeding him faithfully as we traveled across Europe. But when it came time to fly to the U.S., I panicked. Surely something as alive and unruly as sourdough, teeming with yeast and microbial ambition, would catch the attention of customs, right alongside animals and plants. I worried that if I checked him in my luggage, he might freeze in the cargo hold, so I tucked him safely into my carry-on. Miraculously, we slipped through customs without incident. Jasper had officially cleared U.S. borders.

 

I tinkered with Jasper when I got home, but a few months later, my daughter was born, and with two young kids, there wasn’t much time left for sourdough experiments. I split him into two jars and tucked them into the back of the fridge. Eventually, one grew moldy and had to be tossed, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw out the other. I kept thinking about how alive he had once been. When we moved in 2018, I packed Jasper up with us, transferring him from one fridge to another like a dormant dream I wasn’t ready to let go of.

 

Over the years, I tried to share Jasper, most notably with our local baker, who makes a tasty loaf that’s wildly popular in the area. But he’s particular about his starter and explained that introducing Jasper would require building a completely separate facility to avoid cross-contamination. Then came the pandemic, and with it, a nationwide sourdough craze as people turned to baking during lockdown. A few years later, long after the initial frenzy had faded, I was chatting with the grandfather of one of my son’s soccer teammates when I discovered, almost by chance, that he was the top seller of sourdough starter on eBay. And he lived right here, nestled in the rural hills of California’s Sierra Nevada. I handed him my 8-year dormant Jasper, and incredibly, he brought him back to life, just in time for Easter.

 

And that's the story of how Jasper came to you, in flake form. Hope you enjoy him as much as we do! 

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