Riding downtown on the A train one day, I sat across from an ancient couple with weathered wrinkles creasing lines into loose skin of molasses hue. They were dressed like dust bowl apparitions; he held a beaten suitcase on the knees of pressed slacks, hugging it with threadbare jacket arms; she wore Sunday clothes and sagging knee-highs. As the train bounced and rocked he dozed and she watched the stops pass. I stared, mesmerized by the vision of ghost visitors from the twentieth century. As 125th Street approached, she readied herself, then rose as the doors opened, then turned and called to him, “Come on, Anthem” before they left, holding each other up. The image stuck with me; I held it like a pocket watch, turning it in my hand, wallowing in the mystery of antiques. Old things, trades, and remnants, like cellar holes, are grounding, they give context to current days. I came home and shared with Julie what I had seen, and a few weeks later our second girl arrived. We named her Anthem Rainey in honor of old things and Raineys.

In the blink of a sleepless eye, Clementine was soon able to crawl, stand, walk, and talk, and it wasn’t long before she wanted in on what I was doing in the kitchen. She would toddle into the room, knowing that something in that bowl, hidden from little eyes, needed helping. Mixing sourdough cultures is perfect for little hands, eager with muck-lust for flour, batter, paste. She became a solid partner in the kitchen before she was even three. I would put a measured portion of culture in a large bowl with tepid water, allowing her to squeeze and agitate the mixture until it was frothy before following with the flour portion. We were a good team.

I was inspired by the wonderful breads at Balthazar Bakery in New York and, in particular, its signature loaf, which included dark beer in addition to water for hydration. Bread and beer have been in cahoots since the earliest days of bread making. Excavations at Egyptian sites clearly link beer, bread, and antiquity. You don’t see many breweries and bakeries under the same roof anymore. I doubt either side got any work done with that arrangement, but I do think that beer—or “liquid bread,” as some of us call it—is a wonderful thing in my mouth, my hand, or my bread. Here’s one way to do it.