spicy soup, skunky beer, and our weekend is off to a great start

It was a cold and rainy day. I decided to shuffle my week's menu a bit and make some hot soup a few days early. Homemade soup and homemade bread... yum.

Not sure what I did, but somewhere between not using quite as much ground beef as I usually do, and I guess more red pepper flakes than I usually do, it came out a little on the spicy side. Okay, a lot on the spicy side. I added way more sugar and it still made my nose run within the first bite. So it was hot. We all ate it, but with lots of beverages alongside.

And I made beer bread. Super easy (just 2 cups of self rising flour, 1/2 cup of sugar and a bottle of beer) and it smelled soooo good. Actually eating it, it was a tad bitter, definitely an odd aftertaste, but it was pretty yummy with the soup. I assumed I just chosen the wrong beer to use. I went for the only thing that was room temperature, a New Belgium Skinny Dip. If I had thought ahead I would have put out something more plain, or just cheaper, to bring to room temp and use for the batter.

We ended up having dinner last night without Ryan as he was at work later than normal. He came home later and sat down to his soup, definitely noticing the extra kick. I kept telling him to try the bread, but he was just focused on the soup and then helping to get the kids off to bed. He asked what beer I used and I told him.
He then proceeded to tell me that the reason that Skinny Dip wasn't in the beer fridge was that it was skunky. Bad, rotten, no good skunky. Not rotten as in make you sick, but it had been kept too long too warm or something like that and definitely wasn't tasting or smelling it's best. So he was planning on dumping it, hadn't gotten around to it, and it was just sitting there in the six pack on the floor next to the fridge. Hmph. Good thing for me to know now. He never did try the bread.

About 30 minutes after Ryan ate the soup, after getting the kids in bed, just lounging in the living room with me and my parents, suddenly Ryan says he's not feeling too hot. He says it again about five minutes later and then heads upstairs. I go up about 10 minutes later when he hasn't returned and found him laying on our bathroom floor using a towel for a blanket. He keeps saying he's going to throw up. And that's all he says. Like a broken record. Turns out he did throw up after about 15 more minutes of laying on the bathroom floor wanting to die. And then he was fine. He came back downstairs and said he felt much better.

So much for my rainy day, warm and cozy, homemade soup and bread. Comfort food? Not so much this time.