Biker Bill's Spaghetti with Maniacal Sauce

No, this is not a recipe. This is a story about a feast that occurred last night at the Hotel J&D Rock and the events that followed. My studly hubby makes a murderous spaghetti dish from a cookbook of his mom's by a guy named Biker Billy. Biker Billy likes to add so many hot peppers to his recipes you have to cut most of them out just to have room in your dish for the real stuff. So if you generally cut back the peppers to about 1/4 his suggested dosage, you get really fantastic, spicy, tasty, creative dishes and as you eat them you can imagine your dining with some of the toughest Hell's Angels who only eat dishes from Biker Billy's cookbooks. The spaghetti with maniacal sauce is one such fantastic recipe, tried and true. It's too hot (even with 1/4 the suggested peppers) to eat every night, or even every week, but about once a month my studly hubby whips it up and we cry tears of joy (and pain) as we eat it. Last night was a maniacal spaghetti night, and since I've been travelling all over for the past month I was very happy to have a home-cooked meal and inhaled it once it was made.

I woke up this morning on the toilet. My husband busted in right after me. All day, I had to work in the chemical fume hood to disguise the fumes created by Biker Billy's maniacal recipe. I have an undergrad working with me who barely survived. When I got home, again my husband and I fought each other for the toilet. The good thing was, usually food like that burns on the way in AND on the way out but this stuff burned on the way in and just gassed everyone on the way out. I'll take that anyday over the former.

It's the end of the day now, and I have to report, I think we've survived. Hopefully tomorrow will bring everyone new, more pleasant smells.