Brewing trouble on the home front

It was 2 p.m. Sunday, no lunch started, no room to cook it, and my kitchen smelled like a frat house post-party. This was not how I envisioned things when I had sort of encouraged my husband in his yen to brew beer. I figured it would be a nice indoor winter hobby for him, but somehow envisioned it being contained to the basement.

Silly me. The beer kit someone gave him for Christmas needed higher fermenting temperatures than those in our unheated basement, so he tried putting the container in the bathtub. Nope, still too cold. But apparently immediately outside the tub was just fine. (Really? One foot away?) So I lived for a few weeks with a five-gallon container of would-be beer blurping away by the bathroom sink, thinking that would be the limit of the upstairs incursions.

My illusions and my kitchen were pretty much blown away on bottling day, with my dishwasher stuffed with draining sanitized bottles, tubes and other brewing equipment. Still, I thought once cleanup occurred, it could all go downstairs. But no, now it needs to condition for up to a month at “upstairs” temperatures. Where upstairs, I asked? It could go in the guest room, he said. I looked at my guest room’s hardwood floors and antique quilt. Envisioning potential explosions, I gave my husband a look that said, “Think again.” How about the tub, I asked? No, still too cold. That’s how I ended up with a 30-quart plastic box filled with beer bottles in front of my bathroom sink for a month.

So, fellow beer-brewing spouses, how have you confined the madness? (I know you’re out there; not all of the 150-plus brewers in the Minnesota Home Brewers Assocation can be single.) I’m contemplating springing for a portable induction burner so I don’t have to be cranky when he decides to start brewing just when I need to start cooking.

I’m guessing if I were fonder of beer, I might view this differently.

HOMEGIRL MARTHA BUNS