The Case of the Barking Oven

As promised, Malala's niece arrived at 10 yesterday morning to make the switch.  The refund she offered was $340.00 less than promised.  After a series of phone calls, someone from the agency came by with the rest of the money, and I had 10 minutes to get to the new place on time.  If I had known that there are two different streets named Irigoyen, I might have made it.  I thought that the cabbie was going the wrong way, but the last month has given me a healthy appreciation of my poor sense of direction, so I didn't say anything.  I was looking for building 668 (the neighbour of the beast!), but it went 656 - 662 - parking lot - 674.  After checking with the lot attendant to see if there was a secret tunnel or something, he looked at the address on my reservation and explained my stupidity.  A second cabbie was given the secret password (Bernardo de Irirgoyen), and I arrived 15 minutes late, still 30 minutes before the new agency rep got there.

This apartment is located in a historic building.  Seriously, it's on a registry and everything!  It has 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, an office, a giant foyer, and a hallway connecting all of the rooms that is big enough for floor hockey.  The real jewel is the kitchen, though.  After Mike escorted Miko and Shan in from the airport, we went to our favourite Italian place for lunch (motto: No Lasagne!).  They were pretty bagged from the flight and went to bed for a few hours, which gave me time to make some granola.

Did I tell you about the kitchen?  It is designed for entertaining; there is even a second entrance from outside, so your houseguests don't see the help.  The centerpiece is an industrial 6 burner gas stove.  It only took me about 15 minutes to figure out how to turn on the gas valve, locate the proper dial, and find the hole for the pilot light.  Once I got it lit, I had to hold the dial in, or it would go out.  I developed a system of lighting the pilot and holding the dial in for about 30 seconds until the smell and sound of escaping gas unnerved me enough to let the pilot light go out before I destroyed a historic building.  Then, I'd wait for 10 minutes for the gas to clear before repeating the process.  After the fifth aborted attempt, I hit on the bright idea of keeping the oven door closed after the pilot light was lit.  I waited for 45 seconds, then started to worry that the pilot light had gone out, so I cracked the oven door open a bit.  WOOF!  A sheet of flame shot out across the floor, blowing ashes and oven grit everywhere.  But the oven stayed lit!  I'm glad I made a double batch of granola, because I don't think I'll have the nerve to do that again.