Ovens and Christmas parties

I hosted a pancake party at my house for Christmas last night. Yes, pancakes. With homemade strawberry sauce and peach sauce, frosting, nutella, whipped cream, milk, and mulled wine. I've got a good reason, too. Allow me to explain.

Ovens are not a high priority in Mexico. I've seen a few decent American-style ovens, but not too many. My oven certainly isn't one. I stuck to borrowing a friends' oven for my first three months in Mexico, but for Thanksgiving, I decided I needed to try my own.

Gas combined with flame should result in ignition. That's what I thought until I tried to light my oven. I could hear the gas flowing into the oven, I could smell it entering the rest of the house. Still, the oven refused to light. Eventually, I figured out how to do it. I had to turn the gas on and close the oven door. Once the whole oven had filled with gas, I could stick a flame in there and it would explode. The explosion left my eyes burning, but at least I had a hot oven.

With the oven lit, I had new troubles. The first one was the temperature. My oven nobs do not have numbers on them. Plus, if I turned the gas down, the flame would die and I'd have to light the oven again. I discovered that my oven really only had two temperatures -- all the way on, and off. After several times of lowering the temperature, killing the flame, and having to explode light the oven again, I figured this out.

The final problem was that my oven door wouldn't close. The slightest movement would send it slamming open. Even when I managed to close it, a two-inch crack let the heat out and the cold air in.

Somehow, I managed to bake sweet potato casserole and a pie for Thanksgiving. Both of them were soft in the middle and black on the outside. I yelled at the oven a lot. I had to keep the apartment door open all night to keep the apartment from filling with gas. I almost died. That is why I hosted a pancake party for Christmas. No Christmas cookies at this apartment. I'll save the baking for the U.S.