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In case you haven't been following along with us in the oven saga, here's a quick recap. We haven't had a working oven since we moved in. Yup. The struggle is real. We've asked the landlord about it and found out that it was not her oven, so she couldn't help us (she did look at it though and said she'd ask the building super). We also asked the movers while they were here, thinking maybe it was a Turkish thing that we were missing. We spent hours scouring the interwebs for any sort of manual or insight into how to get it to turn on with nary a clue as to what to do.
I was getting a little desperate and, since I'm not one to hold back a complaint, Mike was getting a little desperate too (mainly to make me stop complaining). He went to the base to see if they could send someone to come look at it (because our building super seems to work on his own schedule and even when he says he's going to come, we're never sure when that will be. #turkeyproblems).
They arrive and are shown to the kitchen. They take one look at it, smile and tell us it's not broken.
They explain that when the time is blinking, that means that the timer is done. All you have to do is press the two buttons on the left at the same time and it resets the timer. Then, you can use the knobs on either ends to set the temperature and the setting (bake, broil, fan, etc). Sure enough, they had the oven up and running in no time.
I wasn't sure if we should laugh or cry out of embarrassment. Here we were thinking we've kind of sort of maybe figured out this Turkey thing we call life and then we're just put right back in our place. We tried to console ourselves with the fact that neither the movers nor the landlord could help us out, but we still felt really silly.
So, now that we've gotten a nice little lesson in humility, what are we going to make in our oven as it's inaugural meal? Memom's meatballs of course!
Side note: if you knew my grandmother at all, you've probably had her spaghetti sauce. And, if you had her spaghetti sauce, you understand my obsession with it (when my bridesmaids asked what my favorite meal was to make for my bachelorette party and I responded with this, Karen attempted and came very close to succeeding) you've probably become a spaghetti sauce snob and not been able to enjoy the store bought stuff ever since. Many people have tried to replicate this sauce, but no one has completely succeeded, although I think my mom has come the closest. The fact that her recipe is made of "a dash of soda" and "salt and pepper to taste" doesn't help. Even when people have had her come to their kitchen and help them make it, it doesn't always come out. I honestly think it's in the pot (Tom, you're a lucky guy to have inherited that pot. I expect nothing but perfection. jk jk jk).
Anywayssssss, I attempted to make the sauce and the meatballs to go in it. The meatballs require broiling and I think I found the setting for broiling, although one may never really know. I love that I have this recipe because even though I will never be able to completely replicate it, I love thinking of my grandmother and all of the memories surrounding the spaghetti sauce. I can see her shaking her head at me for not using fresh rosemary, but smiling because I went with the fresh Parmesan and not the fake Kraft stuff (she'd probably roll over in her grave if I did). I also think about all of the times that my family sat around a big table with spaghetti and meatballs.
So, tonight, Mike and I will find solace in some spaghetti and meatballs (and wine, obviously) after a nice lesson in humility.