The soup that wasn't meant to be

Mexican food (read Mexico Lindo in Melrose, MA) is the one thing we really crave here in Jiangyin. So I'd planned on making a Chinese version of my aunt's oh-so-yummy chicken tortilla soup yesterday.

Cue stovetop meltdown.

I now know if you remove the 1" strip underneath the stovetop and reach your arm waaaay in, there is a battery that powers the ignitor.

This was not the problem.

Cue call to repairman.

Thank goodness I was spending the afternoon with my Chinese teacher, so she could translate. The top of the stove needed to be removed.

Cue grinder and sparks to show a stubborn screw who's boss. Counters were now covered in metal dust.

Cue cuts on every finger from washing the jagged stovetop once it was removed and being thankful for the 500 shots I got before moving to China.

After nearly 90 minutes and several attempts to fix the stove, the entire igniter is replaced.

This was the problem.

Cue real life application of Chinese lessons!

For a mere 八十快 ($12.31) the repairmen is on his way, telling me he'll swing by at 六 点 (6pm) with a 发票 (receipt) because 我 现在 没有一张 (he didn't have one now) but he has another service appointment 在 丽都 城市花园 (at our complex) then.

Cue commencement of soupery.

Cue dumping of almost entire costco-sized chili powder container in to soup and blessing of said Chinese manufactured lid.

This was a problem.

Cue dinner that causes hot flashes in spite
of best efforts to save the soup.

Look at me, mom!

The silver lining? I'd been neglecting my sourdough starter for several days thinking it had petered out. But with the unplanned sprinkling of metallic dust it now looks better than ever.

Is this a problem?