First the superintendent and the handyman checked the oven from top to bottom. Then they tested the electrical outlet that supplied ignition power for the oven. Everything worked. Finally, they gave their verdict to the tenant, Andrei Melnikov.
It was simply not possible, they said, that his oven, a Magic Chef made by Maytag, had turned itself on full blast, as Mr. Melnikov maintained.
“Maybe you imagined it,” the handyman said.
Mr. Melnikov picked up a warped meat thermometer, its plastic casing melted.
“How did I imagine this?” he asked.
“He told me, ‘Probably you don’t remember pushing the button,’ ” Mr. Melnikov said.
Actually, Mr. Melnikov and his wife, Lina, almost never cook in the oven, which was new when they moved into their apartment in Gravesend, Brooklyn, three years ago. Like many people who live with more stuff than space, they store kitchenware in it.
On the day it turned itself on, Mr. Melnikov recalled, his cellphone had rung in the kitchen. He talked for about 10 minutes. Then he smelled smoke. The oven was roaring. The thermometer was in flames.
“Maybe the ringing cellphone turned it on,” Mr. Melnikov suggested to the two men.
They scoffed.
He laid the phone next to the stove. They dialed it. Suddenly, the electronic control on the stovetop beeped. The digital display changed from a clock to the word “high.” As the phone was ringing, the broiler was heating up.
