We rented our current apartment in some haste: it was too good a deal to pass up. But in our haste we failed to notice that the kitchen contained neither a dishwasher nor space to hold one. Fortunately, I have a history of washing dishes by hand--five years in a primitively-equipped cooperative taught me to like it--and the kitchen sink is both capacious and well-situated, so really I have nothing to complain of. (Well, almost nothing: the sink is too low, along with the kitchen counter, as is inevitably the case in old houses. Are we really descended from a race of dwarfs?) In fact, it makes me feel powerfully virtuous somehow, and this despite the fact that even with care hand washing is more wasteful--of water, of soap, and especially of dishes, five of which I broke in one enormous smashup last night--than automatic.
A friend of mine informs me that his father has always refused to allow a dishwasher in the house on the grounds that the washing/drying process guarantees a time for conversation between parent/washer and child/dryer. I think of this every time I do a sinkful, and I wonder. Washing is noisy and yet peaceful, more contemplative than conversational. I'm not sure I'd want to share it, nor the virtue that attends it. And besides, with a sufficiently capacious drying rack, drying is simply make-work.
One thing is constant between the two methods: for some reason, dishwasher or drying rack, I just can't stand emptying.
My dad used the same excuse for not replacing our dishing washer when it broke down. So I've had quite some practice. But to be honest, besides on holidays, I never wash dishes by hand (except for wine and champagne glasses)...
ReplyDeleteHow funny, we don't have a dishwasher (but will certainly buy one when I grow up) but like to spend our holidays in places where there is one available
ReplyDeleteSome days, though, it gets to be too much of a good thing.
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