Lament of the Dishwasher
By Nicole Freire

Here at Chez Freire we have a little kitchen. And by little I mean that you cannot have the toaster and a loaf of bread out at the same time without seriously impacting the available counter space. But I love my little kitchen. And not for any culinary reasons, especially given my complete lack of interest in actually making food. I like to eat, I just like to eat what someone else has made more. I do, however, make some mean baked goods. But baking is not cooking, so there.

Nicole's dishwasher

Anyway, my love for my little kitchen is utterly conditional and extremely specific. I love my kitchen because it has a dishwasher. Or conversely, I love my dishwasher because it's in the kitchen. In all my adult years (and yes, I'm counting from age 18 to now) this is my first dishwasher. Not for a lack of desire mind you. It's just that years of living in apartments in San Francisco (heavy on the charming details, short on parking spaces and dishwashers) and years of renting in Santa Barbara (they give you heat and water, you gratefully give them your money) have resulted in 21 years of dishes washed by hand. So, when we moved into our current abode and it came with a dishwasher? I was immediately smitten. I was forever trying different soaps (liquid! powder! ultra clean! weird Trader Joe's goo!) and monitoring the little rinse aid tank (blue liquid! green liquid!). I conducted lots of testing, mostly along the lines of "how many drinking glasses can fit into the top rack?"

(I have a bad habit with drinking glasses. I fill up the glass with water, drink the water, put down the glass and it vanishes into another dimension until the end of the day, when they gather once again on the countertop. In fact, my husband has been known to count how many glasses I've left in various places throughout the house and then confront me with the evidence. I think my record is 7 glasses. On the plus side, I'm hydrated.)

But lately we have been wailing in sadness in the kitchen, beating our chests in despair, and generally complaining to anyone in earshot that the dishwasher is BROKEN. As is my heart.

My husband points out that you can actually still use the dishwasher as one giant drying rack (see: general lack of counter space above) but I am not fooled. We still have to put our hands in the soapy water and swish the sponge around the dirty dishes and gaze out the window at the new deck the next door neighbor has put in. Besides, you can either be outside the kitchen and have the dishwasher door open or you can be in the kitchen and have the dishwasher door closed. You cannot be in the kitchen and have the dishwasher door open at the same time. (see: kitchen space, lack of)

My only consolation is that our main food source (or food group) is located just outside the little kitchen. And by that I mean that we keep the Cheerios and the other 9 boxes of cereal next to the fridge, which is not actually in the kitchen.

Nicole Freire is a freelance writer who lives in Santa Barbara.