Dem Dirty Dish Blues

About author / Josh Gunn

Bachelor chef; southern cooking; mixologist; university professor. Josh's recipes will delight (and sometimes terrify) you.

As an undergraduate I had a roommate, or rather, I had roommates, since my buddy's girlfriend practically lived with us. We were crammed into a small efficiency apartment in the Foggy Bottom district of Washington, DC. By creatively using desks and wall-hangings, the living room metamorphosed into my bedroom, while my friend and his lady took the bedroom proper (thankfully relatively soundproof).

For the most part, privacy was not much of a problem. My problems were two in number: blunt razors and their dirty dishes. After one too many face slashings I discovered the girlfriend was using my razors to shave her legs. This led to the first big blow-up with my roommates, but my righteousness won out and she started buying her own.

The second skirmish we had occurred when I put all the dishes that belonged to them into a garbage bag and set the bag out in the hallway of the apartment complex. I had asked nicely—okay, I had been nagging—for many days: "could you please wash the dishes?" Understand that my diet during these days consisted of lots of canned soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and oatmeal, which I consumed in disposable bowls and on napkins. Easy clean-up.

My roommates, however, fancied themselves gourmet cooks and tried all sorts of strange things in the tiny kitchenette that opened into my "bedroom." For some usual thought-process that eludes me, I was expected to clean up their messes, including their dishes. I often did so because, if I didn't, strange smells would start to develop, smells that wafted right into my nostrils at night and interrupted my sleep, smells that communicated to potential love interests that Dr. Bachelor had hooves and a snout, smells that intensified and, upon occasion, could induce vomiting.

When I left my roommates for graduate school, I figured out quickly how to avoid dem stinky, dirty dish blues: don't get a roommate. So I didn't have a roommate in graduate school. Unfortunately, I started to fancy myself a gourmet cook and began producing my own nasty dishes. I was in a bind: how do I solve this problem? Because I feel the pain of bachelors everywhere, here's a list of solutions—some cultural, some I developed--which can substantially curtail your having to do dishes:

1. Get married to a "traditional," southern woman. Yeah, I agree: this a sexist, stereotypical solution, and few of us bachelors want "traditional" these days anyway. But I know someone out there is thinking this: shame on you.

2. Buy a dishwasher. I tend to prefer living in old homes or apartments because I detest living in a box. Consequently, I usually don’t have a modern dishwasher. What I did was save up over the course of a year and, for $300, bought myself a dishwasher on wheels that connects directly the kitchen sink. Whenever I did the dishes, I'd wheel the thing out of a closet, hook it up to the sink, and presto! It worked like a charm. I recognize, however, that's a financial sacrifice many cannot afford (frankly, I couldn't either, but I really detest doing the dishes). So I have more brilliant ideas below.

3. Disposable plates, cups, and utensils. When you're not entertaining, why not eat off of a paper plate? Drink out of plastic cups? If you really detest doing the dishes, this works in a pinch. I used to live on a major Mardi Gras parade route and, as a result, my apartment would become party central. When folks asked what to bring, I made sure to suggest disposable plates, cups, and utensils. We never used all that stuff, and so I was perpetually stocked.

4. One-dish and crock-pot meals. Casseroles and other one-dish meals tend to be super easy to make and you can chow on them for a week. After you've eaten one up, there's only one dish to wash (as long as you're doing the paper plate thing). Also, my girl Sarah over at the Savvy Slow Cooker has a ton of super easy crock-pot meals you can make that, well, work on the same principle.

5. Frozen + meat waffle-iron. Yes, it's that cherished but nevertheless neglected food group of bachelordom: freezer food! Recently, frozen vegetable companies, especially those with giant Swamp-Thing like cartoon characters on the boxes, have started producing single-serving steamed veggie cups. These things taste great and go well with a slab of meat you've quickly grilled on your 'former-boxer-cum-lazy-gourmet waffle-iron for meat' machine.

6. Quid pro quo bargaining strategies. Okay, so I tossed that fancy Greek jargon out there. It means "stuff for stuff," as in, "I do this stuff and you gimme that stuff." If we can alter the reasoning of my former roommates just a smidgeon, the idea here is that if you become a pretty good cook, you can then offer to cook for your friends and lovers if they agree to clean the dishes. In grad school I became quite accomplished at this: I would offer to cook for my culinarily challenged buddies if they would both buy the groceries and do the dishes. I liked to cook, so this seemed like a win-win.

6. Booze for notes. Okay, this has nothing to do with the dishes, but all this reminiscing reminds me that students will go crazy over very well-taken lecture notes. In college and grad school, I always typed up my class notes. Seeing my notes, classmates would always ask if they could copy them. I always agreed: "Yes, you can copy my notes in exchange for a bottle of booze. I'm out of Such-and-So brand vodka." My home bar—okay, just a pantry—was always stocked.