Oct 21, 2015 4 min read

I want to say something for which I am going to apologize to my mother in advance: I hate to clean.

I specifically hate to do dishes – even though we have a dishwasher. With five people in the house, cleaning dishes seems an unending task.

On the weekends, when we do much of our cooking and prep for the week to come, it’s nothing to hear the whirring of the dish washer three or four times in one day.

Mike, I am certain, can pinpoint exactly what I want, when I call from the kitchen, “Honey, can you come here for a minute? I need a hand.”

We’ve reduced loading and unloading the contraption to a science.

I excel at giving the dishes a nice pre-wash, and Mike excels at playing what we refer to as “Dishwasher Tetris.”

Seriously, the man manages to cram more stuff in there than I ever think is possible.

On the rare occasions I load alone, I can also identify the sigh I hear when he opens it to put away the newly washed dishes. It’s a combination of frustration and pity that my loads are roughly two-thirds the size of his because I don’t pack it as efficiently.

My disdain for dishes goes back quite some time, as we didn’t have a dishwasher in our home growing up.

In grade school, I avoided dish duty at my parents with a plan: eat quickly and run for the piano.

My parents put me in lessons when I was in second grade.

I wasn’t much for practicing unless it was a song that I knew and liked — except at dish drying time. I perfected many a song while avoiding dish duty, and my parents really didn’t argue because they didn’t have to nag me to practice.

Unfortunately, as with all good things, that arrangement came to an end when my assigned songs got more difficult, and I got too frustrated to practice them. My parents kept hearing the same songs over and over and caught on that I was only practicing to avoid dish drying duty.

While the piano might have drowned out their requests for help, they started walking over and tapping me on the shoulder.

I tried other things, but after the piano charade, nothing really worked.

Looking back, I realize that they probably knew what I was doing all along.

So, just how does this fit into cooking, you ask?

As I’ve mentioned before, I rarely measure. My reason is simple: fewer dishes.

A simple flank steak (season both sides with steak seasoning, sear it in a pan and finish it to your desired doneness in a 400 oven) and twice baked potatoes keep the prep dish count low. Microwave a bag of frozen spinach, and season it with salt, pepper and lemon juice, and you have a side dish that only requires a spoon to serve.

We’ll never get away from dishes, I know that, but until one of the three children in our house demonstrate Mike’s ability to fit dishes in like a fully formed puzzle, I’ll continue doing what I can to avoid the dreaded chore.

Twice baked potatoes

5 large potatoes, whatever kind you prefer

5 tablespoons butter

1 handful of shredded Mozzarella cheese

1 handful of shredded Cheddar cheese (I also like Muenster)

3 spoonfuls of sour cream

3 garden onions, use both onion part and a small portion of the green, finely chopped

Milk to taste

Salt and pepper

Poke potatoes with a fork and microwave until done and soft. Cut the taters in half, and, using a spoon, scoop out the flesh, leaving a little in to cushion the skin.

To the softened potato flesh, add all remaining ingredients and mash. They should resemble mashed potatoes. Refill the skins and bake them for 10-15 minutes in a 425-degree oven.

If you are a stickler for crispy shells, you can bake the potatoes in the oven instead of microwaving them for the initial baking. The catch is that it takes about an hour to bake them in the oven.