Ah, that's another matter. We shake off any bits off food that will fall off on their own into the pigbin[1] and let the dishwasher take care of the rest. The filter gets cleared about weekly.
[1] Though it actually goes on the compost heap - the name came from Mum who had a rural upbringing in the 20s.
Funny that this should come up now because we were having a conversation in the pub about it a couple of weeks ago. Most people we know (including us) will scrape any bits of food off plates and stuff, so very little ever gets to the filters - the dishwasher is really just cleaning off gravy or sauce, maybe the odd pea shell or something.
We've had dishwashers for the last 20 years, maybe a bit longer, but in all that time I think I've only ever needed to actually "empty" or "clean out" a filter maybe half a dozen times. I do look at it weekly, just in case, but there's never anything in it.
I'm still wondering about the OP's paranoia - to me it sounds like cleaning up before the cleaner arrives.
I always wipe the bottom of the door seal once a week (it gets a bit gungy) as well as doing the filter. Bits of egg shell can get into the spray arm holes.
My grandmother had a pigbin, and that was in Hackney in the 1960s
Yup, we had one too, in teh 1960s, in the middle of Brighton.
Yes, it's after they come out. It's just that I don't trust that all detergent residue has been rinsed off. I should add also that I've young children and we also always rinse their cups and bowls out with cold tap water after they've been in the dishwasher. You're right, it's probably unnecessary. Probably.
E.
See the hordes dying from dishwasher residue poisoning? You're very wise to take such precautions (insert smiley of choice here).
We live in Hackney and it's a bit of a pigsty.
E.
I can tell you that no-one is dying of dishwasher residue in my house. I have however developed RSI thanks to repetitive cup rinsing.
E.
We had one in the 50s. We got a good joint of pork out of it each christmas.
In message , eastender writes
"... Oh! it really is a wery pretty garden And Chingford to the Eastward could be seen Wiv a ladder and some glasses You could see to 'Ackney Marshes If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between
We're as countrified as can be Wiv a clothes prop for a tree The tub-stool makes a rustic little stile Ev'ry time the blooming clock strikes There's a cuckoo sings to me And I've painted up "To Leather Lane A Mile"
Wiv tomatoes and wiv radishes Wot 'adn't any sale The backyard looks a purfick mass o' bloom And I've made a little beehive Wiv some beetles in a pail And a pitchfork wiv the 'andle of a broom
..."
Pop goes the weasel!
E.
Sorry, it was all those baked shallots last night.
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