Since returning to France last Sunday I've rustled up three batches of Liz Hurley's watercress soup; one Nigella damp chocolate cake (delicious though containing one whole block of butter - eek); one batch of Hugh Fearnley-Wotsit's chocolate chip cookies (far too sugary and surprisingly not delicious) and one Delia leek topped shepherd's pie (you just can't beat Delia in my opinion.)
Obviously, I didn't eat all of the above myself but it's no secret that when you live in rural France you spend a lot of time mashing, whipping, chopping and blending. And oh ... the washing up. I used to find this activity quite relaxing but that soon changes when you find yourself doing industrial quantities of it. After one memorable dinner party this year, it took me two weeks (yes you did read that correctly) to wash up every last wine glass.
Admittedly, I did adopt the 'doucement, doucement' approach, washing up one sink full each day and I did go to London in back in that time (hoping the house fairies would do it in my absence) but still, for some time now, I have been fantasising about owning a dishwasher.
The problem is that there is absolutely no space for one in my tiny kitchen. Or so I thought. While in London I discovered something called a counter top dishwasher. It's cute, it's cherry red and made by Bosh. Most importantly, this shiny little beast will save me approx 45 minutes every day or several hours if I've had friends over for dinner.
I've taken some measurments and -oh joy - it looks like the baby Bosch will fit under the sink. I will have to bend down a lot but hey, that can only be good for the thigh muscles. Needless to say, I'm off to Darty just as soon as I've dealt with some deadlines...