Cleanliness Is Next to Godliness?

At the apartment in Berkeley (where I lived with female J.), we didn't have a dishwasher, but I wasn't particularly disturbed by the state of our dishes. Like most older apartments, there wasn't good lighting. If our dishes were anything less than sparkling, I didn't usually notice. Every once in a while, I'd "reject" a washed dish and put it back in the sink. J. felt the same way. Her only preferences were about the type of sponge we used (Dobie) and that we shouldn't use the natural dish soap. In everything else, we were all-natural girls, but dishes just didn't seem as clean.

Ever since I moved into this apartment, I have had a goal. And it is cleanliness of the dish kind. You see, the townhouse's kitchen sink is just below a window. Once again, the only dishwashers are human. At first, I noticed the grime and the filminess. Then, I realized that there was a huge difference between the cleanliness of the dishes I did in daylight rather than at night. Now I just accept that I will have to re-clean dishes washed at night, when my insufficient kitchen lighting fails to provide sufficient task lighting for the sink.

I changed my dish soap. Since then, I have tried at least 6 different dish soap formulas. I still haven't found the right one. The current tester: Method, unscented. (I could also rant for a while about my distaste for the scenting of every cleaning product imaginable. But that is for another time.) I'm not sure it's up to the task, but the jury is still out.

Meanwhile, J. (that is, the husband J.) and I just bought a condo. With a teeny, tiny dishwasher, one that at first glance appears to be a garbage compactor because of its narrow proportion. I really, honestly hope the little machine does its work. I think I even still have my beloved Ecover dishwashing tabs from years ago, when I last had a dishwasher.