Growing up, my family never had a garbage disposal. My mother held the steadfast belief that “all you have to do is pick out the drain. No big deal…” Of course we had the sink strainers, but even those can get gunked up with stuff. I did however, have a few years of nirvana: the apartment I lived in in Iowa City had one. God I loved it. It would obediently swallow any odd assortment of past due and unwanted items: old eggs, carrot peels, wimpy celery, even cantaloupe rinds cut up into smaller pieces.
I live in a house with delicate plumbing. I once asked my plumber about getting one and he said that I wouldn’t want to invite more problems. I have, however, found a solution. My dog, Zoe, is a viable option. She is often my shadow when I am working in the kitchen. If I drop a piece of diced carrot, she’s on it. Cucumber peels? Those are gratefully eaten from her dish. A bit of pear? Down in two bites. The only thing I have to watch is when I am working with things she can’t have, like garlic, onions, grapes. If any of that lands on the floor I simultaneously bellow “NO!” and swoop down to pick it up.
All in all, it is a pretty good deal. She gets a treat and I don’t have to pick out the drain as much.
I’m Rosie Klepper and that’s my perspective.
