Can you cook instant ramen in your dishwasher?

yes, i put the seasoning packet in the detergent dispenser

Guten tag, clowns!

As always, I hope you’re doing okay. Gas prices, am I right?!

You can’t see me right now, but this is me gazing proudly upon across a crowded audience as you all guffaw in laughter at my observational humor skills. Then you all fall away into darkness and I’m left there alone, staring into the void of pure nothingness. This is the burden I must bear as the greatest food writer in all of history, and now, the greatest stand-up comedian in all of history. Namaste.

Remember the other week when I put a perfectly nice new cast iron pan in the dishwasher? Multiple people commented both here on Substack and on Twitter that their grandmothers were coming to physically assault me in some fashion. I should have retired once I found out a legion of old people were coming to assassinate me. But as I was ruining that precious kitchen heirloom in the dishwasher, I couldn’t help but look at it and wonder if I could cook something in the contraption too.

I know people have previously done stuff such as cook salmon in the dishwasher, like my former coworker Aimee Levitt (who’s awesome) did once. It’s totally possible, and the end result is indeed fully-cooked fish, which is more or less gently poached inside a tightly sealed foiled package. Not too shabby. But my curiosity only grew from there.

As I grabbed a packet of instant ramen for lunch, I looked at the dishwasher.

“Fuck yes,” I whispered to myself.

When you are Asian, you are required to have some form of instant ramen in your domicile at all times.

Right now we have at least 10 varieties, no joke. I guess I should probably start eating them at some point.

At first I considered just putting the noodles directly on one of the racks.

As hilarious as that end product would have been afterwards, I did not want to be cleaning noodles out of my dishwasher for hours. Besides, how on earth would I enjoy the deliciously salty broth? That’s half of why I eat instant ramen in the first place, to elevate my blood pressure to concerning levels!

So I put the block of noodles in one of my favorite dishwasher safe bowls, which barely fit. So far, so good.

Just to be safe, I left behind the little crushed up bits that normally end up in the saucepan.

Mr. Bee told me I was a coward, and then I threatened him with cleaning up the mess. He got quiet real quick. That’s what I thought, Mr. Bee.

I put the bowl of dry noodles on the top rack.

For some reason that made more sense to me, since that’s where I usually place cups and bowls. I situate them right side up so that when the dishwasher is done with a load, I can enjoy nice long sips of leftover dishwater. No chef will admit to it since this is insider knowledge, but that’s the real chef’s treat.

Then, I dumped the broth packet into the detergent dispenser on the inside of the dishwasher door.

I mean, that was the obvious decision. The powder would be blended into the dishwater at the exact right time, and be deposited into the bowl of noodles as it cooked.

As an aside, I think I need to start moisturizing my hands, because Jesus fuck, they look like I’m 80 years old or something. I’m only halfway there! Being the greatest food writer in all of history must be taking its toll on me.

Close the hatch, crew, we’re embarking on our mission!

I shut the detergent dispenser, saluted the noodles, and closed the dishwasher.

I decided upon the “Heavy” cycle on the dishwasher because nobody likes undercooked noodles.

The dishwasher may or may not have hastily been wiped down before I took this picture. I guess I couldn’t get every spot. You know how they say the camera adds 10 pounds to people after they’re photographed? Turns out they also add undetected smears to dishwashers too. It’s a natural phenomenon.

Then of course, I had to hit the “Wash Temp Boost” button, which as far as I understand, makes the water real hot.

This is exactly what you want when you’re making noodles in it.

Next, I mashed the “Heated Dry” button, which I nearly mistyped as “Hated Dry” just now.

Speaking of hate, I rarely use this function since it somehow melts thin plastic material during the drying period. I learned that the hard way a few times so I generally avoid it altogether, but not for these noodles!

Apparently my left hand is in way better shape than my geriatric-looking right one.

This is like The Picture of Dorian Gray shit. My right hand has become wizened and hideous for all my culinary malfeasances, while my left one enjoys its beauty and youth as a consequence. I can’t believe I just referred to Oscar Wilde. That appears to be the only educational gift my English degree has awarded me. Legions of grandmas, you may put me down for a dirt nap now.

I pushed the start button and let the dishwasher do its thing as I played video games all afternoon. Being an adult is amazing. You can put instant ramen in the dishwasher and fuck off all day!

About 14 hours later, which is how long the dishwasher takes when you mash the “Heavy” cycle button, I cautiously opened the thing back up.

I was awarded with a face full of scalding steam. That was terrible, yet exhilarating.

I cautiously took the bowl out, which was extremely hot to the touch, and was greeted with a perfect bowl of folded noodles.

They basically just plumped up and settled into the bowl without moving whatsoever. What an astounding discovery!

Using a touch that was as light as a feather, I pulled up some noodles with a pair of chopsticks.

They were definitely fully cooked, that was certain.

As you can see, however, almost all traces of the broth packet were non-existent, and the ramen appeared to be swimming in plain water.

I thought I might have smelled a tiny bit of it in the steam from the dishwasher as I opened it, but once the steam disappeared, so did all traces of the faint aroma. I should have expected as much, considering the dishwasher had been running for many hours straight.

And of course, I took a bite.

Holy shit, were these things overcooked. Any slip of the chopsticks ended up severing a strand. It took multiple tries to get a mouthful, and they were also almost prohibitively too hot to eat. When I did get some in my facehole, they practically dissolved in my mouth instantly. You’ve all had Chef Boyardee’s scrumptious canned pasta, right? You don’t need teeth to eat any of that, and the same goes for dishwasher ramen.

It was a marvel that they were at least, cooked at all. They also had zero seasoning whatsoever, which made me really sad for some reason. With the joy of discovery, I had also learned the bitter taste of disappointment. Then I cried. Once I dried my tears, I looked at my wrinkly-ass right hand, then my left, and then I cried again.

So, there you have it. It turns out you can indeed cook instant ramen in a dishwasher. Just not very well, unfortunately. All traces of flavor will wash away, just like these crusty tear stains in my clothing after I toss them in the…hey, I know how I’m washing this shirt now!

I couldn’t wash my shirt in a nasty-ass dishwasher full of ramen scum, so don’t worry, I cleaned it out first.

As the roar of hands clapping washes over me, I bask in all the James Beard Awards you’re throwing at my face right now. I’m staring into the abyss with a great big dumb fuckin’ grin on my face in horror as the darkness swallows me up whole. Soon, it will take over everything. The emptiness will claim all of us. So will all the angry grandmas.

Anyway, bye. I’m going to go fuck off and play video games.

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