A tall, thin man
in a white apron and a chef’s hat is teetering on a chair behind the big metal door that
leads out from the back of a truly massive staff canteen. He is staring into an open skip and as I watch him,
he starts to shovel the contents of a 3’ by 2’ catering tray of what appears to
be an untouched lasagne into the skip.
He follows that up with another one, and then two similar sized trays of
what looks like fresh cottage pie, then a full tray of bread and butter
pudding. He then upends a big cardboard
box over the lot, and a cascade of still-wrapped sandwiches, cakes and cookies
crowns the heap. He isn’t finished. He wanders inside, comes out with another
box, climbs back onto his chair, and empties at least a dozen unopened cartons
of orange juice into the skip.
It’s 1989. I’m the big-permed, killer-heeled,
shoulder-padded PA to a Director of one of the UK’s biggest corporate giants,
at one of their top security manufacturing plants which employs six thousand
people, and I've just tottered across from the office with a list of catering
requirements for a management meeting scheduled for the following day. I find myself standing transfixed and
totally gobsmacked by what I've just seen.
The guy doesn't see me. He wipes
his hands on his apron, grabs his chair, wanders back inside and slams the
metal door.
By the time I get to the front of the building and
make my way to the counter, I’m furious.
I ask to speak to the canteen manager, who turns out to be the very same man I've just seen throwing away a truly staggering amount of perfectly good food. I ask him if
what he’s just done is a daily occurrence, and he confirms that he throws away between three and seven trays
of untouched fresh food every day.

When I ask him if
the food couldn't be produced in smaller quantities, or whether what was left
over could be redirected to people who need it, he tells me his directive is to
produce certain quantities, and that it’s not feasible to consider distributing
what’s not needed in such a way. Not feasible.
He agrees wholeheartedly with my outrage, that while this multi-billion pound industry certainly can
afford to have a van stop by outside the security gates each afternoon, and pay
staff an extra fifteen minutes’ wages to haul it all up to the gate to have it
taken away to the local mission for distribution to the needy, they just choose not to find a way to make it feasible. He
gives me a “what can ya do” shrug,
and turns away.
So I go back
to my boss and I tell him what's transpired. He makes a few phone calls to try and see if we can somehow fight our way
through the “unfeasibility” of redirecting our unwanted food to the city’s
homeless and hungry, but nobody higher up the
organisational chain – not one active decision maker - wants to
help. They all have better things to do
than concern themselves with yet another dysfunctional element of their
operation. The fact that what is thrown
away each day could comfortably feed the city’s homeless or support families in
poverty across the county is, apparently, irrelevant.
Part of me was
itching to blow the whistle on the waste of food, but I didn't. I went home seething but leaving it at that and I guess,
looking back, that made me just as guilty and ignorant as everybody else. It stayed with me though, that encounter, and
to this day I still struggle to accept that something couldn't have been done
to avoid all that obscene waste, but then, I’m the woman who will see a
homeless person sitting hunched outside McDonalds, and go in to buy them a
burger and a coffee. Some people care
more than others I suppose, but the issue is not even just about that.
“All to do
with Health and Safety”, someone’s mumbling in my ear, and they’d probably be
right. Most of us are well aware of the
degree to which Health and Safety legislation has crippled much of what people
can do to help themselves or others, despite their best intentions, with certain laws
put in place to protect the public being so often underpinned by a monumental
abandonment of common sense. It all comes down to forward thinking and
adaptable planning, and there never seems to be much of that hanging around
when policymakers are drafting decisions about what’s going to help instead of
hinder.
I’m certain that most of the hungry and homeless would take a chance on
not being poisoned by food pronounced as a “potential risk to health and
safety” that had been offered for sale just hours before to paying
customers! It would be nice for them to
at least be offered the choice. Does food
really go off that fast? I don’t think
so.

In our
progressive, civilized society, in the 21st century where technology
has literally revolutionized the planet beyond the recognition of generations
past, it seems that one of the hardest things for the modern-day mind still to
grapple with and find a solution for is the monumental global waste of food. The United States reportedly wastes almost
half of everything it produces, and here in the UK we're not far behind. Collectively, as householders, we throw away
a staggering 4 million tonnes (!) of
food and drink per year. That equates, more or less, to setting £60 on
fire per household per month. That’s
more than £700 per year - the price of a fairly decent holiday, a few home
improvements, or any number of other things on most people’s wish lists – and
well within our grasp if we could just be a bit more careful about how much
food we buy that we consistently throw away.
The craziest thing about the whole scenario is that according to
research most uneaten food goes straight from the fridge to the bin, and more
than half of it could legitimately have been safely eaten. A food item being past its “use by” date
merely means that its quality has started to diminish, NOT that it’s no longer
edible or has no nutritional value. Most
of it would still be absolutely fine for consumption, but until the labels make
that clear, people will continue to simply bin it, a fact that suits the supermarkets very nicely.

The worldwide
imbalance of food distribution has been a well known fact for many a long
decade and although around 4 billion tons of food is produced globally every
year, i.e. enough to comfortably feed the entire world, the latest World Food
report informs us that an incomprehensible 1.3 billion tons - more than a third
of all food globally produced – is either lost or wasted, largely thanks to micro
and macro human inefficiency. While the
average consumer undeniably has a lot to answer for, external factors such as inefficient
planning for the creation of food, for control over its growth, and for management
of its distribution remain central to the issue, along with wildly differing
and inconsistent global farming practices that compromise food manufacture,
quality, and worldwide availability.

Setting aside the chronic global mismanagement of food, a
general, more home-centred lack of education and understanding about our own
relationships with it enables us to feel ok about our overflowing supermarket
shelves and groaning dinner tables, while people in certain pockets of the
world are continuing to die from starvation. The United Nations Food and
Agriculture Organization estimates that nearly 870 million people of the
world’s population (one in eight), are suffering from chronic undernourishment. It beggars belief that 870 million people don’t
have sufficient food, with 16 million classified as officially undernourished,
including those in developing counties.
With much of the world being currently entrenched in the
misery of hunger, malnourishment, malnutrition and outright famine, and given
the scale of the task being faced by global policy makers, it all might feel too
huge and too far outside of our control as individuals, for anything we do to have any significant impact. Well, I don’t agree. I think there
is much that we can do, as individuals and families, to influence their
decisions going forward.
For a start,
let’s consider how we respond to the behaviour of commercial retailers –
supermarkets in particular - who charge disproportionately for smaller packets
of everything (a nightmare for people who live alone), and who engage in high
profile advertising to offer bulk deals and heavy discounts, encouraging people
to buy more than what they really need. They buy in bulk themselves, to get the prices they want, and they then shift those goods by offering deals to consumers. It’s
great when it comes to stocking up on non-perishables, but how many of us have
bought more fresh produce or other perishables than we needed because it was
cheap, then ended up throwing away what couldn't be frozen for later use, or
used up before it went bad in the fridge?
Not so much of a bargain in the end, then! I’m as guilty as the next person, incidentally, having
recently bought three packs of yoghurts on a buy-two-and-get-three deal. I didn't even pause to consider whether I
would even be capable of eating them all before they went bad. I just thought “I eat this yoghurt! I will take
advantage of this deal”. Two weeks
later I threw the untouched third pack out, because I didn't get to it in
time. It’s not the first time I've done
something like that, but I’m hoping it will be one of the last, because I’m
starting to appreciate that getting something “free” isn't really a bargain if I
can’t use it.
What if we
simply bought what we knew we could manage, or at least found a way to preserve
the rest (e.g. freezing) for later use?
What if we stopped ourselves from being heavily seduced by a promise of
saving money that turns out to be false if we end up throwing away £60 worth of
food per month on average?

Form most of
us, reining in the amount of food we routinely waste means changing our
relationship with it. It’s a process
that starts with recognizing, at the point of purchase, what is realistic for
us to consume and sticking to it. I've made
a start by planning my family’s meals, simply by making
lists of what fresh ingredients I realistically need, and sticking to it. If we
only need one pack of yoghurts, I resist the temptation to buy two, in order to
get three. I have to say that this is
proving to be a REALLY tough habit to break, because like many people I have
been conditioned to saving money wherever I can. But on reading the food waste statistics
(which are rampant on the internet for anyone who wants to look), the penny is
starting to drop. Can I use £700 a year
more effectively than tossing it into the bin?
Hell yes! Show me one person who couldn't!
Changing our
relationship with food also means thinking beyond the quantities we buy, to how much we actually consume, and this can also be a very tough habit to
break, because a lot of what we think about food goes right back to how we were
conditioned within our family of origin.
I grew up under constant threat of punishment if I didn't eat everything
dished up on my plate. “Think of the
starving millions”, was the swift and snappy rejoinder if I ever dared to
declare that I wasn't hungry enough to finish what was on my plate and woe betide me if I left even half a spoonful of over-boiled cabbage
on my plate! Too many of us grew up with
that ethic. You ate what you were given,
whether you liked it or not, whether there was too much of it or not, and
whether you complained or not. It was
enforced with the best of intentions, since my generation of children was
dealing with the aftermath of our parents’ own childhood experiences of food deprivation
during war-time rationing, where the waste of food was, quite rightly, an
abomination. Old habits are hard to
break, and the ticking time-bomb of obesity is as much about the quantity we've
been conditioned to think we need, as the actual nutritional value of what we
eat. Most of us can actually get by on a
lot less, as long as it’s healthy, nutritional food.
But here’s the
thing: The waste of food is STILL an
abomination, it is out of control, and if the United Nations’ prediction is true, that by 2075 there
will be another 3 billion mouths to feed world-wide, it’s pretty clear that the
human race has to get a lot more sensible a lot more quickly about effective
food production, distribution and consumption.
Many of us won’t be around by 2075, having shuffled off our mortal coils
thanks to various illnesses, many of which will be directly or indirectly related
to how and what we've eaten throughout our lives. It’s the current generation of children that
will be faced with the problem of how to feed the burgeoning hungry. They are going to need a lot of help, and it
needs to start NOW, with US.
Adequate food should be a basic human right, not a matter of luck, location or happenstance and while food banks all over the country are feeling an ever-increasing burden to provide for struggling people, the routine nationwide wastage of enough food to feed them twice over is a situation that should not be allowed to continue, no matter who’s doing it, or “why”.
Blanket policy changes are what’s really needed, for people
to be far more positively supported to either have enough food, or to offer
what they don’t need to those who do, but until that happens, we have to be content
with making a commitment to doing what we can within our own orbits to help influence the necessary global change. Recognizing deceptive deals and refusing to
be seduced by them and being more realistic about how much food we really need will not just reduce the amount we send to landfill or compost. They are important kick-start behaviours to a process that will ultimately force
suppliers to change the habits that influence the producers even further up a
food chain that simply isn't working, in its current state.

As consumers, we are part of a chain of dominoes. We have more power than we might first think we have, to force a more sustainable and humanely distributed food chain. For the sake of current health and welfare, and for that of future generations, we need to start using that power.