Truly inspiring post (great links too) on a burning issue from a wonderful biogger. As Tristram Stuart, founder of Feeding the 5000, said on the day “The great thing about food waste is that the problem is edible.”
Make good soup !
Originally posted on The Zero-Waste Chef:
This past Saturday, I participated in Feeding the 5000, a campaign that exposes food waste by feeding thousands of people a free, delicious meal prepared with food that would otherwise go to waste. Feeding the 5000 began in Europe in 2009, but Saturday marked its debut in America.
The event’s name invokes the story of Jesus feeding 5,000 people with a mere five loaves and two fishes. We had quite a bit more to work with than that. After I arrived at St. Vincent de Paul in Oakland on Friday morning to chop vegetables for Saturday’s event, we volunteers started in on the 4,000* pounds of sweet potatoes pictured above.
Why would these delicious, perfectly edible sweet potatoes have headed to landfill had they not gone into soup? They weretoo large to sell. Grocery stores refuse to take them.
In the US, we waste 40%…
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I have a piece of sourdough bread that has turned into concrete in situ in the little trap and I top it everyday with a small dollop of organic peanut butter. I send one of the children up the ladder to the attic to collect the cage in the morning and we release the creature on the way to school with her belly full and the bread licked clean. If an apple a day keeps the doctor away what about our daily mouse? I do like that sound of busy little legs running above my head, do mice always run because they are aware their legs are on the small side or are they of an anxious temperament, worried about their safety ? I find small rodents pretty endearing but there is nothing really edible for them up there and I would not like them to munch through our archives and treasures waiting to be sorted out. Is the news out there yet in the mouse world that we offer a free nut meal and a country drive to one mouse every day throughout the cold months ?
I have been rather crippled by an unexplained pain in my hips, my lower back and my right knee. The body holds all memory so I have wondered if this was not a processing of the pain of previous accidents like that of 1995 when I was hit by a car as I was about to cross Merrion street upper in Dublin and found myself rolling over its blue metallic bonnet thinking my last hour had come. The pain and the resulting impossibility to do a lot of my usual daily activities have been dragging me down at times to a pretty low ebb : did I perhaps need to rethink my life in its core—I caught myself thinking—the life that includes on a daily basis a lot of physical activity as I smallhold on my own 4.8 acres of land, 4 goats, 2 mature hens and the 13 youngsters of various sizes that have hatched this year, 5 cuddly cats for whom I cook a weekly stew of bones and offal, and vast ambitious plans in the horticultural region.
My homeopath has hit on a good remedy and I am mobile again and slowly getting back into my stride, collecting fallen leaves to mix into soil, excitingly gathering hazels and apples, concocting some autumnal stuff that I will discuss here soon. This has been the year of the blackberry for me, never had I eaten so many before, returning every day from my early morning walk with purple fingers and seeds stuck stubbornly between my teeth. I found a few dead animals on the road, a pine marten, a little froglet, a mother badger, I dragged them unto the soft edge, bury them if I can, and wish them to be reborn into a being of their choice. Glad and grateful to be standing up again and not flattened on the tarmac, let’s make the most of that life of mine.
I am a sourdough bread baker through and through, a virulent wild-fermentator, and an occupational cook—as inspired from the tenets of occupational therapy, what would be referred elsewhere as a slow-food enthusiast but could sometimes be called, in my case, a long-winded cook : extensive recipe research, multiple tasks, exponential picking/preparing/rolling/marinating time, repetitive gestures. However, there is a quick bread that I sometimes cook here, a fall-back plan generally the night before school when the usual loaf lends itself to toasting rather than sandwiching.
The initial recipe came from one of my favourite bread books, Dan Leppard’s The Handmade Loaf (see ‘Waterford Soda Bread’ on page 69), I have dropped a few ingredients (the fat, the sugar) substituted or added others. You could call it a soda bread but it would be more accurate to call it a kefir bread as that is actually the main ingredient in weight. I could call it a kitchen sink bread as I have over-the-years thrown in all kinds of leftovers in.
THROW-IT-ALL-IN (easy) BREAD
oven to 200 degree celsius/400 degree farenheit/gas mark 4
oil and flour/dust with flakes a 17 or 18 cm square cake tin
weigh 300 g of flour (I tend to use organic spelt mostly wholemeal, experiment)
sift with 1 tsp soda + 1/2 tsp sea salt
mix in if you’d like about 70g of flakes and/or about 50g of raisins (the children insist) and/or about 20g of goji berries and/or about 50g of linseed and/or about 50g of chia seeds and/or a cup of leftover rice/quinoa/millet and/or 1/2 cup of oat groats left to soak with boiling water for a couple of days on the counter top (a favourite) and/or about 50g of pumpkin or sunflower seeds and or shredded nettle tops ?????
pour in 400g of kefir (or butter/sour milk) [ the initial recipe called for half buttermilk and half whole milk] wet all ingredients but do not over mix, pour into tin, flatten roughly, sprinkle with whatever flakes or seeds you fancy (chia seeds a current favourite), cover with tin foil, bake for 25 minutes, remove tin foil and bake for another 25 minutes.
Unlike soda breads this (thanks presumably to the presence of kefir) keeps well for over a week, is delicious as a sandwich bread (use soft butter when it is very fresh) and toasts delightfully after a few days, what more can you ask for ?
If you make this adding another interesting ingredient, do pleeeeeze let me know.
“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books ; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories ; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”
from Demian by Hermann Hesse
Made a basket on saturday night (with L’s tuition and help) while eating wonderful leftovers from D and R’s wedding, and picked blackberries early this morning to soak into vinegar for comforting winter drinks and dressings. I had been asked what the basket would be for, and today I know, berry- or flower-picking. A friend from Switzerland from long ago had a lovely small fruit-picking basket with hoops to attach to one’s waist with a belt to enable two-armed picking, I aim to reinvent this and make my own version.
Pretty submerged in back-to-school preparations, lists, nervousness, driving into town, driving into town again, last-minute sewing, making quick soda bread for school sandwiches. September seems like an abstraction still although the weather is noticeably autumnal, grey, wet and windy.
The Summer was only a few days ago : walking along the river in Derry city, the wedding, the party… The children and I made (Ikebana-ed?) all the flower arrangements, large and small, from wild or home-grown flowers with a handful stolen from Knockvicar organic garden, my lovely old haunt. Proud as punch (or “as a head lice” as we say in French !) we were (and perhaps still are).
I borrowed three beautiful dresses from D, wore the embroidered one and am now hoping for two more parties to go to before I return them, but parties are pretty rare around my life these days. There are other kinds of excitement aplenty for which I wear my own clothes under my favourite boiler suit : build a new bridge where I once slipped, fell and almost crushed my back, new raised beds to be, hmm, raised, and plotting to plant last year’s garlic that seems to have kept remarkably well. Autumnal pursuits I guess. There are other kinds of less exciting stuff on my plate too like wheelbarrowing all the manure out of the goat sheds to name but one, but I will be up for it in time, I like the Autumn, I do.
Is it because I am a second child and learned from the word go to make do with stuff that had been owned, used and sometime even loved by others before me, or is it that in the seventies my mother taught me to salvage things discarded by rich neighbours, the thing is I have a natural penchant for recycling, I am a natural at giving rusty metal pieces a loving home, or keeping—like my grandmother before me—anything that might prove useful in later life.
I thus made the most of the few days that my children went away on their own pursuits and got myself accepted on a residency up north, working with US craft-artist Boris Bally and discarded road signs in the hope that some public seating for the town of Derry might emerge out of the equation.
I had a lot of fun with plugged-in big machines, learned to file properly, drooled over some lovely tools, acquired some skills that may even prove useful for my everyday life.
In the age of wall-to-wall advertising, of being told what we want by others so that we all succumb to mass desire of identical industrialised products, it is lovely to be able to find real value in what has been discarded, the gizzards and bones of other peoples’ expensive meals so to speak, and perchance turn “refuse” into very treasurable stuff. In a word, I enjoyed myself enormously.