#lettuce feed you was an actual restaurant that i could walk to from my dorm room in college

[recurring-polynya]

For Rukia's bday another prompt/request. Ik i have been sending quite a few.

As you said you could think about continuation of some of the AUs. I just wanted to ask if its possible to continue my prev request of "Dear Wormwood". Like how Renji here decided to save her from execution or how did they reconcile?

I don't mind if you show another oneshot of the Tattoo AU☺️🤭. Like how both get together and all.

Happy New years Eve 🥳

You know, I got a request for a continuation of the Tattoo Artist AU in August, when I was doing Renji requests, and I wanted to do it, except that I had the next bit planned out in my head, and Renji wasn’t actually in it. But Rukia is.

| ao3 | ff.net |

 💻     💀 🛹     🥗

“In conclusion,” Rukia announced, flipping to the last slide of her PowerPoint deck, “I have no idea which design to pick.”

The final slide featured her own personal re-draws of the three tattoo concepts her tattoo artist had presented her with when she had met with him the previous weekend. Obviously, his renditions of grim reapers-on-skateboards were much better than hers, because he drew skeletons on people professionally, and Rukia oversaw market risk mitigation for a large financial services firm. A little thrill still went through Rukia’s nerves every time she thought of Renji Abarai as her tattoo artist. She had followed him on Instagram for years before getting up the nerve to book an appointment with him. Rukia kept telling herself that the giddiness she was feeling was due to the fact that she was finally doing it-- she was getting that tattoo she had wanted since college put on her actual body by an artist whose work she loved. The fact that the artist in question had turned out to be extremely nice and friendly and also impossibly hot was just a bonus.

Orihime pressed her fingers to her lips. “Hmm,” she hmmed. “I like the one with the sunglasses.”

“I can’t believe you made a PowerPoint,” Ichigo declared, stuffing a kale chip in his mouth. “I can’t believe you brought your laptop to the Lettuce Feed You. Also, I feel like the sunglasses raise more questions than they answer. Why would a grim reaper wear sunglasses? They don’t even have eyes.”

“To look cool,” Rukia said at the same time Orihime replied “Maybe they’re prescription?”

Ichigo shook his head. “Well, my opinion is, do not get the one where the grim reaper is flipping the bird. Byakuya is gonna be pissed no matter which one you pick, but that one is gonna get you a very specific lecture.”

“Yeah, I’d already sort of eliminated that one,” Rukia admitted glumly. She screwed up her face. “And Byakuya’s opinions don’t matter. That is the whole point.”

“I think you’re having a hard time because you like them all,” Orihime chirped with her trademark optimism. “Which means that you’ll probably be happy with whichever one you pick!”

“Do you think it would be weird,” Rukia said slowly, “if I emailed Renji back and asked which one he liked best?”

“Renji’s the tattoo guy?” Ichigo asked.

Orihime chewed her salad. “He’ll just tell you that you’re the client, it’s up to you. I can tell you which one he likes best, though. When you’re drawing samples, you always try to draw the first one as close to what you think the customer wants as possible. The second one is where you draw what you, the artist, think is best. Then, on the third one, you go a little wild, just in case you hit on something cool.”

“Oh!” Rukia replied. “Thanks for the insider knowledge.”

Orihime tapped her chin with one finger. “Also, Renji loves sunglasses, he has, like, fifty pairs of them and he had an entire sketchbook full of skeletons wearing sunglasses. I’m not exactly sure he should get an opinion here, to be honest. You’re the one paying him.”

“Well, I really like his art,” Rukia excused. “He’s… you know… the expert.”

Ichigo scratched his nose and squinted at Orihime. “This was the goth guy from your watercolors class, right? Who always drew sad anime girls in the rain and gave you a poem once?”

“No, no, you’re thinking of Ulquiorra!” Orihime wagged a finger. “Oh, jeez, Ichigo, like I would let that guy give Rukia a tattoo! No, Renji! You met Renji!”

“I did?”

“Yes! You remember the time I tripped on the stairs and twisted my ankle? He was the one who waited with me until you could pick me up and take me to the Urgent Care.”

Ichigo had been taking a sip of his kombucha and he had to swallow hard so that he didn’t spit it out across the table. “The guy who showed you pictures of his bearded dragon on his phone to cheer you up? The guy with The Hair? And the tattoos? Oh, I guess that would make sense, huh?”

“Yeah, that was him!”

Rukia felt her cheeks going pink, not just because she’d started thinking about Renji’s very good hair. She’d known that Orihime and Renji had been in the same MFA program, but she hadn’t expected Ichigo to know him; he and Orihime hadn’t actually started dating until her last year. There were many things Rukia liked about being best friends with Ichigo. She liked being co-workers and going to lunch all the time, and she liked that they had the same weird sense of humor, and most of the time, she liked having nearly identical taste in Hot People. Now was not one of those times.

Ichigo shook his head frantically. “I was confused! I did not realize we were talking about Super Hot Bearded Dragon guy!”

“He has a bearded dragon?” Rukia said blankly. He loved animals? Was it possible for the man to get any more adorable?

“It’s name is Zabimaru, and it’s super cute. I bet Renji would show you a picture if you asked,” Orihime nodded.

“You are glossing over the fact that this dude is a certified smokeshow,” Ichigo butted back in.

“I just don’t see what that has to do with anything!” Rukia huffed. “I didn’t know what he looked like before I made the appointment. He is a very talented artist.”

“And now you’ve seen him and you’re looking for excuses to email him.” Ichigo leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and narrowly avoiding getting hummus on his jacket. “What I find suspicious is that you completely failed to mention his hotness. You had a slide with excerpts from his portfolio and assorted Yelp reviews, and yet nothing, not a single bullet point about how he is over six feet tall and has supermodel hair?”

“Your girlfriend is sitting right there.”

“She knows she has this locked down,” Ichigo replied, gesturing to himself. Orihime nodded cheerfully. Ichigo picked up a carrot stick and twirled it in his hummus dramatically. “You know what I think? I think there was--” he bit into the carrot dramatically, “chemistry.”

Orihime gave a delighted little gasp.

Rukia blew out her cheeks full of air. She made shrug arms. She blew the air out again. “Maybe there was. I don’t know. You know me. I’m not really into dating.”

“I do know you!” Ichigo exclaimed. “I know you work twelve-hour days and once a year, you go on an awful date with some hedge fund twerp you met through your brother. I honestly think it would be really good for you to go out with someone who can name a band!”

Rukia waved her hand dismissively. “I know I work too hard and I haven’t really been good at relationships since college, but that’s why I’m getting a tattoo! I’m doing a thing for me!”

“Yeah, a thing you can make an Outlook reminder for and list on your yearly personal accomplishment retrospective,” Ichigo pointed out. “I mean, I’m all for the tattoo! I’m just thinking it wouldn’t hurt to go for the tattoo guy, too!”

“You know…” Orihime added. “Renji really is awfully nice. I don’t think it would hurt to ask him out for a coffee.”

Oh, no. It was very easy to dismiss Ichigo’s advice, even when Rukia knew he was correct. Orihime was another story.

“Didn’t you tell me he drove a motorcycle?” Ichigo asked Orihime, in the tone of voice of someone who already knows the answer to what he is asking.

“He does, actually!” Orihime piped up. “That’s why he couldn’t take me to the Urgent Care himself.”

Rukia scrunched up her face. Dammit, she loved a motorcycle. “Look, he’s a professional! I’m paying him to do a service! It would be really rude to ask him out.”

Ichigo and Orihime turned matching skeptical expressions on her.

“Also…he’s way too cool for me,” Rukia muttered.

“Aw, come on!” Ichigo protested.

“Rukia, you are so pretty and smart!” Orihime added, waving her fork for emphasis. “You have an amazing job and you’ve traveled all over and you met Lorde once.”

“We were just in an elevator together! That could have happened to anyone!”

“Also, you drive a car that people put on their phone lockscreens,” Ichigo added.

Rukia rested her cheek on the heel of her hand. “Yeah, but Renji is counter-culture cool. He’s covered in tatts, and he was wearing a Dinosaur Jr. t-shirt, and he’s really involved in his neighborhood and he draws skeletons on people for a living. I’m just…rich.”

“What the hell is Dinosaur Jr?” Ichigo wondered.

“He’s an artist, Rukia,” Orihime pointed out. “People always think artists are cool, but we’re not. We’re just weird and awkward.”

Rukia sighed. “To be honest, I tried to flirt with him a little and…he didn’t seem interested.”

“He probably just didn’t notice,” Orihime said. Her eyes darted over to Ichigo, and she lowered her voice as though this would somehow make him not hear her. “Artists are also kinda oblivious. Don’t you remember when you had to tell me that Ichigo had a crush on me?”

“And I am good at flirting,” Ichigo put in, unoffended by any of this. He jabbed a finger at Rukia. “You are bad at flirting. Very bad.”

“Shut up!” Rukia howled.

“You shut up, you’re gonna get us kicked out, and then where are we going to go for Vegan Wednesdays?”

“Where, indeed?” sighed Rukia, who only celebrated Vegan Wednesday because she loved Orihime very, very much, and would rather enjoy being banned from the Lettuce Feed You. “Look, I am just trying to pick a tattoo, here. I know you mean well, but I don’t have time for a boyfriend and even if I did, he’s not exactly the kind of guy I can bring home to meet Grandfather, you know?”

Ichigo shook his head. “Rukia, you can sniff out a weak balance sheet from a thousand paces, but you can’t recognize an actual opportunity when it’s staring you in the face. You didn’t even ask Lorde if she wanted to get onion rings.”

“Lorde loves onion rings and you are adorable,” Orihime nodded solemnly. “She would have said yes.”

“Will you drop the Lorde thing already? It was two years ago and I had a meeting to go to!”

“There’s always a meeting! That’s exactly our point! Look, you’re closing up the Los Noches audit next week, right?”

“Yeah? So?”

“So I really think you should take a little time off! And by time off, I mean, work eight-hour days for a few weeks, like a human. You could catch up on your kdramas and cook yourself a meal and maybe-- just maybe-- you could ask a guy out? I’m not saying you gotta subject him to the Kuchiki Gauntlet of Approval, just buy the guy a beer and ask him if he wants to make out. I tell you, it will restore your soul.”

Rukia sucked her teeth. It was no joke that she had been working herself pretty hard lately. In fact, Brother, (Brother! of all people!) had also suggested she might be due for a little break.

“I think it’s a really good idea, Rukia!” Orihime added. “And if Renji says no, I promise, I will plan a bunch of fun stuff that we can do together! We can get mani-pedis or… or go to the trampoline park!”

“You do have to ask him, though,” Ichigo insisted. “Don’t be vague or beat around the bush. Say ‘I think you’re neat and I would like to go on a date with you.’ Just pretend he’s a CEO and you’re telling him to sell off an underperforming asset.” Ichigo glanced over and shot an incredibly soft look at Orihime. “It's embarrassing for about six seconds, but I promise you it’s worth it.”

Rukia absolutely hated it when Ichigo was right, but who was she to argue, when he was dating the most objectively perfect person in the universe? “Okay,” she huffed. “I will ask him out after he has completed my tattoo and our business relationship has come to a satisfactory conclusion. But if he shoots me down, Ichigo, you have to buy me no less than three pints of good ice cream and you both have to come over and sob-watch Mystic Pop-Up Bar with me again.”

“Deal,” Ichigo and Orihime said in unison.

[themoneybuff-blog]

Food waste and food consumption in the United States

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much food I consume (and waste). I'm not happy with how I shop and eat, and it's not just because I'm fat right now. I don't like what I'm eating and I don't like how much food I'm throwing out. Food waste is a huge problem in the United States. Most studies find that Americans waste about one-third of all food that enters the supply chain. This is insane. And when you consider that food spending is the third-largest component of the average American budget, this is a great place for most folks to boost their budget. According to the 2017 Consumer Expenditure Report, the average household spends $7,729 per year ($644.08 per month) on food. If, as the USDA reports, 31% of the average family's food goes to waste, that's the equivalent of burning $2395.99 per year ($199.67 per month). For most families, $200 per month is a big deal. That can be the difference between deficit spending and earning a profit. That $200 per month could be enough to purchase a new car or to afford better health insurance. Today, I want to think out loud about food consumption and food waste in my own life.

This article is unusual in that I'm not going to try to offer any solutions. Instead, I'm simply going to share some observations, and I'm going to divide these observations into bite-sized chunks. If you have solutions to food waste, however, I'd love to hear them. Fun with Friends Kim and I spent this past weekend in central Oregon with some of my best friends from high school. Every year, this group of twelve rents a big house for three or four nights so that we can sit around, reminisce, and enjoy a few days without kids. As is typical with gatherings like this, each couple is in charge of one meal. For instance, Kim and I were responsible for Saturday morning's breakfast. As is also typical for gatherings like this, there's always a ton of food left over. It's tough to estimate how much a group is going to eat. So, even though we did our best to not have leftovers, there were plenty of eggs and ham and biscuits remaining after Kim and I cooked our meal. Every other couple struggled with the same thing. We always do. Yesterday as we were packing to come home, our group marveled at how much food was still in the fridge. Honestly, we could have hosted another long weekend for twelve without having to buy groceries. (Okay, we needed more coffee. We ran out of coffee yesterday morning. Mennonites drink a lot of coffee.) I was pleased to see that our group made a deliberate effort to not waste any of our leftovers. Kristin sent Kim home with the leftover rhubarb sauce. (Kim loves rhubarb!) We sent Kristin home with the leftover ham and the hambone. Kara grabbed the unopened beer. And so on. I've spent time with some groups that would have simply thrown this food out. We didn't do that. Food Storage in the Motorhome During our fifteen months exploring the U.S. by RV, Kim and I had limited space for food storage. We had one (very) small refrigerator and one (very) small set of cabinets for dry goods. We learned quickly that we had to be intentional about the food we bought to keep on hand. The fridge always contained milk and beer, plus whatever meat and salad fixings we needed for the next few days. The cupboard contained rice, pasta, and a few pre-packaged meals. We learned to keep a mental (and written) inventory of what stock items were depleted. If I ate a can of bean with bacon soup, I knew I had to replace it. When we got down to two days worth of rice, we made a point to buy more. At first, this limited storage space was frustrating. It didn't take long, however, to learn that rather than being a problem, this limited storage was freeing. We had less food to worry about. We had fewer choices to make. We always knew what food we had on hand and when we intended to use it. When we returned home to Portland, the fridge in the condo seemed ginormous. Who needed that much cold storage? Not us! For a few weeks, we did a terrific job of maintaining the habits we'd learned on the road. Each afternoon, I'd walk to the store to buy whatever we needed for that evening's meal. We didn't stock up on staples. We simply bought what we needed for the immediate future. Slowly, though, we reverted to our old habits. The fridge became filled with meat and greens and leftovers. After our first trip to Costco no need to ever go to Costco when you're on the road in an RV our cupboards were stocked with beans and rice and cereal and coffee and pre-packaged meals. Two years ago, we moved from that condo (a place with ample storage space) to this much-smaller country cottage. Here, our kitchen storage is limited. In fact, it's so limited that we couldn't store all of the food we had at the condo. We had to give some away and put the rest in the trash. Now, we walk a fine line. We try not to have a lot of staples on hand, but at the same time we like to save money by buying our favorite items in bulk. Most days, I eat a can of Nalley's chili for lunch, for instance. At Safeway, this typically goes for $2.39 per can. If I buy a case of twelve at Costco, I can get it for less than $1.00 per can. (Don't quote me on that price. My memory may be off. It's low, though.)

All the same, we waste too much food. Every week, we find something that's gone bad. Maybe it's a package of salami that got buried under something else. Maybe it's some vegetables that never got used for their intended recipe. Maybe it's a jar of salsa that's managed to mold. Kim and I hate wasting food. Yet we do it. And it's largely because we have too much on hand at any given time. We forget what we have. Or we have so much that we can't possibly eat it all. It's a problem. But I know it's not a problem that's unique to us. A Tiny Fridge Twenty years ago, I knew a young couple that lived in an apartment with a small dorm-sized refrigerator. I thought it was funny at the time. You don't have space to store anything! I said when I first saw it. We like it, the told me. It forces us to make decisions about what we're going to buy. We can't just stock up on everything. We have to be deliberate. I didn't get it. Similarly, my friend Sparky never kept much food on hand. I thought it was weird. When I'd visit him, his fridge would contain maybe a carton of eggs, a head of lettuce, and a carton of milk. His cupboards would be bare except for a loaf of bread and a box of cereal. Where's your food? I asked him once. Sparky shrugged. I only buy what I need, he said. I hate that I have to buy a dozen eggs. I'd rather buy only two. I wish I could buy just two slices of bread at a time. I don't want a fully-stocked pantry. For one, it feels oppressive. It's too much Stuff. Plus, I think it leads to food waste. A Colossal Waste Eight years ago, my mother's mental health problems reached a crisis point. She was in a state of constant disorientation and confusion. (Actually, she's still in this state.) After she drove her car through the back of her garage, my brothers and I moved her into an assisted-living facility. As we cleaned her house during the next few weeks, we were shocked by how much food she had. This single 63-year-old woman had enough on hand to feed a family of five for weeks. Or months. But the sad part was that so much of the food was expired or spoiled. The biggest surprise was a collection of spices from the 1970s. She had eight-year-old mayonnaise in the fridge. She had multiple opened jars of salsa. The pantry which my grandfather had built to store my grandmother's copious canning was stocked with cans and cans of Costco tuna fish. We salvaged as much of the food as we could, taking it home for ourselves. Most of it had to be thrown out. Eating Like Europeans This Saturday, I'm flying to Europe to travel again with my cousin Duane. Thankfully, he's still with us and he's feeling healthy enough to explore France for a couple of weeks. Duane and I both love how Europeans buy food. (Or, how we believe they buy food. Our perception may not match reality, and we know that.) There are supermarkets in Europe, but they're not the megastores we see here in the U.S. And when people shop, they don't buy for weeks at a time. They buy for days at a time. Or one day. They buy what they need for the immediate future. Here in the U.S., we tend to have personal larders designed to satisfy any possible want at any possible moment. Plus, Europe has many more small, single-purpose shops. Duane and I had a ton of fun in December talking with this gal in Strasbourg who ran a cheese shop. She loved cheese, and she loved sharing it with us:

Want some meat? Stop by the butcher to pick some up. Want a few tomatoes? Stop by the produce stand. Need bread? Head across the street to the bakery. And so on. Stores like this do exist in many parts of the U.S., but they're almost always gourmet specialty shops targeting a high-end clientele. Plus, they're few and far between. You have to drive from the butcher to the bakery to the produce stand. From what I've seen of Europe, you can find these shops almost anywhere big cities and small. And they're meant for everyone, not just the wealthy. Again, my perception might be tainted. I might be viewing things through rose-tinted tourist glasses. But I'm willing to wager that European food waste is much less than that of the United States. Too Much Dessert Crap, Kim said as she rushed out the door this morning. It's her first day back to work after five weeks off for knee surgery. We still have those beignets. They're going to go to waste. Last Saturday night, our group of friends went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. Kim and I ordered beignets for dessert. We thought that for $8, we'd get a modest-sized portion that she and I could split. Instead, we got five large pastries. We couldn't finish them. We took them back to the rental house with the intention of eating them later. But we haven't eaten them. And now, as Kim said, they're probably going to end up in the trash. Looking Forward What does all of this mean for me? If I think I buy and waste too much food, how can I change? Is there a way I can change my food consumption to improve both my waistline and my wallet? Relating these anecdotes has helped me to understand that yes, I can (and should) change how I'm buying and storing food. Doing so would help me eat better. Plus, it'd help us feel less cramped in our kitchen. Last autumn, I wrote about re-writing my financial blueprint so that I'm buying things based on actual needs rather than potential wants. At the time, I was thinking about books and garden tools. But the same principle applies to food. The fundamental problem in our lives is that we buy food based on potential wants. not immediate needs. We might want to have pasta next week, so we buy noodles and tomato sauce and meat. We might want to have a big salad this weekend, so we stock up on vegetables and greens. We often prep a charcuterie board for dinner we did so last night! so we try to keep a variety of cheese and salami on hand. But what happens when we go weeks without doing this? Well, the meat and cheese goes to waste. Lack of waste was one of the huge advantages to my recent HelloFresh experiment. When you open a recipe bag, you know you're going to get only what you need to make this meal and no more. You won't end up with a bag of carrots that turns rubbery because they got buried in the produce crisper. They give you the one carrot you need to make your salad.

I'm not ready to go back to HelloFresh, but I think there are other changes I can make to improve my consumption and waste habits. I'd be well-served by returning to how I was prepping meals after we returned from our RV trip. Instead of keeping a ton of stuff on hand, I ought to be making daily decisions about what to eat. Except for my canned chili which I probably eat three to five times per week I shouldn't be stocking up on anything at Costco. This change won't be as easy here in the Stafford hills as it would be in urban Portland. At the condo, I could walk to buy groceries. It was quick. It was simple. Here, the nearest stores is more than a mile away. And we live in a very hilly area. It takes 20+ miles to walk there. Still, even this is an opportunity. I'm fat right now. If I were to walk to Safeway at three every afternoon, I could be home by four with whatever groceries I needed for dinner. I'd burn about 250 calories in the process and I'd get time to decompress. Now that the sunny weather is here (and will remain until October), I don't really have any excuse. Maybe I can't live in my idealized European fashion, but I could certainly try to integrate some aspects of that lifestyle into my own. All it'd take is a little bit of willpower.

Author: J.D. Roth In 2006, J.D. founded Get Rich Slowly to document his quest to get out of debt. Over time, he learned how to save and how to invest. Today, he's managed to reach early retirement! He wants to help you master your money and your life. No scams. No gimmicks. Just smart money advice to help you reach your goals. https://www.getrichslowly.org/food-waste/

[andrewdburton]

Food waste and food consumption in the United States

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much food I consume (and waste). I'm not happy with how I shop and eat, and it's not just because I'm fat right now. I don't like what I'm eating and I don't like how much food I'm throwing out.

Food waste is a huge problem in the United States. Most studies find that Americans waste about one-third of all food that enters the supply chain. This is insane. And when you consider that food spending is the third-largest component of the average American budget, this is a great place for most folks to boost their budget.

According to the 2017 Consumer Expenditure Report, the average household spends $7,729 per year ($644.08 per month) on food. If, as the USDA reports, 31% of the average family's food goes to waste, that's the equivalent of burning $2395.99 per year ($199.67 per month).

For most families, $200 per month is a big deal. That can be the difference between deficit spending and earning a “profit”. That $200 per month could be enough to purchase a new car or to afford better health insurance.

Today, I want to think out loud about food consumption and food waste in my own life.

This article is unusual in that I'm not going to try to offer any solutions. Instead, I'm simply going to share some observations, and I'm going to divide these observations into bite-sized chunks.

If you have solutions to food waste, however, I'd love to hear them.

Fun with Friends

Kim and I spent this past weekend in central Oregon with some of my best friends from high school. Every year, this group of twelve rents a big house for three or four nights so that we can sit around, reminisce, and enjoy a few days without kids.

As is typical with gatherings like this, each couple is in charge of one meal. For instance, Kim and I were responsible for Saturday morning's breakfast.

As is also typical for gatherings like this, there's always a ton of food left over. It's tough to estimate how much a group is going to eat. So, even though we did our best to not have leftovers, there were plenty of eggs and ham and biscuits remaining after Kim and I cooked our meal. Every other couple struggled with the same thing. We always do.

Yesterday as we were packing to come home, our group marveled at how much food was still in the fridge. Honestly, we could have hosted another long weekend for twelve without having to buy groceries. (Okay, we needed more coffee. We ran out of coffee yesterday morning. Mennonites drink a lot of coffee.)

I was pleased to see that our group made a deliberate effort to not waste any of our leftovers. Kristin sent Kim home with the leftover rhubarb sauce. (Kim loves rhubarb!) We sent Kristin home with the leftover ham and the hambone. Kara grabbed the unopened beer. And so on. I've spent time with some groups that would have simply thrown this food out. We didn't do that.

Food Storage in the Motorhome

During our fifteen months exploring the U.S. by RV, Kim and I had limited space for food storage. We had one (very) small refrigerator and one (very) small set of cabinets for dry goods. We learned quickly that we had to be intentional about the food we bought to keep on hand.

The fridge always contained milk and beer, plus whatever meat and salad fixings we needed for the next few days. The cupboard contained rice, pasta, and a few pre-packaged meals.

We learned to keep a mental (and written) inventory of what “stock” items were depleted. If I ate a can of bean with bacon soup, I knew I had to replace it. When we got down to two days worth of rice, we made a point to buy more.

At first, this limited storage space was frustrating. It didn't take long, however, to learn that rather than being a problem, this limited storage was freeing. We had less food to worry about. We had fewer choices to make. We always knew what food we had on hand and when we intended to use it.

When we returned home to Portland, the fridge in the condo seemed ginormous. Who needed that much cold storage? Not us!

For a few weeks, we did a terrific job of maintaining the habits we'd learned on the road. Each afternoon, I'd walk to the store to buy whatever we needed for that evening's meal. We didn't stock up on staples. We simply bought what we needed for the immediate future.

Slowly, though, we reverted to our old habits. The fridge became filled with meat and greens and leftovers. After our first trip to Costco — no need to ever go to Costco when you're on the road in an RV — our cupboards were stocked with beans and rice and cereal and coffee and pre-packaged meals.

Two years ago, we moved from that condo (a place with ample storage space) to this much-smaller country cottage. Here, our kitchen storage is limited. In fact, it's so limited that we couldn't store all of the food we had at the condo. We had to give some away — and put the rest in the trash.

Now, we walk a fine line. We try not to have a lot of “staples” on hand, but at the same time we like to save money by buying our favorite items in bulk. Most days, I eat a can of Nalley's chili for lunch, for instance. At Safeway, this typically goes for $2.39 per can. If I buy a case of twelve at Costco, I can get it for less than $1.00 per can. (Don't quote me on that price. My memory may be off. It's low, though.)

All the same, we waste too much food. Every week, we find something that's gone bad. Maybe it's a package of salami that got buried under something else. Maybe it's some vegetables that never got used for their intended recipe. Maybe it's a jar of salsa that's managed to mold.

Kim and I hate wasting food. Yet we do it. And it's largely because we have too much on hand at any given time. We forget what we have. Or we have so much that we can't possibly eat it all. It's a problem. But I know it's not a problem that's unique to us.

A Tiny Fridge

Twenty years ago, I knew a young couple that lived in an apartment with a small dorm-sized refrigerator. I thought it was funny at the time. “You don't have space to store anything!” I said when I first saw it.

“We like it,” the told me. “It forces us to make decisions about what we're going to buy. We can't just stock up on everything. We have to be deliberate.”

I didn't get it.

Similarly, my friend Sparky never kept much food on hand. I thought it was weird. When I'd visit him, his fridge would contain maybe a carton of eggs, a head of lettuce, and a carton of milk. His cupboards would be bare except for a loaf of bread and a box of cereal.

“Where's your food?” I asked him once. Sparky shrugged.

“I only buy what I need,” he said. “I hate that I have to buy a dozen eggs. I'd rather buy only two. I wish I could buy just two slices of bread at a time. I don't want a fully-stocked pantry. For one, it feels oppressive. It's too much Stuff. Plus, I think it leads to food waste.”

A Colossal Waste

Eight years ago, my mother's mental health problems reached a crisis point. She was in a state of constant disorientation and confusion. (Actually, she's still in this state.) After she drove her car through the back of her garage, my brothers and I moved her into an assisted-living facility.

As we cleaned her house during the next few weeks, we were shocked by how much food she had. This single 63-year-old woman had enough on hand to feed a family of five for weeks. Or months. But the sad part was that so much of the food was expired or spoiled. The biggest surprise was a collection of spices from the 1970s.

She had eight-year-old mayonnaise in the fridge. She had multiple opened jars of salsa. The pantry — which my grandfather had built to store my grandmother's copious canning — was stocked with cans and cans of Costco tuna fish.

We salvaged as much of the food as we could, taking it home for ourselves. Most of it had to be thrown out.

Eating Like Europeans

This Saturday, I'm flying to Europe to travel again with my cousin Duane. Thankfully, he's still with us — and he's feeling healthy enough to explore France for a couple of weeks.

Duane and I both love how Europeans buy food. (Or, how we believe they buy food. Our perception may not match reality, and we know that.)

There are supermarkets in Europe, but they're not the megastores we see here in the U.S. And when people shop, they don't buy for weeks at a time. They buy for days at a time. Or one day. They buy what they need for the immediate future. Here in the U.S., we tend to have personal larders designed to satisfy any possible want at any possible moment.

Plus, Europe has many more small, single-purpose shops. Duane and I had a ton of fun in December talking with this gal in Strasbourg who ran a cheese shop. She loved cheese, and she loved sharing it with us:

Want some meat? Stop by the butcher to pick some up. Want a few tomatoes? Stop by the produce stand. Need bread? Head across the street to the bakery. And so on. Stores like this do exist in many parts of the U.S., but they're almost always gourmet specialty shops targeting a high-end clientele. Plus, they're few and far between. You have to drive from the butcher to the bakery to the produce stand.

From what I've seen of Europe, you can find these shops almost anywhere — big cities and small. And they're meant for everyone, not just the wealthy.

Again, my perception might be tainted. I might be viewing things through rose-tinted tourist glasses. But I'm willing to wager that European food waste is much less than that of the United States.

Too Much Dessert

“Crap,” Kim said as she rushed out the door this morning. It's her first day back to work after five weeks off for knee surgery. “We still have those beignets. They're going to go to waste.”

Last Saturday night, our group of friends went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. Kim and I ordered beignets for dessert. We thought that for $8, we'd get a modest-sized portion that she and I could split. Instead, we got five large pastries. We couldn't finish them. We took them back to the rental house with the intention of eating them later. But we haven't eaten them. And now, as Kim said, they're probably going to end up in the trash.

Looking Forward

What does all of this mean for me? If I think I buy and waste too much food, how can I change? Is there a way I can change my food consumption to improve both my waistline and my wallet?

Relating these anecdotes has helped me to understand that yes, I can (and should) change how I'm buying and storing food. Doing so would help me eat better. Plus, it'd help us feel less cramped in our kitchen.

Last autumn, I wrote about re-writing my financial blueprint so that I'm buying things based on actual needs rather than potential wants. At the time, I was thinking about books and garden tools. But the same principle applies to food.

The fundamental problem in our lives is that we buy food based on potential wants. not immediate needs. We might want to have pasta next week, so we buy noodles and tomato sauce and meat. We might want to have a big salad this weekend, so we stock up on vegetables and greens. We often prep a charcuterie board for dinner — we did so last night! — so we try to keep a variety of cheese and salami on hand. But what happens when we go weeks without doing this? Well, the meat and cheese goes to waste.

Lack of waste was one of the huge advantages to my recent HelloFresh experiment. When you open a recipe bag, you know you're going to get only what you need to make this meal — and no more. You won't end up with a bag of carrots that turns rubbery because they got buried in the produce crisper. They give you the one carrot you need to make your salad.

I'm not ready to go back to HelloFresh, but I think there are other changes I can make to improve my consumption and waste habits.

I'd be well-served by returning to how I was prepping meals after we returned from our RV trip. Instead of keeping a ton of stuff on hand, I ought to be making daily decisions about what to eat. Except for my canned chili — which I probably eat three to five times per week — I shouldn't be stocking up on anything at Costco.

This change won't be as easy here in the Stafford hills as it would be in urban Portland. At the condo, I could walk to buy groceries. It was quick. It was simple. Here, the nearest stores is more than a mile away. And we live in a very hilly area. It takes 20+ miles to walk there.

Still, even this is an opportunity.

I'm fat right now. If I were to walk to Safeway at three every afternoon, I could be home by four with whatever groceries I needed for dinner. I'd burn about 250 calories in the process and I'd get time to decompress. Now that the sunny weather is here (and will remain until October), I don't really have any excuse.

Maybe I can't live in my idealized European fashion, but I could certainly try to integrate some aspects of that lifestyle into my own. All it'd take is a little bit of willpower.

The post Food waste and food consumption in the United States appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/food-waste/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[andrewdburton]

Food waste and food consumption in the United States

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much food I consume (and waste). I'm not happy with how I shop and eat, and it's not just because I'm fat right now. I don't like what I'm eating and I don't like how much food I'm throwing out.

Food waste is a huge problem in the United States. Most studies find that Americans waste about one-third of all food that enters the supply chain. This is insane. And when you consider that food spending is the third-largest component of the average American budget, this is a great place for most folks to boost their budget.

According to the 2017 Consumer Expenditure Report, the average household spends $7,729 per year ($644.08 per month) on food. If, as the USDA reports, 31% of the average family's food goes to waste, that's the equivalent of burning $2395.99 per year ($199.67 per month).

For most families, $200 per month is a big deal. That can be the difference between deficit spending and earning a “profit”. That $200 per month could be enough to purchase a new car or to afford better health insurance.

Today, I want to think out loud about food consumption and food waste in my own life.

This article is unusual in that I'm not going to try to offer any solutions. Instead, I'm simply going to share some observations, and I'm going to divide these observations into bite-sized chunks.

If you have solutions to food waste, however, I'd love to hear them.

Fun with Friends

Kim and I spent this past weekend in central Oregon with some of my best friends from high school. Every year, this group of twelve rents a big house for three or four nights so that we can sit around, reminisce, and enjoy a few days without kids.

As is typical with gatherings like this, each couple is in charge of one meal. For instance, Kim and I were responsible for Saturday morning's breakfast.

As is also typical for gatherings like this, there's always a ton of food left over. It's tough to estimate how much a group is going to eat. So, even though we did our best to not have leftovers, there were plenty of eggs and ham and biscuits remaining after Kim and I cooked our meal. Every other couple struggled with the same thing. We always do.

Yesterday as we were packing to come home, our group marveled at how much food was still in the fridge. Honestly, we could have hosted another long weekend for twelve without having to buy groceries. (Okay, we needed more coffee. We ran out of coffee yesterday morning. Mennonites drink a lot of coffee.)

I was pleased to see that our group made a deliberate effort to not waste any of our leftovers. Kristin sent Kim home with the leftover rhubarb sauce. (Kim loves rhubarb!) We sent Kristin home with the leftover ham and the hambone. Kara grabbed the unopened beer. And so on. I've spent time with some groups that would have simply thrown this food out. We didn't do that.

Food Storage in the Motorhome

During our fifteen months exploring the U.S. by RV, Kim and I had limited space for food storage. We had one (very) small refrigerator and one (very) small set of cabinets for dry goods. We learned quickly that we had to be intentional about the food we bought to keep on hand.

The fridge always contained milk and beer, plus whatever meat and salad fixings we needed for the next few days. The cupboard contained rice, pasta, and a few pre-packaged meals.

We learned to keep a mental (and written) inventory of what “stock” items were depleted. If I ate a can of bean with bacon soup, I knew I had to replace it. When we got down to two days worth of rice, we made a point to buy more.

At first, this limited storage space was frustrating. It didn't take long, however, to learn that rather than being a problem, this limited storage was freeing. We had less food to worry about. We had fewer choices to make. We always knew what food we had on hand and when we intended to use it.

When we returned home to Portland, the fridge in the condo seemed ginormous. Who needed that much cold storage? Not us!

For a few weeks, we did a terrific job of maintaining the habits we'd learned on the road. Each afternoon, I'd walk to the store to buy whatever we needed for that evening's meal. We didn't stock up on staples. We simply bought what we needed for the immediate future.

Slowly, though, we reverted to our old habits. The fridge became filled with meat and greens and leftovers. After our first trip to Costco — no need to ever go to Costco when you're on the road in an RV — our cupboards were stocked with beans and rice and cereal and coffee and pre-packaged meals.

Two years ago, we moved from that condo (a place with ample storage space) to this much-smaller country cottage. Here, our kitchen storage is limited. In fact, it's so limited that we couldn't store all of the food we had at the condo. We had to give some away — and put the rest in the trash.

Now, we walk a fine line. We try not to have a lot of “staples” on hand, but at the same time we like to save money by buying our favorite items in bulk. Most days, I eat a can of Nalley's chili for lunch, for instance. At Safeway, this typically goes for $2.39 per can. If I buy a case of twelve at Costco, I can get it for less than $1.00 per can. (Don't quote me on that price. My memory may be off. It's low, though.)

All the same, we waste too much food. Every week, we find something that's gone bad. Maybe it's a package of salami that got buried under something else. Maybe it's some vegetables that never got used for their intended recipe. Maybe it's a jar of salsa that's managed to mold.

Kim and I hate wasting food. Yet we do it. And it's largely because we have too much on hand at any given time. We forget what we have. Or we have so much that we can't possibly eat it all. It's a problem. But I know it's not a problem that's unique to us.

A Tiny Fridge

Twenty years ago, I knew a young couple that lived in an apartment with a small dorm-sized refrigerator. I thought it was funny at the time. “You don't have space to store anything!” I said when I first saw it.

“We like it,” the told me. “It forces us to make decisions about what we're going to buy. We can't just stock up on everything. We have to be deliberate.”

I didn't get it.

Similarly, my friend Sparky never kept much food on hand. I thought it was weird. When I'd visit him, his fridge would contain maybe a carton of eggs, a head of lettuce, and a carton of milk. His cupboards would be bare except for a loaf of bread and a box of cereal.

“Where's your food?” I asked him once. Sparky shrugged.

“I only buy what I need,” he said. “I hate that I have to buy a dozen eggs. I'd rather buy only two. I wish I could buy just two slices of bread at a time. I don't want a fully-stocked pantry. For one, it feels oppressive. It's too much Stuff. Plus, I think it leads to food waste.”

A Colossal Waste

Eight years ago, my mother's mental health problems reached a crisis point. She was in a state of constant disorientation and confusion. (Actually, she's still in this state.) After she drove her car through the back of her garage, my brothers and I moved her into an assisted-living facility.

As we cleaned her house during the next few weeks, we were shocked by how much food she had. This single 63-year-old woman had enough on hand to feed a family of five for weeks. Or months. But the sad part was that so much of the food was expired or spoiled. The biggest surprise was a collection of spices from the 1970s.

She had eight-year-old mayonnaise in the fridge. She had multiple opened jars of salsa. The pantry — which my grandfather had built to store my grandmother's copious canning — was stocked with cans and cans of Costco tuna fish.

We salvaged as much of the food as we could, taking it home for ourselves. Most of it had to be thrown out.

Eating Like Europeans

This Saturday, I'm flying to Europe to travel again with my cousin Duane. Thankfully, he's still with us — and he's feeling healthy enough to explore France for a couple of weeks.

Duane and I both love how Europeans buy food. (Or, how we believe they buy food. Our perception may not match reality, and we know that.)

There are supermarkets in Europe, but they're not the megastores we see here in the U.S. And when people shop, they don't buy for weeks at a time. They buy for days at a time. Or one day. They buy what they need for the immediate future. Here in the U.S., we tend to have personal larders designed to satisfy any possible want at any possible moment.

Plus, Europe has many more small, single-purpose shops. Duane and I had a ton of fun in December talking with this gal in Strasbourg who ran a cheese shop. She loved cheese, and she loved sharing it with us:

Want some meat? Stop by the butcher to pick some up. Want a few tomatoes? Stop by the produce stand. Need bread? Head across the street to the bakery. And so on. Stores like this do exist in many parts of the U.S., but they're almost always gourmet specialty shops targeting a high-end clientele. Plus, they're few and far between. You have to drive from the butcher to the bakery to the produce stand.

From what I've seen of Europe, you can find these shops almost anywhere — big cities and small. And they're meant for everyone, not just the wealthy.

Again, my perception might be tainted. I might be viewing things through rose-tinted tourist glasses. But I'm willing to wager that European food waste is much less than that of the United States.

Too Much Dessert

“Crap,” Kim said as she rushed out the door this morning. It's her first day back to work after five weeks off for knee surgery. “We still have those beignets. They're going to go to waste.”

Last Saturday night, our group of friends went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. Kim and I ordered beignets for dessert. We thought that for $8, we'd get a modest-sized portion that she and I could split. Instead, we got five large pastries. We couldn't finish them. We took them back to the rental house with the intention of eating them later. But we haven't eaten them. And now, as Kim said, they're probably going to end up in the trash.

Looking Forward

What does all of this mean for me? If I think I buy and waste too much food, how can I change? Is there a way I can change my food consumption to improve both my waistline and my wallet?

Relating these anecdotes has helped me to understand that yes, I can (and should) change how I'm buying and storing food. Doing so would help me eat better. Plus, it'd help us feel less cramped in our kitchen.

Last autumn, I wrote about re-writing my financial blueprint so that I'm buying things based on actual needs rather than potential wants. At the time, I was thinking about books and garden tools. But the same principle applies to food.

The fundamental problem in our lives is that we buy food based on potential wants. not immediate needs. We might want to have pasta next week, so we buy noodles and tomato sauce and meat. We might want to have a big salad this weekend, so we stock up on vegetables and greens. We often prep a charcuterie board for dinner — we did so last night! — so we try to keep a variety of cheese and salami on hand. But what happens when we go weeks without doing this? Well, the meat and cheese goes to waste.

Lack of waste was one of the huge advantages to my recent HelloFresh experiment. When you open a recipe bag, you know you're going to get only what you need to make this meal �� and no more. You won't end up with a bag of carrots that turns rubbery because they got buried in the produce crisper. They give you the one carrot you need to make your salad.

I'm not ready to go back to HelloFresh, but I think there are other changes I can make to improve my consumption and waste habits.

I'd be well-served by returning to how I was prepping meals after we returned from our RV trip. Instead of keeping a ton of stuff on hand, I ought to be making daily decisions about what to eat. Except for my canned chili — which I probably eat three to five times per week — I shouldn't be stocking up on anything at Costco.

This change won't be as easy here in the Stafford hills as it would be in urban Portland. At the condo, I could walk to buy groceries. It was quick. It was simple. Here, the nearest stores is more than a mile away. And we live in a very hilly area. It takes 20+ miles to walk there.

Still, even this is an opportunity.

I'm fat right now. If I were to walk to Safeway at three every afternoon, I could be home by four with whatever groceries I needed for dinner. I'd burn about 250 calories in the process and I'd get time to decompress. Now that the sunny weather is here (and will remain until October), I don't really have any excuse.

Maybe I can't live in my idealized European fashion, but I could certainly try to integrate some aspects of that lifestyle into my own. All it'd take is a little bit of willpower.

The post Food waste and food consumption in the United States appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/food-waste/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[andrewdburton]

Food waste and food consumption in the United States

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much food I consume (and waste). I'm not happy with how I shop and eat, and it's not just because I'm fat right now. I don't like what I'm eating and I don't like how much food I'm throwing out.

Food waste is a huge problem in the United States. Most studies find that Americans waste about one-third of all food that enters the supply chain. This is insane. And when you consider that food spending is the third-largest component of the average American budget, this is a great place for most folks to boost their budget.

According to the 2017 Consumer Expenditure Report, the average household spends $7,729 per year ($644.08 per month) on food. If, as the USDA reports, 31% of the average family's food goes to waste, that's the equivalent of burning $2395.99 per year ($199.67 per month).

For most families, $200 per month is a big deal. That can be the difference between deficit spending and earning a “profit”. That $200 per month could be enough to purchase a new car or to afford better health insurance.

Today, I want to think out loud about food consumption and food waste in my own life.

This article is unusual in that I'm not going to try to offer any solutions. Instead, I'm simply going to share some observations, and I'm going to divide these observations into bite-sized chunks.

If you have solutions to food waste, however, I'd love to hear them.

Fun with Friends

Kim and I spent this past weekend in central Oregon with some of my best friends from high school. Every year, this group of twelve rents a big house for three or four nights so that we can sit around, reminisce, and enjoy a few days without kids.

As is typical with gatherings like this, each couple is in charge of one meal. For instance, Kim and I were responsible for Saturday morning's breakfast.

As is also typical for gatherings like this, there's always a ton of food left over. It's tough to estimate how much a group is going to eat. So, even though we did our best to not have leftovers, there were plenty of eggs and ham and biscuits remaining after Kim and I cooked our meal. Every other couple struggled with the same thing. We always do.

Yesterday as we were packing to come home, our group marveled at how much food was still in the fridge. Honestly, we could have hosted another long weekend for twelve without having to buy groceries. (Okay, we needed more coffee. We ran out of coffee yesterday morning. Mennonites drink a lot of coffee.)

I was pleased to see that our group made a deliberate effort to not waste any of our leftovers. Kristin sent Kim home with the leftover rhubarb sauce. (Kim loves rhubarb!) We sent Kristin home with the leftover ham and the hambone. Kara grabbed the unopened beer. And so on. I've spent time with some groups that would have simply thrown this food out. We didn't do that.

Food Storage in the Motorhome

During our fifteen months exploring the U.S. by RV, Kim and I had limited space for food storage. We had one (very) small refrigerator and one (very) small set of cabinets for dry goods. We learned quickly that we had to be intentional about the food we bought to keep on hand.

The fridge always contained milk and beer, plus whatever meat and salad fixings we needed for the next few days. The cupboard contained rice, pasta, and a few pre-packaged meals.

We learned to keep a mental (and written) inventory of what “stock” items were depleted. If I ate a can of bean with bacon soup, I knew I had to replace it. When we got down to two days worth of rice, we made a point to buy more.

At first, this limited storage space was frustrating. It didn't take long, however, to learn that rather than being a problem, this limited storage was freeing. We had less food to worry about. We had fewer choices to make. We always knew what food we had on hand and when we intended to use it.

When we returned home to Portland, the fridge in the condo seemed ginormous. Who needed that much cold storage? Not us!

For a few weeks, we did a terrific job of maintaining the habits we'd learned on the road. Each afternoon, I'd walk to the store to buy whatever we needed for that evening's meal. We didn't stock up on staples. We simply bought what we needed for the immediate future.

Slowly, though, we reverted to our old habits. The fridge became filled with meat and greens and leftovers. After our first trip to Costco — no need to ever go to Costco when you're on the road in an RV — our cupboards were stocked with beans and rice and cereal and coffee and pre-packaged meals.

Two years ago, we moved from that condo (a place with ample storage space) to this much-smaller country cottage. Here, our kitchen storage is limited. In fact, it's so limited that we couldn't store all of the food we had at the condo. We had to give some away — and put the rest in the trash.

Now, we walk a fine line. We try not to have a lot of “staples” on hand, but at the same time we like to save money by buying our favorite items in bulk. Most days, I eat a can of Nalley's chili for lunch, for instance. At Safeway, this typically goes for $2.39 per can. If I buy a case of twelve at Costco, I can get it for less than $1.00 per can. (Don't quote me on that price. My memory may be off. It's low, though.)

All the same, we waste too much food. Every week, we find something that's gone bad. Maybe it's a package of salami that got buried under something else. Maybe it's some vegetables that never got used for their intended recipe. Maybe it's a jar of salsa that's managed to mold.

Kim and I hate wasting food. Yet we do it. And it's largely because we have too much on hand at any given time. We forget what we have. Or we have so much that we can't possibly eat it all. It's a problem. But I know it's not a problem that's unique to us.

A Tiny Fridge

Twenty years ago, I knew a young couple that lived in an apartment with a small dorm-sized refrigerator. I thought it was funny at the time. “You don't have space to store anything!” I said when I first saw it.

“We like it,” the told me. “It forces us to make decisions about what we're going to buy. We can't just stock up on everything. We have to be deliberate.”

I didn't get it.

Similarly, my friend Sparky never kept much food on hand. I thought it was weird. When I'd visit him, his fridge would contain maybe a carton of eggs, a head of lettuce, and a carton of milk. His cupboards would be bare except for a loaf of bread and a box of cereal.

“Where's your food?” I asked him once. Sparky shrugged.

“I only buy what I need,” he said. “I hate that I have to buy a dozen eggs. I'd rather buy only two. I wish I could buy just two slices of bread at a time. I don't want a fully-stocked pantry. For one, it feels oppressive. It's too much Stuff. Plus, I think it leads to food waste.”

A Colossal Waste

Eight years ago, my mother's mental health problems reached a crisis point. She was in a state of constant disorientation and confusion. (Actually, she's still in this state.) After she drove her car through the back of her garage, my brothers and I moved her into an assisted-living facility.

As we cleaned her house during the next few weeks, we were shocked by how much food she had. This single 63-year-old woman had enough on hand to feed a family of five for weeks. Or months. But the sad part was that so much of the food was expired or spoiled. The biggest surprise was a collection of spices from the 1970s.

She had eight-year-old mayonnaise in the fridge. She had multiple opened jars of salsa. The pantry — which my grandfather had built to store my grandmother's copious canning — was stocked with cans and cans of Costco tuna fish.

We salvaged as much of the food as we could, taking it home for ourselves. Most of it had to be thrown out.

Eating Like Europeans

This Saturday, I'm flying to Europe to travel again with my cousin Duane. Thankfully, he's still with us — and he's feeling healthy enough to explore France for a couple of weeks.

Duane and I both love how Europeans buy food. (Or, how we believe they buy food. Our perception may not match reality, and we know that.)

There are supermarkets in Europe, but they're not the megastores we see here in the U.S. And when people shop, they don't buy for weeks at a time. They buy for days at a time. Or one day. They buy what they need for the immediate future. Here in the U.S., we tend to have personal larders designed to satisfy any possible want at any possible moment.

Plus, Europe has many more small, single-purpose shops. Duane and I had a ton of fun in December talking with this gal in Strasbourg who ran a cheese shop. She loved cheese, and she loved sharing it with us:

Want some meat? Stop by the butcher to pick some up. Want a few tomatoes? Stop by the produce stand. Need bread? Head across the street to the bakery. And so on. Stores like this do exist in many parts of the U.S., but they're almost always gourmet specialty shops targeting a high-end clientele. Plus, they're few and far between. You have to drive from the butcher to the bakery to the produce stand.

From what I've seen of Europe, you can find these shops almost anywhere — big cities and small. And they're meant for everyone, not just the wealthy.

Again, my perception might be tainted. I might be viewing things through rose-tinted tourist glasses. But I'm willing to wager that European food waste is much less than that of the United States.

Too Much Dessert

“Crap,” Kim said as she rushed out the door this morning. It's her first day back to work after five weeks off for knee surgery. “We still have those beignets. They're going to go to waste.”

Last Saturday night, our group of friends went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. Kim and I ordered beignets for dessert. We thought that for $8, we'd get a modest-sized portion that she and I could split. Instead, we got five large pastries. We couldn't finish them. We took them back to the rental house with the intention of eating them later. But we haven't eaten them. And now, as Kim said, they're probably going to end up in the trash.

Looking Forward

What does all of this mean for me? If I think I buy and waste too much food, how can I change? Is there a way I can change my food consumption to improve both my waistline and my wallet?

Relating these anecdotes has helped me to understand that yes, I can (and should) change how I'm buying and storing food. Doing so would help me eat better. Plus, it'd help us feel less cramped in our kitchen.

Last autumn, I wrote about re-writing my financial blueprint so that I'm buying things based on actual needs rather than potential wants. At the time, I was thinking about books and garden tools. But the same principle applies to food.

The fundamental problem in our lives is that we buy food based on potential wants. not immediate needs. We might want to have pasta next week, so we buy noodles and tomato sauce and meat. We might want to have a big salad this weekend, so we stock up on vegetables and greens. We often prep a charcuterie board for dinner — we did so last night! — so we try to keep a variety of cheese and salami on hand. But what happens when we go weeks without doing this? Well, the meat and cheese goes to waste.

Lack of waste was one of the huge advantages to my recent HelloFresh experiment. When you open a recipe bag, you know you're going to get only what you need to make this meal — and no more. You won't end up with a bag of carrots that turns rubbery because they got buried in the produce crisper. They give you the one carrot you need to make your salad.

I'm not ready to go back to HelloFresh, but I think there are other changes I can make to improve my consumption and waste habits.

I'd be well-served by returning to how I was prepping meals after we returned from our RV trip. Instead of keeping a ton of stuff on hand, I ought to be making daily decisions about what to eat. Except for my canned chili — which I probably eat three to five times per week — I shouldn't be stocking up on anything at Costco.

This change won't be as easy here in the Stafford hills as it would be in urban Portland. At the condo, I could walk to buy groceries. It was quick. It was simple. Here, the nearest stores is more than a mile away. And we live in a very hilly area. It takes 20+ miles to walk there.

Still, even this is an opportunity.

I'm fat right now. If I were to walk to Safeway at three every afternoon, I could be home by four with whatever groceries I needed for dinner. I'd burn about 250 calories in the process and I'd get time to decompress. Now that the sunny weather is here (and will remain until October), I don't really have any excuse.

Maybe I can't live in my idealized European fashion, but I could certainly try to integrate some aspects of that lifestyle into my own. All it'd take is a little bit of willpower.

The post Food waste and food consumption in the United States appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/food-waste/ via http://www.rssmix.com/