Waste Not, Want Not

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All images here courtesy of DIVEthefilm.com

Waste Not, Want Not

American anomaly. We lament the disappearance of Twinkies, but we also diet and obsess over whether a particular food is “healthy” or not. But whether we’re dieting or indulging, one thing is clear: We don’t value food the way it deserves to be valued. The great distance between the farm and our kitchen table, our disconnection from the soil that requires tending and the fresh products that require harvesting—these enable our unhealthy lack of appreciation for the food that sustains us. We’re aware that somewhere in the world children’s bellies swell with hunger and people die of starvation, but we perceive these to be far-off places and situations we can do nothing about. One result of this dysfunctional relationship with food is the staggering amount of food that is wasted every day. As much as 40 percent of all food produced in the US—approximately 100 billion pounds of food each year—goes uneaten and rots in landfills. Each year in Europe and the US almost 2,000 pounds of food are produced for each person, but over 600 of those are discarded between the farm and the consumer’s table. In 2010 alone, Americans wasted close to 34 million tons of food, enough to fill the Empire State Building 91 times. Two billion people could be fed with the amount that this nation alone throws away each year. On an individual basis, the average American consumer wastes 10 times the amount of a person living in Southeast Asia and 50 percent more than Americans did just 40 years ago. The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization estimates that the food wasted by consumers in

The shocking reality of food waste in the industrialized world by Halee Gray Scott

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he history of my relationship with food reads like a bad romance. There are times I’ve adored it, like when our family would gather around my great-grandmother’s table weighted down with heaping mounds of creamy mashed potatoes, roasted corn on the cob, and platters of Southern-fried chicken or when I encountered the strawberry-stuffed crepes served up at Jean-Philippe Patisserie in the lobby of the Bellagio in Las Vegas, Nev. But most of the time, food has been the enemy, my relationship with it warped because of an eating disorder that stretched across the span of a whole decade—from the painful adolescent years of junior high to my soul-searching early 20s. Though my experience is admittedly extreme, it’s by no means an

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