A couple of decades ago a junior chef working in the kitchens of the Ritz in London got disgusted with the amount of waste coming back from the salad bowls presented for free at the tables of the rich and powerful in the restaurant. He was not a TV so called celebrity chef but one of those who actually wielded a real knife on a real chopping board and produced something really recognisable and really tasty. To present food well is one thing. To torture ingredients to make them look like something growing on Mars is arrogant and plain stupid. A carrot is a carrot after all and no amount of sculpture is going to make it taste of anything but a carrot. When the Roux brothers started using snails eggs for fish dishes decoration I drew the line and relegated their books under a real pile of real unidentified bin bags containing real unidentified matter in the attic. Meanwhile our young chef at the Ritz was picking the left over lettuce leaves from the returning bowls. Once the dressing is put on the leaves quickly wilt as anyone who bothers to dress a salad knows. Good dressing by the way: 4 tablespoons of olive oil, one of balsamic or cider vinegar, one teaspoon of runny honey, the same of mustard and freshly ground pepper. Stir well and taste. Add salt if need be. So there he is, in those vast kitchens in the basement of this once upon a time immigrant’s emporium and he had an idea. He placed those limp leaves between that famous thin bread and put it through the machine that turns an ordinary sandwich into those perfect little squares dowagers love to quaff with their little finger up. Any dish written in French seems to be more authentic than it is so our young chef offered “petits paves de pain de froment rustique a la laitue fatiguee”. To you and I: small brown bread sandwiches filled with tired lettuce. It was an instant success and nearly deposed the traditional cucumber king from its British throne. At the last count the Ritz is still serving them in London. I can’t check that one out. The last time we were there we had to produce some plastic to pay for two Champagne cocktails. In the mean time Cesar Ritz is laughing in his grave. Not bad for the son of a poor Swiss goat farmer. The food waste coming out of an ordinary household is appalling. The well-known woman’s monthly magazine in UK (tried, tested and trusted) conducted an experiment not very long ago. They monitored a family with 3 children over a week. The wife is a homemaker so it would seem that even with three children she has the whole day to simmer a casserole. But obviously not. At the end of the week that “homemaker” had binned 8.50 kgs of food. Amongst other things she threw away 500gms of cheese (for goodness sake!), the same weight in croissants and vanilla custard, nearly a kilo of salad stuff, more than 3.50kgs of left-over food and fed her dog more than a kilo of fresh meat. There were other items to bulk up that sorry list. She is not a homemaker. She is a home buster. Her excuse is that she buys foodstuff she thinks is good for the family; the family has other tastes so she throws away what they don’t want when the sell-by-date has expired. Stupid woman. There are a couple of issues in her case. First, the family must eat what is on their plates. Don’t like it? Tough. Go with an empty belly. Second, she can go with the family tastes and let them rot their teeth with fizzy drinks and get obese on MRM (mechanically removed meat) hamburgers. Option three is to ignore the sell-by-dates and keep the food stuff and meat in good condition in the fridge for a few more days. Or cook it in the form of a casserole. That infamous date is only a guide line. It is also a shield for the supermarkets against any possible court case involving food poisoning. To throw away a pound of cheese is madness. Even the hardest of cheese can be grated; think of Parmesan. Grated cheese can be added not only to pasta but to soups, potatoes, vegetables, roasted chicken pieces, pies and so on. Vanilla custard and croissants would have made a trifle with any jam lurking in the cupboard. In the meantime that brainless woman bought some ready made puddings for her family… What a dingbat!. Salad stuff (a kilo!) can be blended as a soup with the addition of a little milk, some water with a cube of stock and, if any, some left-over cream. She also threw away some squashy tomatoes. It is very simple to use those. Just fry a couple of onions in olive oil; roughly chop the toms with their skins on. Add a pinch of whatever herbs you have on the shelf, a half cube of stock, a teaspoon of sugar or honey, the same of vinegar and freshly ground pepper. Add a little water so it does not stick at the bottom of the pan. Simmer for about 10 minutes. You have a marvellous sauce for pasta, meat or vegetables. Check seasoning. Left-over pasta will reheat well in the oven. Add a little white sauce, or cream, even just milk. Mashed potatoes mixed with left-over flaked fish and a little flour will turn into scrumptious fish cakes that will beat the chemical pathetic offerings from that dirty old man wearing a paper captain cap on the well-known packet of frozen rubbish so common in lower grade supermarkets. I know. It takes a little time but why not cut on the hours wasted watching some inane soap on TV? Get going in the kitchen with a glass of wine. To make a casserole or stew for ten portions does not take longer than to make is for two. Freeze by portions. Some of the margarine or yogurt tubs are strong enough to be washed and used as containers with foil on top. Always put a label on anything that you will store in the freezer. No need to spend money on special bags, special labels, special pens that the supermarkets sell at a vast profit. Your local stationary shop has got adhesive labels. The ordinary felt tip pen you use daily will do the trick and if you keep the clear plastic bags that the traders are so fond of using you are all set to pack your freezer. That woman also threw a whole loaf of bread in the rubbish. In France bread was sacred in my days. For large families it came in 3 kilos loaves. By law it had to be weighed by whoever sold it. If it was short in weight a piece was cut from an already used loaf with a bread cutting machine which is collector’s item now and added to the loaf. This odd piece was the perk of whoever was dispatched to get the daily bread and was promptly eaten on the way home. Before cutting into the new bread my grandmother used to draw a cross with a knife on its underbelly. Odd, considering that we were a totally atheist family. Nevertheless throwing bread away was not even thought of. It was grated to make crumbs, toasted to be spread with lard (cholesterol had not yet arrived on the scene), cubed and roasted in the old range oven to add to soups or vegetables. If, on its last leg, there were some signs of greenery on it the dogs, cats or chicken were happy to gulp it with a bit of sour milk or the last dredges of last night sauce from the casserole. Or water. No human or animal could afford to be fussy in those days. Times are a-changing. I know; but times have got a habit to come full circle. Me thinks that a circle is about to close up. Anybody who throws bread or any other edible matters into the bin should carry a government warning on his/her forehead. Because otherwise it will be going into that big landfill. Once going it will be gone. The circle will be complete.

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