Freegan party
Skipping meals
Eating food from skips used to be the preserve of foxes and tramps, but with rising food costs and increasing anti-consumerism, freeganism is becoming almost chic. Benjamin Clothier invited The Hussy around for an early Christmas dinner.
- illustration by Mia Hague
A satisfied silence descended upon the dinner table as my guests tucked into their roast turkey with chestnut stuffing, sprouts, cranberry and tout les trimmings. Sipping my glass of single-estate sancerre, courtesy of one of my dining companions, I reflected on his generosity. I, on the other hand, had spent not a penny on the fine festive fare. Indeed, I’d pulled most of the ingredients for this culinary cornucopia from a supermarket skip the previous evening.
“I couldn’t give a toss about capitalism but free-of-charge gourmet dining had a real ring to it”
I was introduced to the concept of harvesting food from supermarket bins by Jamie, an art student friend of mine. At an upmarket Hove dinner party, he’d delighted some visitors – and repulsed others – with his tale of a sumptuous banquet of sirloin steaks that he’d scavenged from outside Sainsbury’s on Lewes Road one moonlit eve.”Something stopped me.
“I,” the young Turk declared, “am a freegan. I reject the consumerist society in which we live and forage in supermarket skips as an alternative to paying for food.”
“Was there not something awfully feral, and very likely unhygienic, about the practice?”
Buy none get one free
All of which sounded like a jolly good jape to me. So, with further inquiry, he led me to the Cowley Club to meet a small group of urban foragers. I politely partook of the herbal teas that I was presented with and listened to increasingly tremendous stories of bounties plundered from the bins of evil, rotten-to-the-core capitalist supermarkets. I couldn’t give a toss about capitalism but free-of-charge gourmet dining had a real ring to it.
They were a brave if rather scruffy bunch, and their tales beguiled me. I found myself surreptitiously eyeing up assorted skips in the days that followed. Within a week I’d found a vacuum cleaner, a bread maker and a rather stylish satchel. A fine haul.
When it came to scavenging food, though, something stopped me. Was there not something awfully feral, and very likely unhygienic, about the practice? How would it look for a gentleman of my standing in the Hove community to pillage his prandial perks in such a manner?
Bins laden
But my interest was piqued. So, under cover of night, armed with a torch and a backpack, I set off to the car park behind Marks & Spencer. Two of the large bins were empty but the third was full to the brim so, screwing my courage to the sticking post, I dove in. The top layer comprised only empty packaging and discarded carrier bags. Digging deeper though, I hit the motherload: fine cheeses, loaves of bread, an assortment of vegetables and two chilled steak pies. All packaging was intact and, notwithstanding the expired sell-by dates, it looked as appetising as it would have done on the shelves a few hours earlier.
As I stuffed my booty triumphantly into my backpack, a loud shout was directed at me from across the car park. Legally, I had been reliably informed, dumpster diving is a grey area; while the owner of an object loses their rights to it once discarded, the long arm of the law could still, technically, finger the feckless freegan for trespass. As a fat security guard waddled over, I slipped back into the night.
Harvested supper
Returning home, I opened a bottle of wine. The steak pie, browned in the oven and accompanied by steamed asparagus with parmesan shavings – all plundered that evening – tasted so much better than if I’d paid for it. It tasted, dare I say, of freedom.
Over the following months, I visited other supermarket car parks and was truly shocked at what is thrown out by those cathedrals to consumerism. I now regularly skip-hunt, and I eat wonderfully. Expiry dates are usually a nonsense. You don’t need a use-by date to tell you if bananas are still yellow or bread is still soft. Chocolate and hard cheeses remain perfectly good for weeks. Chilled foods I freeze for a rainy day.
“Browned in the oven and paired with steamed asparagus and parmesan shavings, it tasted so much better than if I’d paid for it. It tasted, dare I say, of freedom”
I never used to relish traipsing around supermarket aisles. “Shopping” is certainly more fun these days. The pricier, more upmarket stores are usually more wasteful and hence offer richer pickings. I’d draw the line at skip-hunting outside Aldi or Lidl anyway; a man must keep his standards, credit crunch or no.
Culinary conspirators
So it came about that I hosted a freegan pre-Christmas dinner party, although I hadn’t mentioned the ‘freegan’ aspect on the invitation – the origins of the royal repast set before them were unknown to my guests.
“A splendid supper,” Hove hippy mother told me as she departed home to relieve Tarquin’s babysitter of her duties. “Ah. I nearly forgot.” A quick rummage in her behemoth of a handbag and she presented me with a box of Waitrose fairtrade organic chocolates. I happened to notice the date on them. Our eyes met and a flash of mutual understanding passed between us.
“Is it just me, or do these chocolates have something of the night about them?” I murmured, an eyebrow knowingly raised. She smiled slyly. The Hussy…
To see more work by Mia Hague, visit www.miahague.co.uk
What's on your mind?
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February 22nd 2010 | 1
Sam Bland says:
Hi there
I’m a freelance photographer based in Brighton and am currently embarking on a long-term project looking at people who live outside or on the edge of mainstream consumerist Western culture, and within that I’m looking at freegans. I just read your excellent piece on that very subject and wondered if you would have any contacts or info etc. that you could share?
Cheers
Sam
07854 136656 -
The Hussy says:
I’ll try and chase something up for you… watch this space…
