The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [44]
“Yes, we see lots of these,” she said. “They perish so quickly.” They also worked out great for group dinners, since there were so many vegetarians. A big bowl of green salad was a staple at nearly every meal.
We opened another garbage bag and removed a smattering of various foods: a package of corn muffins, a quart of yogurt (expired), sour cream (unexpired), a package of chocolate-chip cookies (my daydream was realized!), and some deli sandwiches in plastic containers, to name a few of the finds.
“Any meat-eating freegans here?” somebody called out. The packaged sandwiches, which had most likely been made fresh that morning at the store, had cold cuts such as salami and ham stuffed inside kaiser rolls. A couple of guys in the group eagerly scooped them up.
“It’s less common, but some of us do eat meat, or will at least eat it if we see it being wasted,” Janet was telling the reporter. Since many freegans are vegan, though, they have little use for the meat and dairy products they find, even if they are still fresh. I looked at the sour cream container. The plastic was squashed in a little bit on one side, but its expiration date read that it wasn’t due to go to waste for another two weeks. Probably it was there because the container had gotten smashed.
It sounded like a no-brainer to me at first that the majority of dairy and meat found in a Dumpster was there for a reason—because it had gone bad. But I’d sure have no qualms about eating those leftover deli sandwiches. And when another apparently meat-eating freegan scored a package of sliced prosciutto, I had to admit that it looked pretty tempting. Was it still good? I guess that would be left for him to find out.
Janet held up the quart of sour cream. She began talking about the terrible conditions on confined dairy farms where the animals who produced the milk for it were kept, how they were separated from their mothers practically at birth, and the trauma that this caused for both mother and calf. She went on to describe the conventional milk cow’s unhealthy diet of cheap grains, when cows are meant to be pastured on grass.
“And in the end, after all that, this cup of sour cream is here, in the trash,” Janet concluded. She plopped the carton disdainfully back with the stash of food finds.
A few people still picked through the last bag. The strained looks on their faces led me to believe it didn’t hold much that was good. Janet stood back and surveyed the row of produce on the sidewalk, frowning. She announced to the group: “So this happens to be a rare, slow night for Dumpster diving. Usually we come away with a lot more food than what we’ve seen here tonight,” she said.
The reporter’s photographer was snapping away, taking shots of people holding their favorite food finds. A girl with an apple proudly posed before him. I eyed the food on the curb, wondering whether there was anything I wanted. My eyes were suddenly drawn to a familiar shape: a small head of garlic. I picked it up. It felt firm and fresh, though a few of its outer cloves were missing.
“Take it!” Madeline urged when she caught sight of me inspecting it. “We’ve got plenty of them.”
I slipped it into my tote bag.
Moving along, we stopped next at a Dunkin’ Donuts just a few doors down. I wasn’t particularly thrilled