Tons of food is wasted every day in the UK, much of it still fit to be eaten. At the same time, statistics from food bank charity Trussell Trust show that over 1.1 million people in Britain didn’t have enough money to feed themselves last year. Recent NHS figures also reveal that almost double the number of people were treated for malnutrition between August 2014 and July 2015, compared to the year before.
You don’t have to be the sharpest knife in the box to realize that in one of the wealthiest nations on the planet, something has gone very wrong with the way we distribute food.
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As it happens, food redistribution is John Marren’s business. Since the 1970s, his company has been the largest re-distributor of food produce that would otherwise have ended up in landfill. We’re not talking rotten tomatoes or out-of-date cans of baked beans, but food that has been accidentally mis-packaged or leftover when supermarkets over-order, as well as items that would be fit for human consumption, but are being used to feed animals instead. Marren took this food and sold it in surplus shops—mostly in food factories, where staff understood that this food was unwanted, rather than inedible.
But around four years ago, concerned by Britain’s rising food poverty statistics, Marren realised that his business could also work as a social enterprise, redistributing food to people in need. He set about establishing “Community Shops” in areas that would benefit from this kind of initiative, including Goldthorpe in Yorkshire and West Norwood in South London, which is where I head to find out more.
I’m greeted by cheerful orange doors, through which lies what could easily be mistaken for your local minimart or 24-hour convenience store. Shelves of food piled high, some a little more random than others, but all neatly stacked and labelled for shoppers to browse. Every product is something that would have been thrown away, were it not rescued by the shop.
Not just anyone can use Community Shop. If you live within the local area and can prove that you’re on a low income—usually because you’re receiving state support—the shop allows you to join as a member for six months. Goldthorpe has 500 members and West Norwood around 750, all varying ages, from different walks of life, and short on food for different reasons. There’s no one “type” of person to use a Community Shop.
I wander the aisles to see what’s on offer. Jars of pasta sauce, tins of beans, packets of chocolate biscuits, blocks of cheese, a whole fridge full of meat, pet food, toiletries, even make up. I also spot jars of caviar—all rescued from landfill. You could do a full shop here, very easily.
“For us, it’s not just about cheap food, it’s about good quality products. It’s about getting people a lot more for their money,” explains Clara Widdison, shop manager at the West Norwood Community Shop. “For example, you could go into an ordinary supermarket and buy a meat product, like sliced ham, for a pound. It’ll be really low quality, probably full of water, and it’s not likely to taste very good. It’s nutritionally not great and it’s probably not British meat. But if you come here, a pound will get you something of really great quality.”
The West Norwood branch also features a cafe, from which the incredible smell of cumin and onions comes wafting in my direction. Trish James is the chef, and serves bacon and sausage sandwiches for breakfast for £1.50, as well as hot lunches.
Today, it’s a choice of chickpea or beef curry, and there’s masses of it, served on platter-like plates in generous dollops, with rice, naan, pakora, and onion bahjis. There are even chocolate eclairs for pudding. And like the food sold in the shop, everything has been sourced from surplus food.
“I have to create something with what we’ve got,” explains James. “One time, we had goat meat so I made a curry with it. We’ve had hearts and liver, and oysters one time as well. We like to serve the unique stuff so people can try things, maybe for the first time.”
James also takes stock of what’s on sale in the shop and creates a menu which she displays a board, along with costs, making it easier for people to buy what they need and put together a good meal at home.
“Once we’d opened the supermarket, we quickly realized that universal access to food wasn’t just restricted by not having money to buy it,” adds Widdison. “It was because some people don’t have the skills to cook or the implements, and some don’t even have a kitchen. We believe everyone should be able to have a hot meal every day, so we incorporated cafes into our stores.”
Sitting down with customers over food, Widdison and her team discovered the complexity of reasons behind some people’s struggle to feed themselves. They began to offer wider services to help people get out of debt, find work, retrain, and even start their own businesses, rescuing them from the food poverty trap.
“It’s really important that our members know that we’ve invested in them, and that we believe they’re worth it,” says Widdison. “Food banks do an incredible job but once you’ve got food and are out of immediate crisis, what you need is support to get you back into a position of control. That’s what we do. We want to restore people’s relationships with food, so that where it’s been a source of distress and fear, it can become a symbol of celebration and health again.”
The laughter I hear from the cafe as regulars share their lunch is testament to this. Supermarkets are often painted as the bad guys of the food world but if more of them could be like this, they could be truly revolutionary.
For more on combatting food waste in the UK, check out the MUNCHIES Guide to British Food.