Bernard O'Shea: My surprising key to winning the food waste battle

Bernard O'Shea, food waste warrior. Pic: Brian Arthur

The unlikely connection between my articles on shopping bags, composting and my Instagram addiction led to an answer to a pressing question that has been bothering me for quite some time. Why do I waste so much food?

I love grocery shopping. There I said it. A weight has been lifted off me. It’s almost shameful to reveal my secret frozen-isle fetish, but now it’s out there, and I’m free.

I can stand proud in the middle aisle of Lidl with a pneumatic pump in hand and roar, “I love doing the food shop”.

When I told my wife this nearly 15 years ago, she pointed out that I was possibly in love with the ‘ambience’ and the marketing tricks that retailers seduce you with instead of the actual shopping itself.

Maybe, but every Monday morning, when the kids are packed off to school, I feel excited knowing I’ll trolley push my way to happiness.

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Bernard O'Shea and assistant columnist Jingles, the latter of whom was unavailable for comment on the matter of food waste

The price you pay

One thing I have noticed that has seriously dampened my food fetish is the prices.

Everything has skyrocketed. I have since stopped popping in and out to pick up a few ‘bits and pieces’, as I can at least keep a mental track of my spending if I only bring myself to the shops once a week.

I always try to fill up on vegetables and fruit. I also try, and this is where the word ‘try’ needs to be taken with a pinch of salt to buy healthily. My kids would eat berries and mangoes for Ireland but are not fond of broccoli.

Overall, I thought I was doing okay with doing the weekly big shop. I was wrong.

When my son wanted to learn how to compost to get a badge for his beaver group, I realised very quickly how my money was the only thing that was composting rapidly.

I couldn’t believe how much food I was throwing out for six weeks.

I’m not mean, but I can’t bear to see food going to waste. It ramped up my food guilt. Eventually, I calculated that in fruit and veg alone, at the very minimum, €300 was provided into the compost heap.

I was the only one eating lots of vegetables; the kids would someday take it or leave it. However, there is a silver bullet for this, the freezer.

I still buy fresh fruit and veg, but it is frozen if I can. That way, I can at least postpone my guilt in subzero temperatures.

My wife constantly tells me to make meal plans, but there is also a hitch.

The kids will only eat some of what I cook, and I make several different dinners. Our parents find this amusing because most of us grew up with that classic Irish saying, ‘eat your dinner, there’s nothing else in the house’.

But what has worked is my obsession with remembering to bring my bags for life. I’ve taped €2 coins to them so I won’t leave them behind and I’ll always have money for the trolley, but now I write a ‘negative shopping list’ with a marker on the inside of the bags.

Neven Maguire: a food god of Bernard O'Shea's

When a negative is a positive

This negative shopping list lists food items I’ve thrown out or not eaten. For instance, I have a massive bag for life, and this week, I’ve written on the inside of it cauliflower, potatoes, rice, eggs, pasta, ham, and Babybels.

These items are regular purchases that often see the bin. My Scrooge list stops me from buying them out of habit. 

But the last tip I accidentally tripped over to save food waste was by following Neven Maguire on Instagram.

Neven is one of many Foodistas I follow, which is a problem. I have too many food gods.

When you think about it, Instagram is almost like a religion. It has followers and influences.

I’ve picked my culinary god for this year and cooked one of his recipes each week.

The food choices we are served on social media affect the amount of grocery consumption. I often left the shops with ingredients for a dish I knew I’d never cook.

So I reduced it down to one culinary religion.

Armed with a negative shopping list and social media magic, I transformed from a mortal into a food-waste superhero.

I may not wear a cape, but I’d like to think I’m saving the planet one grocery trip at a time.