“The goal here is to broaden the scope of what is edible.” “I want to engage people and get them excited about food waste prevention so we send less food to the landfill or compost,” he says.
He’s a problem-solver with a social conscience and hopes Salvage Supperclub might play a role in modifying people’s behavior for the greater good. Treuhaft’s appearance offers clues to his designer background: neat, tidy, efficient. “The idea behind this multicourse, veg-forward tasting menu is for eaters to see the incredible potential many of us fail to see in our food,” says Treuhaft, who comes to the sustainability issue from a social-innovation-through-design perspective rather than a culinary one. And not too fancy: the sort of dishes-fava, corn and lettuce soup tomato, eggplant and squash ratatouille mini veggie burgers with crispy potatoes-that modest home cooks might actually make, which is chef Pesha Perlsweig’s intention for the meal, the brainchild of New Yorker Josh Treuhaft, an industrial designer who has thrown dumpster dinners in Brooklyn and Berkeley. With the exception of the banana skin-it was hard to get past the slimy texture and scent of rot, even if the peel was reimagined as a crispy doughnut-it’s all finger-licking good. These ingredients, some of the most frequently tossed food items in home kitchens, don’t exactly whet the appetite as advertised. On tonight’s menu: wilted basil, bruised plums, past-their-prime tomatoes, vegetable pulp, surplus squash, whole favas (we’re talking even the tough outer layer), garbanzo bean water, dairy whey, sweet potato skins and overripe, peel-on bananas. The dumpster is simply but tastefully decked out: glass tea lights, long wooden benches, bar towel napkins.īut the bottom line: a dumpster dinner better be delicious or I’m out of here. The hosts are gracious, the guests friendly and the organizers earnest. The event, Salvage Supperclub, seeks to draw attention to food waste and encourage home cooks to not throw out less-than-ideal-yet-still-edible stuff.Ī glance at the menu and the evening looks promising. It’s a balmy Sunday night in late June, post–Pride parade, and I’m about to eat dinner in a pristine blue dumpster in a dead-end SOMA street. Anti-waste warriors want YOU to stop tossing food. (Don’t sweat it, it’s easier than you think.)
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