Carrot Tops

Those feathery greens on carrots are often tossed, yet they’re entirely edible and packed with flavour. Historically, carrot tops were simmered into soups or used medicinally in teas.

Across Canada’s cultural landscape, food traditions have long embraced the principle of using the whole harvest. Indigenous communities developed methods such as drying bison meat into pemmican or smoking fish so that no part of an animal or plant was wasted. Immigrant families, from Ukrainian settlers in Manitoba to Chinese railway workers, also relied on whole-use cooking to stretch limited ingredients.

Every year, Canadians throw out millions of tonnes of food, and a surprising portion of it isn’t spoiled—it’s the skins, stems, and leaves we never even considered edible. Carrot tops go straight to the compost bin, beet greens are lopped off at the market stall, and potato skins are peeled and discarded without a second thought.

Preservation has always been more than food science — it was survival strategy, cultural safeguard, and sometimes an act of quiet rebellion. Before refrigeration, communities relied on salting, drying, fermenting, and storing underground to extend the life of seasonal harvests. These methods not only ensured food security but also created culinary traditions that shaped identities. To preserve was to prepare for scarcity, to protect a household, and to assert resilience in the face of unpredictability.

Every kitchen has scraps. A carrot peel, a crust of bread, a bone left behind after roasting a chicken. Today many of these end up in the bin, but for much of human history they were the starting point of the next meal. What we think of as waste has long been the foundation of cuisine, shaping recipes that endured not because they were second-rate, but because they were satisfying, flavourful, and essential.

For most of human history, food waste was nearly impossible to imagine. Every bite represented labour, risk, and reverence. A slaughtered animal carried weeks of preparation and the responsibility of honouring its life. A harvest gathered from the soil embodied the turning of seasons and the work of many hands. Throwing away edible parts meant discarding not only nourishment but also the effort and meaning tied to it.

Scraps, stems, skins, and seeds — these so-called leftovers have always held nutritional and cultural value, and today they are being rediscovered as essential tools in the fight against food waste.

Not every meal needs a recipe. Sometimes it just needs a spoon and a jar. These 12 make-ahead or slow-fermented foods have nourished generations — and they still hold their own on today’s snack plates.

It started with a ceramic plate, a piece of cheese, some grapes, a wine glass wheeled in tight. No flame. No stove. No recipe. Back in 2023, TikTok user Olivia Maher—sister of Olympic rugby star Ilona Maher—named it “Girl Dinner”. In a video testimony, she described it as a “medieval peasant meal” she loved. The clip went viral, sparking millions of videos of minimalist meals that looked like they were thrown together—or maybe just unearthed from a ragged fridge. (Glamour, The Hans India, Cultura Colectiva)

The hum of the fridge. The tap leaking, soft as breath. The kettle rattling, forgotten and still full. There’s an avocado on the counter that went bad yesterday. A heel of bread. One last hardboiled egg, peeled already, shrivelled a little. One pickle. A triangle of cheese. Three olives, maybe four, soft, salty, slumped.

Girl dinner, they say, is effortless. A scoop of hummus, a heel of bread, the last of the berries, some pickled beans from a jar so old the label’s curling. It’s a meal that doesn’t pretend to be anything but enough.

But “effortless” is a myth.

Eight-fifteen on a Wednesday night. The overhead light in the kitchen hums like a bug zapper. You open the fridge with the vague hope that something edible has manifested since the last time you looked. There it is: half a cucumber, one end chewed back like a raccoon got to it. The last heel of a loaf. Cheese—dry at the edges, but still cheese. A spoonful of olives, the kind that came from a jar and taste like salt and regret. And oh! A miracle! Two slices of smoked fish curled like commas in the back of the Tupperware.

In a prairie city known for long winters and vast distances, sustainable dining might seem like a contradiction. Yet Edmonton’s culinary landscape is undergoing a quiet transformation—one where the values of sustainability, cultural integrity, and community resilience are driving new standards in food service.

Greenland’s extreme Arctic climate presents formidable challenges for agriculture, yet recent innovations in greenhouse technology and small-scale farming are demonstrating that locally grown vegetables can become a viable food source.

Greenland’s culinary landscape is undergoing a quiet but profound transformation. Rooted in Inuit food traditions that have sustained communities for centuries, Greenlandic cuisine is now being reimagined through modern culinary techniques and global influences. This evolution is driven by a growing interest in sustainability, cultural identity, and the need to adapt to a changing environment. As the world looks northward for new culinary experiences, Greenland is embracing innovation while fiercely preserving the essence of its traditional food culture.

In Greenland’s harsh Arctic environment, where traditional agriculture is nearly impossible, the ocean has always been the primary source of nourishment. Fish, seal, whale, and other marine resources have long sustained Greenlandic communities, but one ingredient remains underappreciated despite its abundance and immense nutritional value: seaweed.

In a world increasingly dominated by mass production and global supply chains, the simple act of sourcing food locally has become a powerful tool for rebuilding more resilient, sustainable communities.

Sustainability starts at home. Find menus here made entirely by ingredients found in each Canadian province.

Enjoy this seven-day meal plan using only ingredients produced in British Columbia.

In today's world, plastic is an essential component of daily life. From food packaging and storage to household items and personal care products, plastic has become deeply ingrained in modern living.