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.

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.