The French left is in uproar. Images of lavish banquets held by the Élysée Palace, with tables groaning under platters of lobster and foie gras, have sparked fury in a country where millions are skipping meals. Meanwhile, across the Channel, a quieter but more radical movement is winning praise for turning food waste into a lifeline for the cost-of-living crisis.
In Britain, where food banks have become a permanent fixture and inflation has pushed basics out of reach for many, a network of community fridges, surplus supermarkets, and kitchen-table redistribution schemes is being held up as a model of pragmatism. The approach is not about luxury: it is about lettuce with a brown edge, bread past its best-before, and vegetables too wonky for supermarket shelves.
One such initiative, the Real Junk Food Project in Leeds, has been rescuing tonnes of edible food that would otherwise go to landfill. "We are not asking for charity," says founder Adam Smith. "We are asking for common sense. The food is there. It is safe. It just needs to reach the people who need it."
This is precisely the logic that has eluded the French government. The banquets, held to mark state visits and national celebrations, have become a symbol of disconnect. The left has seized on them as evidence of a ruling class that dines on champagne while the country tightens its belt. But the British model offers a different lesson: innovation, not outrage, is the answer.
A study by the Waste and Resources Action Programme (WRAP) found that British households waste 4.5 million tonnes of food each year, worth £14 billion. That is enough to feed every family in the North East for a year. Community groups have stepped in with apps like Olio, which allows neighbours to share surplus food, and Too Good To Go, which offers surplus from cafés and bakeries at a discount.
The result? A grassroots economy that reduces waste and lowers bills. In Manchester, the Real Change Food Co-op offers a weekly shop for £5, sourced entirely from surplus. In Glasgow, the Locavore grocery store sells wonky veg at a fraction of the supermarket price. These are not gestures: they are systemic fixes.
But they require government support. The French left is calling for a ban on food waste in official functions and a redistribution law. Britain already has a voluntary agreement with supermarkets to cut waste by 2030, but campaigners say it is not enough. "We need the government to treat food waste as a strategic resource," says Smith. "Not as a problem to be swept under the carpet."
The contrast is stark. France has a national food waste law that bans supermarkets from throwing away unsold food, yet the Élysée banquets continue. Britain has no such law, but its citizens are innovating out of necessity. The French left may be right to be outraged, but the British example shows that anger must be channelled into action.
As the cost of living bites deeper, the question is not whether we can afford to waste food. It is whether we can afford not to save it.
