My mother used to use this phrase a lot. She was born of a generation that valued thriftiness, and it’s a mantra that I wish I’d taken up more seriously years ago.
My generation was, in contrast, one of consumption, and I shudder now as I think back to the waste I created without a second thought over the years.
I’ve always tried not to waste food, but it’s only really been in recent years that I’ve started really repurposing other things rather than just throwing them out.
Many of my seedlings are being grown on in yoghurt pots, old fruit juice cartons and mushroom trays that I would have previously discarded without a second thought.
Composting is taking care of most of our vegetable-based kitchen waste, and I’m repairing clothes now that I have time to do so rather than endlessly buying new. I feel better for it, I honestly do.
The langoustine feast left us with an enormous pile of empty shells, heads and claws. Janni, our neighbour, passed on a brilliant Icelandic recipe for langoustine bisque which she warned was smelly to cook, but quite delicious.
The stock making process was indeed stinky. I opened all the doors and windows in the caravan but the smell was still strong hours later!
The resulting bisque was gorgeous with a deep, richly intense flavour. There are no artistic Instagram swirls of cream here, I’m afraid, just bowls of soup with crusty homemade spelt sourdough bread given to us by another neighbour.
Janni made wild garlic aioli to go with hers, but I hadn’t been out harvesting yet.
As we sat eating our bisque watching another pink sunset over the mountains, I reflected that dinner tonight was largely made out of leftovers.
My mother would have been proud.
Ravencroft Skye 