We eat every day. Sometimes in a rush. Sometimes as ritual. Often without thinking too deeply. But what if we paused and asked a simple question: What’s the cost of what’s on my plate?

Not just the price tag—but the water, the land, the energy. The workers who harvested it. The emissions it took to ship it. The packaging it came in. The animals behind the meat. The waste left behind.

That’s where sustainable food begins—not with restriction, but with reflection.

For many of us, the journey into green living didn’t start with energy or transport—it started with food. Because it’s personal. Emotional. Cultural. And yet it’s also one of the biggest drivers of climate change, deforestation, water use, and biodiversity loss.

We were shocked to learn that the global food system accounts for over a quarter of greenhouse gas emissions. That livestock production alone uses more land than all cities, roads, and industry combined. That one-third of all food produced ends up wasted. In a world where millions still go hungry, that fact was hard to sit with.

And so, we began to look at what we eat not just as nutrition or taste—but as impact.

Some of us had already gone vegetarian or vegan. Others were just starting to cut back on meat or dairy. But across the board, we were trying. Not for perfection, but for better balance. “You don’t have to give up everything,” one participant said. “But every time you choose a plant-based meal over a meat-based one, you’re voting for a different kind of world.”

We talked about local food. About farmers’ markets and seasonal eating. “It’s not just about lower emissions,” someone added. “It’s about reconnecting. Knowing where your food comes from. Supporting people in your community.” That shift—from global supply chains to local resilience—felt not just sustainable, but human.

And we explored food waste. From leftovers tossed too soon, to vegetables thrown out for being “ugly.” One of us had started composting at home. Another led a school campaign to save uneaten food. The goal wasn’t guilt—it was awareness. Because once you see waste, it’s hard to ignore it.

But we also recognized the barriers. Not everyone can access fresh, local food. Not everyone has the time or resources to shop differently. And plant-based products can still be heavily processed, packaged, and marketed in ways that aren’t necessarily sustainable.

So we kept coming back to a core idea: it’s not just what you eat, but how you eat. With intention. With respect. With care for the system behind your plate.

We learned about food justice—how low-income communities often face food deserts with limited access to healthy options. How agricultural workers are underpaid and overworked, even in organic farms. How Indigenous food systems are often overlooked, despite offering powerful models of sustainability.

Green eating, we realised, isn’t just about the environment. It’s about ethics. About fairness. About shifting power in how food is grown, distributed, and shared.

Youth are already leading this shift. Through food co-ops. Community gardens. Education projects. Social media platforms that raise awareness around animal rights, agroecology, and climate-smart farming. Even small things—like sharing plant-based recipes or talking about food waste at the dinner table—can start ripples.

And perhaps most importantly, we’re reclaiming joy. Because sustainable eating isn’t about deprivation. It’s about abundance—of flavour, of meaning, of connection. It’s about finding new rituals, discovering old traditions, and cooking not just for fuel, but for the future.

One participant put it best: “What we eat is a form of storytelling. We’re either repeating the story of exploitation, or rewriting it.”

So let’s write a new one. One bite at a time.