There is some kimchi of suspect provenance in my refrigerator at the moment. It has begun to take on the fizzy, carbonated taste sensation that suggests that its days as an appetizing Korean pickle are numbered and that its life indistinguishable from compost is about to begin. Kimchi was alive to begin with, and thanks to fermentation, it is becoming more alive. I can't recall when I bought this particular plastic punnet or began eating it. Day by day, it becomes more piquant, pungent and complex. I can’t imagine discarding it until I can see it foaming.

This is possibly a course of action that I should warn others against.

The subject in food that reveals our innermost food neuroses and individual idiosyncrasies is leftovers. People hoard, save and freeze; or abhor them entirely. Your treatment of them is culturally specific: some cultures demand leftovers at the end of a meal to take home; others see finishing every morsel of food as imperative.

It also differs within cultures: America is at once home of the doggy bagged restaurant meal and superparanoid food hygiene. This week in the New York Times, Henry Alford catalogues a treasure trove of leftover neuroses from obsessive lentil documenting to families mailing each other cooked chicken legs. Strange, yes; unexpected, no.

I can't bear to throw away food. I'd love to dress this up as a reaction to financial or environmental crises but I doubt whether awareness of these global predicaments have had any impact at all on my behaviour. I've always been on the hoarding end of leftover behaviour. The kimchi will find its way into a makeshift kimchi jjigae - kimchi stew - made with whatever other veg is on its last wilting legs and the greyer-looking firm tofu. I'm not alone when it comes to repurposing vegetable leftovers. In the Observer, Alex Renton writes:

At Le Gavroche, the two-star Michelin restaurant in London, the chef-patron Michel Roux feeds his staff on potato peelings. This information, so in tune with our thrifty times, appears in Roux's new autobiography. I asked how exactly he cooked them. The answer is that the peel is twice-fried in animal fat, like the best chips. Mr Roux added that the potatoes should be peeled with a knife, "so as to leave a little flesh on the skin" for the workers' nourishment. Which is thoughtful of him. And inspiring for a nation that throws away 359,000 tonnes of potatoes every year.

The figure that has been frequently bandied around is that Australians discard 145 kilograms of food per person, per annum, which is enough to build two other people from leftovers. Five billion dollars worth of food in Australia goes uneaten and is discarded. It is not beyond the skill or ability of most people to plan and eat everything that they buy. So why the waste?