Lessons from my pantry
Making tofu and discovering new flavours
Spring has arrived in central Germany, and with it, my annual battle against food waste begins anew. You might wonder—what does one have to do with the other? Well, as temperatures rise, fresh produce spoils faster, attracting fruit flies, flour moths, and all sorts of unwelcome kitchen invaders. Living with others makes this even more challenging, as I don’t have full control over what gets bought, eaten, or left to rot.
Luckily, my flatmates are wonderful people, and conversations about shared food responsibilities come easily. Still, I find myself extra mindful during this season, striving to use up everything in my fridge and pantry before buying more. It’s a small act, but one that keeps my kitchen (and my conscience) in better shape. In fact, it is estimated that in Europe, an average of 72kg of food is wasted each year, per capita, just within the walls of our homes.
This idea isn’t new, of course. Many creators online have embraced similar approaches—Immy Lukas from Sustainably Vegan and Gittemary Johansen with their ‘low-buy year,’ or Justine Snacks with her pantry challenge. Inspired by them, I decided to focus on my pantry. As a student on an already tight budget, extreme minimalism in spending isn’t always practical, but avoiding waste? That, I can commit to.
And so, I turned my attention to what I already had. I brewed a fresh batch of kombucha with my collection of herbs, made hearty soups to share with my flatmates, baked sourdough, and—most excitingly—decided to revisit an old skill: making tofu from scratch.
March was a whirlwind of travel for me, both for learning and family reasons. As a result, I hadn’t spent as much time in the kitchen, honing skills outside of academia. But last weekend, with some free time at last, I took on a project I hadn’t attempted since my teenage years: homemade tofu.
While tidying up my pantry, I found an old bag of soybeans—half of which I had previously used for tempeh. Determined to make the most of them, I soaked the beans overnight, blended them with water, and strained out the solids to extract fresh soymilk. After cooking the milk on low heat for an hour (to improve flavor and digestibility), I added lemon juice and watched as it curdled. A few minutes later, I strained the curds, pressed out the excess water, and there it was—fresh tofu.
I wasn’t expecting to love the process. It’s messy and time-consuming, and I had told myself that store-bought tofu was ‘good enough.’ But when I finally tasted it—lightly fried with a sprinkle of salt—I was blown away. The texture was firmer than store-bought tofu, almost like paneer, yet somehow sweeter and chewier. A true delicacy.
The experimentation did not stop there: as of now, I am baking a loaf of sourdough bread flavored with an old batch of miso, that I was afraid I could not finish before it would go bad, I will keep you updated on how it turns out!
The whole experience reminded me of an important truth: good things take time. I love learning how to make things from scratch, even when the process is long, frustrating, or imperfect. There’s something deeply rewarding about working with my hands, about understanding how food is made rather than just consuming it mindlessly.
Of course, I recognize the privilege of having time and resources to experiment in the kitchen. Not everyone can afford to make everything from scratch. But I do believe that learning how things are made—whether it’s food, clothes, furniture, or anything else—expands our sense of what’s possible. It fosters creativity, builds problem-solving skills, and, most importantly, gives us agency over our own lives. When we understand how things are made, we gain the power to make better choices, to be more self-reliant, and to approach life with curiosity rather than passivity.
And that’s why creativity is something I try to practice as much as possible. Sometimes it’s cooking dinner, sometimes it’s knitting a sweater, renovating a room, or picking up a new skill. Big or small, learning to make do with what I have—my hands, my time, and my curiosity—has been one of the most valuable lessons I could give myself. And maybe, just maybe, it’s one of the best gifts you could give yourself too.