Although it's not a day when many of us exercise restraint, Thanksgiving does inspire the creative use of leftovers. In the weeks after turkey day, most of us revisit that most celebrated bird via sandwiches, soup, omelets, enchiladas and curry ad nauseam. But what about the rest of the year?

Last November, I cited figures from Jonathan Bloom, a freelance journalist who investigates American food waste. According to Bloom, every day we throw out enough groceries to fill Madison Square Garden. In his new book, American Wasteland: How America Throws Away Nearly Half of Its Food, Bloom explores that profligacy in depth. Turns out, according to some sources, we waste roughly half of our food.

That alarming statistic isn't just attributable to throwing out whatever is on our plates at the end of a meal. Some waste occurs where food is grown, in transit or at the grocery store. Plenty of us try to curb waste by saving leftovers or opting for a doggie bag when we dine out. But what happens after that? Odds are, that food languishes in the fridge, gets pushed to the back to make room for new items and ends up in the trash, anyway.

We're lucky enough to live in a time and place where food shortage isn't an issue — at least for most of us (In the chapter, "The Disgrace of Plenty: The Coexistence of Hunger and Food Waste," Bloom tackles that troubling conundrum). Most of us, at one time or another, have been unable to eat the food we've bought before it spoils. I have painfully transferred more than one unopened bag of spinach directly from the refrigerator to the trash (the compost bin helps assuage some, but not all, of the guilt). We all discard things we could've, should've put to good use, had we been more mindful of what was in our fridges. And I'm pretty sure we try to put it out of our minds as quickly as possible.

Imagine, though, a new reality TV show. In a strange spin on Candid Camera, someone secretly films you in your kitchen, pulling containers out of the fridge, eyeing the mysteriously furry contents and scraping them into the garbage disposal. You come home from dinner at a restaurant and stash your doggie bag on a shelf. Ten days later, the camera catches you surreptitiously tossing the unopened container into the trash — along with that ancient head of broccoli.

Personally, I can be embarrassingly "Goldilocksian" about what's for dinner, deciding what I want to eat based on my mood. Fettuccini Alfredo? Too rich. Steamed vegetables with tofu? Too Spartan. Cheese enchiladas with red chile? That sounds just right. That kind of "moody" eating drives me to eat out when the pantry is full or to make something new when leftovers would do. How much, I wondered, do I waste?

In much the same way that a dieter keeps a food journal, I started a "throwaway" list. For a week, I wrote down everything I washed down the drain or tossed in the trash. And I decided to publish the list.

When you decide to reveal publicly all the food you waste, believe me, you get creative quickly. What's more, your "food moods" change based on what's in the fridge. Whether it sounds like the ideal breakfast or not, you'll make a frittata using withered-looking leeks and some mushrooms doing their fungal designation proud. You'll pick through that arugula and toss out only the slimiest leaves. You'll discover tasty new combinations of fruits, veggies and proteins for salads or pasta. Rather than throwing out an entire head of romaine lettuce, you'll trim old, brown parts and discover that most of the leaves are still useable and tasty.

But if you're not planning to share what ends up in your trash, why should you care? Bloom provides an evocative answer: "Just take $2,200 in cash and ... dump in into the garbage disposal ... That amount is how much the average family of four loses in wasted food each year."

Keep this in mind during the holidays. "At gatherings, parties, and other events," asserts Bloom, "we communicate prosperity or show hospitality by cooking copious amounts of food." He adds that "The definition of hospitality has seemingly been rewritten to include having far too much." It's easy to succumb to the hostess' truism, "It's better to have too much than not enough." This year, I'm hoping to be a new kind of Goldilocks and serve an amount of food that's just right.

Laurel Gladden is a freelance writer in Santa Fe. Contact her at the.ethical.epicure@gmail.com.