Extreme frugality: Deal eyes.

 

The first Tuesday of every month is a standing date for DF and me: “Senior Day,” when folks over the age of 55 get 10 percent off all Kroger brands. In keeping with our extreme frugality ethos, we cruised the entire store to look for special deals.

And boy, did we find one. The price was so startling that we did double and then triple takes: 1½-pound boxes of Kroger breakfast sausage links for 49 cents.

What made the deal extra-surprising is that the 1½-pound boxes of Kroger breakfast sausages right next to them cost $4.99 each. Examining the extreme-frugality version, we saw the reason for the startling differences in price: The cheaper sausage needed to be used or frozen that very day.

Fortunately, we now have two freezers: My niece replaced her 5-cubic-foot model with a much bigger deep-freeze, and gave us the old one. DF and one of his sons had picked it up just two days before.

So we bought a lot of sausage, including five boxes for my niece and her kids. This being Senior Day and the sausage being a Kroger product, we even got an additional discount. (Sort of. More on this below.)

The moral of the story: If you want to practice extreme frugality, you need to develop what I call “deal eyes.”

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Extreme frugality: Be a frugalvore.

(Happy Throwback Thursday! Given how expensive food has gotten lately, I thought a little shopping reminder would be in order. This piece, which originally ran on Feb. 7, 2021, is one  in an occasional series of articles focusing on saving serious dough. A little background can be read here.)

The “locavore” movement is based on the idea of eating only foods grown within a 100-mile radius of where you live. I’ve got my own version, which I call being a “frugalvore.” It’s pretty simple: You shop mostly (or completely) based on what’s on sale that week.

This isn’t exactly a new idea. Plenty of people shop that way their whole lives. But it might be new to you if you grew up in a home where no one read the supermarket ads, created menus and then worked to get the most bang for each grocery buck.

Frugalvorism both simplifies and complicates your approach to eating. On the one hand, it’s easier to shop because you plan menus around that week’s most affordable foodstuffs.

However, if you’re the kind of person who always shopped by grabbing whatever looked good, then you’ll need to rethink your supermarket habits.

Fortunately, it’s fairly simple. Not always easy, but simple. 

 

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Extreme frugality: Liquid assets.

 

(This is another in an occasional series about extreme frugality tactics that will save you money, while helping you live well. Here’s the backstory.)

Essayist and chef Tamar Adler has a fridge that sounds like mine. In her wonderful book*, “An Everlasting Meal: Cooking With Economy and Grace,” she describes icebox shelves of “precariously full jars and tipping-over glasses unidentifiable liquids.” [As an Amazon affiliate, I may receive a small fee for items bought through my links.]

These jars and glasses hold things like olive oil saved from dried tomatoes or jarred anchovies, leftover artichoke broth, or “the lovely, oily liquid left once a vegetable is cooked…that has collected the imprint of the good butter and olive oil, cloves of garlic, lemon peels, sprigs of thyme, splashes of wine, cracks of pepper, and vegetable that created it.”

Our fridge holds numerous liquid assets, too. So does our freezer. Not only does our extreme frugality mindset not allow us to waste food, it’s great fun to find ways to use these “potions,” as Adler calls them.

The juices that drain from purees of homegrown rhubarb or pumpkin end up getting frozen for smoothies. Last summer we canned five quarts of sour cherries; when pie-making, we drink some of the liquid (apparently it’s a superfood) and froze a certain amount to use in our second Pilgrim pumpkin pie re-enactment.

When I’m at the tail-end of a pint of home-canned rhubarb or applesauce or jam, or a jar of supermarket salsa, or even a bottle of catsup, I add a little water to the container and give it a good shake. The result gets added to a freezer container marked “vegetable cooking water,” which also collects the residue of boiled spuds or our super-sweet garden peas. The liquid is used, eventually, for cooking the contents of the boiling bag: veg/fruit peelings, cores, leaves and such. (The link explains it all.)

Our freezer generally holds three or four boiling-bag consommés, usually labeled “vegetable broth.” A few are less generic: “mostly onion and potato,” say, or “peapod broth” (a sweet green liquid that makes a superlative soup when cooked with split peas, smoked ham and a mirepoix that includes our homegrown celery and carrots).

Sometimes we don’t freeze our potato cooking water; instead, we use it to stir up that bonehead-simple, impossibly delicious rustic bread. Whey that I drain from my homemade yogurt (I prefer a thicker, Greek-style product) also gets used in this bread dough.

A splash of that whey might also end up in oatmeal, chili, stew, stroganoff or curry, and the spud water could be pressed into service for making a mess of beans. Speaking of beans: Sometimes I cook a big batch of black beans with olive oil, garlic, cumin and cayenne, then drain them for freezing – and the liquid gets frozen separately. Its robust flavor turns a more timid onion-potato consommé into one heck of a hearty soup.

Does all this sound parsimonious? We prefer to think of it as getting every last bit of nutrition from every food we cook. With inflation romping all over the nation’s grocery bills, we want to use everything about the pig – including the squeal. 

 

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Extreme Frugality: Use all the bits.

Every time we cut into a loaf of that super-simple rustic bread, we wind up with bread crumbs. As I swept them off the butcher-block work station one day, I remembered a scene from Zola’s “Germinal,” a realistic (and depressing!) book about 19th-century French coal miners. As the eldest daughter makes sandwiches for everyone to take to work, her 11-year-old brother, Jeanlin, gathers up the crumbs and puts them into his bowl of coffee. Now that’s some extreme frugality.

I figured that what’s good enough for Jeanlin is good enough for me. So I started saving the crumbs.

Before you think that I’ve finally gone ’round the bend in terms of economy, or that I’ve become a parody of frugality, hear me out.

At first I made fun of it myself. Early on I displayed probably one-sixteenth of an inch of breadcrumbs in the plastic container, and told DF that in another seven or eight months we might have enough to make a batch of meatballs. A small batch.

But as regular readers know, DF and I have found a ton of ways to save on food  and are always looking for new tactics. This isn’t because we’re afraid we’ll go hungry – it’s just another part of our frugal ethos. Each piece of food represents not just money but also resources: Think of the dollars and fossil fuels that went into planting, irrigating, spraying, harvesting, packaging and transporting the elements of our meals, and of the dollars we spend to get those elements.

So why not use all of it? Especially if there’s a way to bring Harry Potter into it? 

 

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Extreme frugality: Putting food by.

We spent parts of yesterday and today putting food by. Specifically, we turned seven or eight pounds’ worth of rhubarb into fruit leather.

First we chopped and simmered, then let the soupy stuff drain through a pair of colanders before glopping it into the dehydrator. We saved some of the juice to drink as a tonic; anything that tart has to be good for us, right?

The rest of the juice was frozen into chunks (which I insist on referring to as “Rhubik’s Cubes”) and set aside for my homemade smoothies. Made with free rhubarb and raspberries, marked-down “red band” bananas, half a cup of bulk-bought rolled oats, an egg and a big scoop of my homemade yogurt, these things are cheap as well as healthy. (And since I’m having the second part of my dental implant work done next month, I foresee a few liquid meals in my future.)

The last of the fruit leather finished dehydrating this morning. Like the other batches, it was rolled up inside paper scavenged from two sources: cut-apart cereal box liners and waxed paper saved from my sister’s annual tin of homemade peanut brittle. Flavored with sugar and a bit of ginger, the leather is a tangy, chewy treat that I must stop sampling or there will be none left for winter.

A previous batch of rhubarb had been turned into a compote sealed in pint jars, to be added to future dishes of yogurt. Not sure how many hours it took to do all this, but to us it doesn’t matter. We don’t put a dollar value on our gardening and food preservation, for two reasons: 

  • We don’t get paid for every minute we exist, and
  • We enjoy the process of turning home-grown produce into something we can enjoy next winter.

Some people would rather buy their veggies than grow them. I get that. Not everyone has the physical ability, the time or the real estate to garden. And fact is, the average person buys most of their stuff. We pay someone else to raise meat and produce, bake our bread, sew our clothes, build our homes.

For us, gardening is entertainment – and we don’t have to dress up or drive anywhere to enjoy it. Watching tiny green shoots grow into delicious foodstuffs is a reliable annual miracle. If you’ve ever grown so much as a pot of herbs on the windowsill, you understand what I mean.

Preserving the results is a natural progression. Making raspberry jam, cutting up carrots for canning, picking peas to freeze, plucking greens to dehydrate, slicing beets to pickle, peeling apples to cook into sauce – it’s all fun for us, even when we get tired toward the end.

The greeny smell of dehydrating kale, the sneezy scent of cloves, the sharp bite of vinegar, the soothing aroma of slowly simmering apples all keep us going: This is sustenance. This is satisfaction. This is safety.

 

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Extreme Frugality: Coupon/rebate deals.

This is one in an occasional series of articles about saving money.

Back in the day, the coupon/rebate combo got me a lot of free stuff. A lot. For years I didn’t have to pay for toothpaste, shampoo, lotion, deodorant and other toiletries, or for certain food items. On the rare occasions when I did pay, the tab was a few cents to just under a dollar.

This was a godsend at the time, since I was living on less than $1,000 a month and working on a university degree. Bonus: I got so much free stuff that I supplied my daughter with many essentials, and donated a bunch to a social services agency.

Coupon/rebate buying helped me stretch my limited funds. It helped me help others. What’s not to like?

<<Surviving and Thriving has partnered with CardRatings for our coverage of credit card products. Surviving and Thriving and CardRatings may receive a commission from card issuers. Opinions, reviews, analyses and recommendations are the authors alone, and have not been reviewed, endorsed or approved by any of these entities.>>

But all good things must end, and coupon/rebate deals were no exception. The stores running these loss-leader promotions gradually fell out of the habit. Ever since I moved back to Alaska I’ve had almost no chances at getting the freebies.

Until, that is, I discovered a new coupon/rebate combo.

Now I use some (or all) of the following: the Coupons.com, Shopkick*, Ibotta** and Fetch Rewards*** apps; the Swagbucks rewards program and the CouponMom.com website. While it’s not as crazy-lucrative as it once was, I can say that it’s been worth my while. Two recent examples: 

 

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Extreme Frugality: Post-holiday sales edition.

Each year retailers set out millions of dollars’ worth of holiday presents, décor, cards, wrapping paper and foods. And each year there’s always some (or a lot) left over. Hence the annual post-holiday sales, where we can save some (or a lot) of money.

I wish I’d written this for Dec. 26, when stores were fairly bursting with red and green bargains. But it’s not too late. While holiday retail inventory is down, it’s not out: Sales are still happening both online and in-store. The discounts are deeper, too.

Sure, some of what you’ll see went unsold for a reason. It was tacky. It was garish. It was expensive. It was mystifying (see “corgi-butt bottle opener”). But plenty of perfectly good stuff simply doesn’t get bought, and post-holiday sales can stretch next year’s holiday budget and certain year-round needs as well.

For example, if your winter boots have started to let in snow at every step, you’ll likely find screamin’ deals on replacement footwear at this point. Or if someone you know is going to graduate from college, get married, move into a new home or have a baby in the coming year, now is the time to go shopping.

As always: If you don’t need it, it’s no bargain. Why buy another 10 rolls of wrapping paper when you’ve already got two dozen? Or extra holiday ornaments when every inch of the tree is already crowded? And you can display only so many nutcrackers or old-time Santas before your family stages an intervention.

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Extreme frugality: Holiday attitude edition.

(This is another in an occasional series of articles focusing on saving serious dough. A little background can be read here.)

Part of me thinks it’s a bit late to bring up the holidays, since some people have already finished their shopping and have their decorating plans well underway.

Then again, I expect lots of people have barely begun, because 2020 has sucked as relentlessly as gravity. Heck, April lasted something like 22 weeks and the pre- and post-election antics have left my head spinning. How about yours?

Money is a bigger-than-usual issue this year. #ThanksCOVID Layoffs, work slowdowns and dismal business returns have left some people frankly terrified. Should they spend on gifts and tinsel when they’re worried about being able to make the rent next month?

Spoiler alert: Some do. CreditCards.com surveyed 2,369 U.S. residents and almost half were willing to acquire debt (or sink deeper into it) to prepare for Dec. 25.

Here’s another sign of the times. Recently the Buy Nothing Facebook group to which I belong split into three smaller groups. One former member reports that her new group has very few giveaways but is replete with requests – many of them for food.

That led me to wonder how many of those Buy Nothing giveaway items are going to constitute a big part of Christmas for some households, both in that group and in my own. Certainly I’ve seen responses like, “This would be a great Christmas gift for my son” or “We’d love to get those decorations because we don’t have any and it’s been a tough year.”

So maybe it’s not too late for me to write about this topic. Maybe it’s the perfect time. 

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Extreme Frugality: Waste nothing edition.

(Note: This is one of an occasional series of articles on saving money.)

We took the second batch of apple rings from the dehydrator this morning. Made from windfall apples, they have a mildly sweet flavor that at first seemed bland. Yet after eating two or three, I was hooked. Really looking forward to snacking on these this winter.

The cores of those apples wound up in the slow cooker along with other cores from the freezer; they’d come from the previous batch of dehydrated fruit and from two batches of apple pie filling. When DF judged them done, he drained the liquid through a cloth-lined colander and poured the juice into wire-bail bottles, then stored them in the chilly basement.

And the gloppy pomace left in the colander? That went into the compost pit out back. One day it will become part of a garden bed.

Not everyone can (or wants to) garden, or to preserve food. But you can observe the “waste nothing” ethos in other ways, too.

Not-wasting is a central tenet of frugality. A life without waste is a life in which each decision means something. This doesn’t limit our choices, however. It merely refines them. Rather than drifting through life reacting to every trend or advertisement, we decide what’s really important to us.

DF and I didn’t set out to become Super Green Eco-Consumers when we chose to reduce, reuse and recycle. We were merely living the way we grew up, i.e., not spending more than we must on food, clothing, utilities, housewares and the like.

Sure, this affects our impact on the Earth, which I guess does make us eco-friendly. But it also dovetails nicely with my frugal mantra (which he now shares): I save where I can so I can spend where I want.

Because we’re careful with money, we can afford to save for retirement, which means we won’t be a burden to our families as we age. We can also afford to give to charity, help relatives and friends in need, and allow ourselves special treats (a trip to Phoenix, a massage, a really good meal at Kincaid Grill once or twice a year).

Living without waste makes our lives better. And one or more of the following tactics might make your life better, too.

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Extreme Frugality: Gardening edition.

Note: This is one of an occasional series of articles on saving money.

Renee’s Garden sends me a press kit and a packet of seeds every year. This year’s freebie was a variety of gourmet kale called Purple Moon. Gorgeous stuff, and we haven’t grown kale for several years, so DF and I were pretty excited.

So is everyone else, apparently: Purple Moon is already sold out for the season.

(As a Renee’s Garden affiliate, I may receive a fee if anyone buys seeds through my link.)

It’ll be one of three purple plants in this year’s garden, joining red cabbage (which is actually a maroon so dark it might as well be purple) and purple carrots (part of a four-color carrot mix). Those deep colors are supposed to be full of antioxidants, which is great, but we mostly care about the flavor.

And the cost: It’s hard to beat free. For the first time ever I took part in the media seed program, paying only the postage for English and pickling cucumbers, edamame, sugar snap peas and onions. Will definitely be writing about these; we’re particularly intrigued by the edamame, since we don’t know if it will grow here (DF’s grandkids will be excited if it does, since they love the stuff).

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