While 23.4 million Mexicans face food insecurity, 13.4 million tons of perfectly good food head to landfills each year; explore how leaders tackle food waste in Mexico.
Millions of Mexicans struggle to secure their next meal even as the nation discards 13.4 million tons of food each year, according to the United Nations Environment Programme Food Waste Index 2024. That figure places Mexico just behind the United States as North America’s second-largest food-wasting nation. This gap between need and excess persists because economic uncertainty, supply-chain snags, and limited redistribution channels push both companies and consumers to throw away edible food rather than get it to tables that need it.
Braulio Valenzuela, Country Manager in Mexico for Cheaf, a startup focused on food rescue, says the problem starts before products ever reach shelves. “When markets slow, companies cut orders and adjust inventories,” he explains. “But often those cuts come after food has been harvested, shipped, and stored. Unsold items end up in the trash.” Valenzuela warns that without addressing these structural issues, Mexico’s food-waste mountain could grow even larger.
Inflation and import tariffs add another layer of unpredictability. Higher costs and changing duties force food producers to hedge their bets. When prices jump, they stockpile less; when they worry about delayed imports, they overproduce early as a buffer. Both reactions leave them with surplus goods that can’t sell in time—and ultimately spoil.
Trade barriers may take root in conference rooms, but their impact shows up in grocery aisles and home refrigerators. “Tariffs create doubt about availability and pricing,” Valenzuela notes. “That doubt makes retailers and processors hesitate. They pivot late, and waste spikes.” Mexico’s outdated data systems and gaps in storage infrastructure only deepen the crisis, since no plan exists to reroute still-edible items to food banks or donation centers.
Meanwhile, food insecurity affects 23.4 million Mexicans, or about 18 percent of the population, according to the National Council for the Evaluation of Social Development Policy (Coneval). These families often rely on sporadic charity drives and community kitchens. Yet even as lines stretch longer, stores, restaurants, and households continue to see piles of untouched goods discarded each day.
Most waste happens at the marketing and consumption stages. Supermarkets mark down near-expiration items but still pull them when fresher stock arrives. Restaurants overorder ingredients and toss leftovers in the name of freshness. Homes, meanwhile, misjudge portions, neglect leftovers, or simply let food spoil in the fridge.
Consumers have begun to adjust. Rising prices prompt many households to meal-plan, freeze extras, and shop more consciously—a trend also seen in the United States, per Deloitte. But personal efforts can only go so far. Valenzuela argues that lasting change requires coordinated policies and incentives. “It won’t matter if families cut waste if food businesses and government bodies don’t back donation programs and rescue networks,” he says.
That’s where Cheaf comes in. The app links merchants—bakeries, grocery stores, hotels—with bargain-hungry customers via “surprise packages” filled with surplus goods. Shoppers pay a fraction of retail prices, and items that would otherwise spoil find new homes on other tables. In its first year, Cheaf diverted thousands of kilos of fruit, vegetables, and prepared foods that would have gone to waste.
Experts say technology can only bridge part of the gap. They call for tax breaks for companies that donate, clearer rules for food-safety liability in donations, and upgraded cold-storage facilities in rural areas. Some municipalities have piloted curbside pickup for excess produce and refrigerators in public squares where residents can take what they need.
Nonprofit groups also play a critical role. Community kitchens like those run by Caritas Mexicana and Banco de Alimentos tap into surplus by partnering with retailers. Yet these programs remain underfunded and fragmented. Advocates urge lawmakers to integrate food-rescue objectives into national hunger-relief plans.
Failure to act carries real costs. Beyond moral and social pressures, wasted food drives up greenhouse-gas emissions: decomposing scraps in landfills emit methane, a potent climate accelerant. According to UNEP, reducing food loss along supply chains could cut global emissions by over 6 percent.
Mexico’s next steps will require cooperation across sectors. Retailers must invest in demand-forecasting tools. Policymakers need to streamline donation rules. Tech innovators should scale up rescue platforms. And consumers can keep pushing for change by choosing apps like Cheaf and demanding clearer expiration labels.
As Valenzuela puts it, “Saving food isn’t just about feeding people—it’s about caring for our planet and each other.” With hunger and waste pulling in opposite directions, Mexico faces a choice: watch its surplus rot, or harness it to fill the plates of millions who need it.
While 23.4 million Mexicans face food insecurity, 13.4 million tons of perfectly good food head to landfills each year; explore how leaders tackle . . .
