Min Geumnan walks to a metal container under his apartment building in the Gangdong district in eastern Seoul, carrying a small bag of vegetable peelings. She places her resident card on the reader, the lid opens, she pours out the contents and scans again, and the digital screen flashes: 0.5 kg.
“You have no choice but to pay attention because you can see exactly what you're spending on,” says Min, who lived in the complex for 15 years and watched the system come out in 2020.
Her daily routine is part dramatic national shift This happened in 20 years in South Korea, which recycled 96.8% of its 4.81 million tonnes of food waste in 2023, according to the Ministry of Climate, Energy and Environment. This transformation has been achieved through strict recycling regulations, dedicated processing infrastructure and, increasingly, the use of radio frequency identification (RFID) containers that track waste down to the gram.
Food waste is a major global climate problem. More than a billion tons of food thrown away every year around the world, producing up to 10% of global greenhouse gas emissions. Many countries still send most of their waste to landfill.
South Korea, however, has been grappling with its waste problem for much longer than most countries, after its major landfills reached full capacity in the early 1990s. The crisis led to a major overhaul of the system and the introduction of a nationwide pay-as-you-throw scheme in 1995. Residents were required to purchase official trash bags, which reduced waste but also created an unexpected problem: Once recyclables such as paper were separated, food scraps remained wet among the regular waste, exacerbating odor problems.
The practice of sending food to landfill was completely banned in 2005 and mandatory segregation was introduced. Collection methods varied in the early years, but standardization accelerated after 2013, when ocean dumping of leachate (the liquid produced when food waste is processed) was banned, forcing it to be processed on land. Most areas used pre-paid yellow bags, which encouraged thrift but created inconvenience: bags were slow to fill, especially for small households, and residents did not like storing smelly waste during the humid summer.
RFID bins, designed to make waste collection more accurate and transparent, were introduced in the early 2010s and are now widespread in cities. The fee—130 won (about 7 pence) per kilo in Seoul—is automatically added to monthly service bills.
For Min, the system has changed behavior at home. According to her, every home has its own method of squeezing out moisture. “If you don't remove the water, it becomes expensive. People press it, drain it, and even use strainers. You learn your own tricks.” Being able to throw out small amounts of rubbish several times a day also means she no longer has to worry about odors or flies. “It’s just more convenient,” she says. – I can come here any time.
There are 27,289 RFID devices in use in Seoul, serving 81.6% of apartment residents. The overall coverage for all types of housing is 37.9%. Nationally, 150,738 apartments serve 8.54 million multifamily households in 186 of the country's 229 municipalities. The shift has produced measurable results: Since citywide implementation began in 2013, food waste in Seoul has dropped 23.9% over a decade, from 3,181 tons per day to 2,419.
Studies of individual complexes show even sharper drops. A study in five Seoul apartment buildings found an average reduction of 51% when residents could see and pay for the exact weight of what they threw away. In Siheung, a city south of Seoul, officials report a 41% drop in the number of buildings using the technology.
From the containers, about 300 tons of waste per day from East Seoul is transported to the Gangdong District Resource Treatment Center, where processing equipment is built underground to minimize odors. Incoming waste is shredded and foreign materials, such as metal fragments or mesh bags containing onions, are removed before the waste moves deeper into the system.
It is then pressed to extract water, and the separated liquid is fed into anaerobic digesters. The resulting biogas powers the facility's drying process and odor control systems. The remaining solids – about 10% of the original volume – are dried, retested for contaminants and processed into chicken feed, which is sold throughout the country and even exported. National data shows that about 42% of recycled food waste becomes animal feed, 33% becomes compost and 16% becomes biogas.
This has an impact on people's cuisines as well. For many families, Min says, the digital display above the trash can has made portion control part of everyday life. “If the family leaves food, next time I earn less. You start to think differently.” Cultural norms and rules reinforce this habit, and public notice boards regularly remind residents of sorting rules. “People here are used to doing the right thing,” she says.
Despite its success, the program faces a number of problems. Central government funding for the installation ended in 2014, meaning local authorities must fund any new machines themselves. Smaller or poorer municipalities have struggled to keep up, and some have reported delays or slower implementation due to budget restrictions. Previous generations of machines also had suffered from corrosion due to the high salt content of Korean food, which increases replacement and maintenance costs.
Seoul is trying to push the system further. City promised reduce food waste by 20% by 2030 compared to 2019 levels and expand the use of RFID containers to 90% of residential complexes. It also plans to introduce a points-based rewards system from 2026, giving households credits they can use to pay expenses such as utility bills if they reduce their waste.
Countries exploring pay-as-you-throw schemes often face food waste that is heavier, wetter and more variable than packaging or bottles. South Korea's model works because it combines several policies—a ban on landfilling, mandatory recycling, precise measurements and specialized recycling plants—built over three decades.
For Ming, however, the system remains disarmingly simple. “Separating food from other trash is just obvious,” she says. – It would be strange not to do this.
