Refrigerator Stuffed Too Full?

Here, from the replating Web site, are answers to your frequently asked questions:

[an error occurred while processing this directive]

Re: The danger. "There's a strange paranoia in the conversation about evil people poisoning the food. Sure, it could happen. But you could also get pushed in front of the subway train."

Re: The mess. "Apparently, New York City trash cans don't have hoods or ledges, so there's no horizontal surface on which to replate. This isn't as big a problem as some have suggested . . . simply put [the food] next to the trash can, or on a newspaper dispenser."

Or, hey, how about the street! Or, the floor of a CVS! Someone's gonna find it, people!

Kamler recognizes that there are still some kinks to be worked out. "We're hoping to start a conversation about the larger issues of hunger and homelessness," he says, pointing out that while replating might be "gross, it's more sanitary than digging through the garbage can."

It's also a highly urban concept -- it's probably best not to expect replating success in your Falls Church cul-de-sac. And despite publicity on Detroit- and Chicago-based blogs, there is no way to tell how many people are practicing replaters.

Kamler, 34, and Albin, 31 -- neither of whom had previously worked on homeless issues -- do not donate all of their time to the cause. The client list for their agency, Language in Common, includes Johnson & Johnson, file sharing site WeBot and "major airlines." The duo's shared blog, tinygigantic.com, showcases various Jerry McGuire-esque manifestos, such as "How to Be a Better Lover," which is actually business advice.

Meanwhile, they keep rewarming replating and accept suggestions for how to improve their movement. One fan's solution: solar-powered mini-fridges marked with the replate logo and dotted throughout cities. Replaters could then stash their leftovers without fear of spoiling. (At least until the block captain reminds everyone via Post-it that the unlabeled Chili's containers have been in there for eight days.)

Kamler and Albin do not take responsibility for inventing replating, FYI. They just named it. Albin says he's seen friends do it -- "humbly and even gloating" -- for years. "When you name something you give it legitimacy and power and you make it a 'thing,' " says Albin. "Maybe [replating] is not spreading yet because it doesn't have a handle." He cites as inspiration the recycle logo, which helped bring recycling into widespread consciousness.

Except that's where experts see the problem. "I don't want to discourage people from giving out food," says Egger, the D.C. Central Kitchen founder and an anti-hunger activist for the past 25 years. "But we've worked hard to create a professional atmosphere" for food donation. Movements such as replating, he says, "jeopardize the work that we've done." Imagine, for example, a lawsuit stemming from a Replating Gone Bad (many homeless individuals have weakened immune systems, leaving them more susceptible to food-borne bacteria). "It could make the restaurant say, 'As a policy we don't give food away anymore.' "

Incidentally, many nonprofits already have their own versions of food recycling. (They apparently do not need to "start a conversation" on the larger issues of hunger and homelessness.) D.C. Central Kitchen calls its program "food recycling." They collect and re-prepare more than one ton of surplus food from area businesses every day, using health-code-approved transportation and drivers trained in sanitation.

Sanitation issues aside, there is equally pressing issue of dignity. Gary Anderson was the 23-year-old student who in 1970 created the recycling logo after winning a contest sponsored by a paperboard company. Now a city planner in Baltimore, Anderson has no problems with his symbol's repurposing, saying that Kamler and Albin "seem to have pretty good reasons for doing what they're doing."

But, he adds, "I've given food that I haven't eaten away directly to homeless people. . . . Frankly I think it's preferable to have some sort of human contact" to give homelessness a face rather than sweep the issue on top of the trash can.

For another perspective on the human contact concept, we asked Luke, a homeless man in the Columbia Heights neighborhood (who did not give his last name), for his thoughts on replating.

He listened to the concept intently before shaking his head.

"I'm homeless," he said. "I'm not a dog."