From Ginger Tea to Handmade Soap: A Zero-Waste Experiment
This is the jar that started it all.
Leftover ginger pulp, refusing to be wasted.
I have a bit of a problem.
I hate wasting food scraps. Especially ones that still feel useful. Ginger pulp, in particular, refuses to be ignored.
Every week after making ginger tea, I’m left with a small jar of spicy, aromatic ginger pulp. And every week, I ask the same question:
What else can I do with this?
That question turned into a zero-waste experiment.
From Ginger Pulp to Infusions
This is where the ginger pulp went first.
Cinnamon-ginger honey, slowly infused and doing its thing.
First, fresh ginger became my weekly pitcher of warming, anti-inflammatory tea.
Then the leftover pulp made its way into cinnamon-ginger honey. At one point, it even became a ginger muslin bath soak because apparently my brain decided ginger deserved a full spa experience.
Still, the question lingered.
What else could it become?
This is what curiosity looks like before it turns into soap. 🧼
Ginger scraps, good oils, and a willingness to learn.
Learning Soap Making for the First Time (with some help)
I have a friend who makes soap and, thankfully, she’s both knowledgeable and very patient. Talking with her sparked a bigger question for me.
Everyone uses soap. If it’s something we reach for every day, why not think about how it might be supportive, not just cleansing?
That’s when I started wondering what would happen if I infused my Ayurvedic sesame oil with ginger and made handmade soap. I asked if ginger-infused sesame oil could even work.
She said yes.
So we made soap.
Actually, we made two batches.
Two Soap Batches, Two Different Results
The first was a lemongrass eucalyptus soap. It behaved beautifully. Smooth texture, even set, exactly what you hope for when learning a new process.
The second batch was a ginger-infused sesame oil soap, made slowly and intentionally. Almost immediately, small rice-like globules began to form as it set, a reminder that oils, temperatures, timing, and chemistry all have opinions of their own.
It was something my friend hadn’t seen before, which somehow made the moment more interesting instead of stressful.
When I unmolded the soap later and sent her photos, her first response wasn’t concern or troubleshooting. It was, “I love our imperfect soap.”
And really, everyone needs a friend like that.
Soap making, it turns out, is part art, part science, part surrender, and part magic.
It’s also a lot like sourdough.
There’s math. There’s chemistry. There’s a process you respect rather than rush. And then there’s a small amount of hopeful magic-wand waving.
Unmolded and curing 🧼 Not farmer’s market ready soap…but we’re learning.
The top batch didn’t behave exactly as expected, but taught us the most.
Why This Process Felt Familiar
What surprised me most wasn’t the chemistry. It was how familiar the process felt.
Working with raw ingredients. Observing instead of forcing. Adjusting based on what’s actually happening. That’s the same philosophy I bring to nourishment, digestion, and health.
One batch behaved exactly as hoped.
The other taught us a few lessons.
Both were a success.
What’s Next
These soaps are curing now. I’ll try again. I’ll tweak ratios, temperatures, and technique. And I’ll keep experimenting.
Because real nourishment, whether it’s food, self-care, or something as simple as soap, doesn’t come from shortcuts or surface-level polish.
It comes from curiosity, patience, and being willing to start before you feel completely ready.
All of this started with leftover ginger pulp and a refusal to waste it.
And I have a feeling it won’t end here.
More experiments to come.
