The Wasteland
Which garbage cans aren't garbage?
As a restaurant cook, I consider myself something of a garbage expert: a surprisingly big chunk of my day involves sorting through leftover food, sniffing it, tasting it, and—if it's no longer fresh—dumping it into a big, heavy-gauge plastic garbage can. But until recently, when I finally got a home kitchen big enough to turn around in, I had never paid much attention to the garbage can itself. This year, I decided it was time to rethink the small turquoise plastic bin that I'd been making do with at home for several years and to purchase a new garbage can.
It turns out that that there's a lot to choose from. There is no doubt that garbage can manufacturers are exercising what Virginia Postrel, author of The Substance of Style, a book that comments on the increasing design consciousness of businesses and consumers alike, calls the "aesthetic imperative"—the idea that delightful design is an increasingly important function of an object, no matter how mundane its purpose.
The old plastic or metal cans have become shiny and sleeked-out; rubbish no longer has to hide beneath the sink in buckets so small they must be taken out every day. Trash bins can stand gleaming in the middle of the kitchen, their ingenious lids hiding the carrot shavings and the week-old casseroles within.
In the world of kitchen trash cans, stainless steel is trendy—perhaps because it matches the Sub-Zero refrigerators and Wolf ranges that are currently in vogue and is also the dominant material for appliances in sleek, easy-to-clean restaurant kitchens. (In truth, restaurant kitchens don't use stainless steel trash cans: Every one of the five kitchens I've worked for in the past seven years has used decidedly unglamorous plastic garbage receptacles. A lot of them are very conveniently on casters, a feature that some ambitious young designer will soon incorporate into a sleek new can.) Top-of-the-line metal models—brands such as Brabantia, Polder, and Vipp (of which I tested only the Brabantia)—can range from $200 to $500 while cheaper, ersatz metal cans (made out of plastic) can be had for under $20.
I decided to find out if there's any reason, beyond conspicuous consumption, to shell out the big bucks for a fancy garbage can. Would a highly engineered can allow me to take out the trash less often? Could it control the mess that inevitably gathers around the base of the can when bits of garbage don't make their way in? Since my kitchen can accommodate a big trash can, I chose, with one exception, cans in the 10-15 gallon range. (All but one was made of stainless steel or a steel-imitating substance.) I evaluated the cans on mechanics: How does the can function on an everyday basis? (Does its lid close? Does the can rip the garbage bag?) This aspect is so important, it counts twice in the final score tally. Also, on aesthetics: How attractive is the can? Finally, I put the cans through a series of rigorous physical tests to determine: How well do they deal with smells, stains, and incoming trash?
The following are the contenders, ranked in price from lowest to highest.
The Contenders
Brand: Rubbermaid Bullet Wastebasket Price: $16.79 Size: 14 gallons Kitchen real estate: 183 square inches
The stainless steel fetish has affected even down-market trash cans. A Rubbermaid rep told me that while white plastic cans are still their most popular color, the company has created pearlized silver plastic cans for its trendier consumers. These have the look of stainless steel without a metal can's crippling price. This one, with a removable round-domed ("Bullet") lid and a push-flap opening that reads "push," is an affordable version of the standard metal bullet can that can cost up to $300. It's not bad to look at, but in the end, bullet cans—plastic or metal—aren't practical in the kitchen: It's just too hard to get bulky or sloppy things through the lid's flap. But remove the lid altogether, and you get an attractive (if open) cylinder that holds an impressive amount of trash.
Mechanics: 4 (8)
Aesthetics: 7
Preliminary total: 15
Photographs by Sara Dickerman.


