Around two years ago, Jessica McClard noticed three Little Free Libraries–tiny, community-organized book-giveaway hutches–pop up in her middle-class neighborhood in Fayetteville, Arkansas. At the time, she was reading The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell, and on her long runs through her neighborhood and past the communal book hutches, she began to mull over the Little Free Libraries as a concept, and what caused it to “tip” into a global phenomenon–as of November 2016, 50,000 tiny libraries have been registered in 70 countries around the world.

It wasn’t the fact that the Little Free Libraries dealt in books, McClard tells Fast Company. People in her neighborhood had plenty to read. “So if it wasn’t about books, that meant it could probably be used in a different way,” she says.

The different way that McClard envisioned was food donations. In May 2016, she installed the first Little Free Pantry in Fayetteville, and like its inspiration, the movement is beginning to take off: Hundreds of Little Free Pantries, stocked with nonperishable food items and toiletries now exist in cities from Auckland, New Zealand, to Waxahachie, Texas.

But the two Little Free enterprises differ in key ways. To build a recognized Little Free Library, people have to register through the LFL website and pay a $45 fee that covers the licensing of the name and adding the new library to the organization’s interactive map. LFL also recommends that library founders visit their website to purchase a book exchange-box kit, which provides, not unlike an Ikea shipment, pre-drilled pieces and step-by-step instructions; those kits range from a couple hundred dollars to $2,500. McClard, however, chose not to license the “Little Free Pantry” name; establishing one is free, as is following the recommended design guidelines she includes on the LFP website.

There’s a difference, also, in the intent and purpose of the two mini donation models. It could be said that Little Free Libraries are boosting access to books and reading materials in underserved neighborhoods, but they’re often–as McClard saw–kitschy novelties in comfortable, already bookish neighborhoods. The thrill of exchanging books has long been a signifier of middle-class security: Think about the proliferation of book clubs and author events in boutique Main Street shops.

A free can of beans in a donation box, however, represents a real need. And that’s where Little Free Pantries succeed, but also highlight the necessity to do much more to address hunger on a national scale than just giving occasional cans.

The difficulty in setting up a community-based model to mitigate hunger and food insecurity became clear to McClard from the moment she set up the first Little Free Pantry over a year ago. “Early on, I thought it would be ideal to locate near the lower-income apartment complex close to where I live,” McClard says. “I thought the population density meant more people could benefit from it.” But after floating the idea by some of the building residents, they pointed out to her that while they might use what they find in the box, there was no one close by who would be likely to keep it stocked. She switched paths to her plan B–locating it at her church in the midst of a mixed-income, mixed-use neighborhood. That proved to be the strategy she now recommends all new LFPs adopt. Setting up a pantry near a grocery store, in a place that also gets a lot of foot traffic, ensures the pantries will stay stocked. The busiest ones empty out within 45 minutes, McClard says.