(Originally Posted on October 20, 2015)
The one time of year we’re allowed to eat fresh fruit is on Christmas Day. My theory about this rare gift is that it takes place because our human warehouse is located along the Bible-belt and that there must be some sort of scripture that says it’s okay to be humane even to prisoners, on the Christ’s birthday. We are allotted one apple and orange apiece, providing we get up at 2:00 in the morning to go get them. The fruit is out of season, unusually small and not real sweet, but it is ecstasy nevertheless.
I always save my two pieces of fruit until late at night when it sort of quiets down and I can eat in the dark. I don’t merely eat the fruit as other inmates do, I savor each and every bite very slowly before I swallow. Then I pause until the taste is completely dissolved from my palate before I renew it with another bite. I chew methodically, reverently, as if it’s the last morsel of fresh fruit I’ll ever be allowed again, knowing it may well be. I visualize the vitamins and nutrients as a golden mist, slowly spreading through my bloodstream to battle the hidden toxins and revitalize my organs. I waste not a single atom of the fruit, chewing the seeds, the core, the stems. It usually takes more than an hour to complete this yearly ritual and I always feel transformed. I invest my consciousness so deeply into the experience, it is more an act of prayer than an act of eating.
Prison food is usually not only cheap and monotonous, but blander than any hospital cafeteria could hope to emulate. Yet I find the lack of flavor nowhere near as distasteful as the absence of texture. I want to chew my food rather than let it ooze down my gullet like gelatin. But chewable food is rare, and not out of deference for the men without teeth. It’s partly due to the indifference and inexperience of the indentured kitchen workers forced to cook gigantic meals, yet also because the meals are cooked many hours in advance of serving them, and then stored in “hot-boxes” that continue cooking the food into slime. Adding insult to injury, water is often added before serving to prevent the fare from sticking to the serving ladle.
One could reason that with the ugly and tasteless diet a southern plantation prison feeds its captives, along with the rarity of fried food and sweets, that inmates would suffer lower rates of obesity and heart disease than the real people in America, especially in solitary confinement, where I recently spent 7 years. Food in segregation is of even worse quality than food in prison general population because there’s less of it and it comes cold and congealed.
In solitary, food or the lack of it, is used for behavior modification, both officially and unofficially. Any number of rule infractions can result in an inmate being placed on food loaf. A food loaf basically consists of the slop left over from meals, mixed together and baked into a loaf. Only a starving person would willingly eat one which is why it’s used as punishment. The ACA, which the Texas prison system pays a lot of money to for accreditation, urges states to have policies precluding the use of food for disciplinary reasons, but to no avail. Unofficially, many inmates are denied meals by the guards they anger. It’s not allowed by rule, but guards have total authority and no one really cares if an unruly or mentally ill inmate goes hungry.
Despite the fact that I rarely attract trouble with my quiet and respectful attitude, I’ve been denied meals because I wouldn’t give up my right to shower every day. Segregation bosses often hate to shower inmates, mostly out of laziness I think, but perhaps it’s considered demeaning labor in their sub-culture.
Even with the dietary deprivation in solitary, many inmates, especially the older ones, manage to become overweight, and I wasn’t an exception. That might be partly due to the junk food we buy from the commissary as even segregated prisoners are allowed commissary if their behavior merits it, but I think it has more to do with the chronic inactivity of being trapped in a 5′ x 9′ cage. Technically, segregated inmates are supposed to get an hour of recreation every day, if only in a room somewhat larger than their cell. But weeks and in some cases months, can roll by with recreation being cancelled every day. Many men, myself included, had daily exercise regimens, but a couple of hours of even the most intense exercise isn’t enough to stave off an extended belly if the rest of your existence is completely sedentary. As a result, many men in solitary confinement have noticeably developed muscles, yet a stubborn spare tire around their middle.
In general population, the problem is reversed. Because of forced labor and more recreation, inmates are far more active, but they’re also fed more, have greater access to stolen food, and have better opportunities to hustle commissary. I speculate as well, that obesity occurs in the penitentiary for the same reason it does for real people, especially those living in poverty. Starchy carbohydrates have become the cheapest source of energy in the world and the body is much more likely to store these low-quality calories as fat than it does protein and complex carbohydrates. It’s so ironic that throughout history, poor people have been skinny and always on the brink of starvation, while the rich considered fat a sign of prosperity, yet now it’s opposite because starchy food is cheap, and healthy food is expensive. A study by the Bureau of Justice Statistics shows that prisoners suffer a higher percentage of heart disease, diabetes, and high blood pressure than real people in the freeworld. This could be mitigated with healthier food, but Texas would rather lose substantial money paying for healthcare than feed us healthy food.
I also believe that overeating and unnecessary eating are ingrained within the prison culture. Eating is one of the few pleasures still allowed in our extreme sensory deprived environment, and it seems logical that many overindulge as a substitute for stimulation denied. For many inmates, eating isn’t about nourishment, it’s about relieving boredom, depression and heartache. Eating is also a way to bond with our peers. In a tradition as old as mankind, we break bread with each other to form alliances. In the penitentiary, we call theses extra-curricular meals, “spreads . If another inmate asks you if you want to put in on a spread tonight, he’s asking if you want to contribute to a communal meal and socialize. Spreads also communicate sentiments that men in a hyper-macho environment have trouble verbalizing: "I'm sorry." "Feel better." "I love you." Spreads are made with commissary items, packaged meat, chili, chicken, tuna and Ramen noodles. No prison spread is complete without Ramen noodles, which are cheap and filling, while packaged meats and meals are expensive and in need of supplement. Some spreads are surprisingly creative and delicious. More importantly, there is no quicker way to make friends than to have a spread with them.
I often wonder what inmates would do if there were no commissary. Would there be a single case of obesity? Given the low quality of state fare, the lack of unhealthy trans-fats and saturated fats, it would be easy to assume not. Yet, among so much boredom and despair, it’s possible that even bad tasting food could be abused for comfort. That’s not to say obesity is prevalent in prison, and likely still not as common as it is for real people, but I remember thinking after using a plastic spoon to push my very first prison meal around a tray: how does one keep from starving to death in prison? To see a fat inmate couldn’t have been more surprising and mystifying to my uninitiated mind than a warm hug suddenly bestowed by a prison guard.
Twenty years later I have a better understanding of how deprivation, depression and prison culture can affect the way one perceives food. And I also believe the horrible diet itself is designed to slowly break a man's mind, body, and spirit.
My prediction of mass frenzy on fried chicken day proves true. They started feeding early, at 8:30, but at 1:30 my cellblock still hasn’t eaten. By the time we get to the chowhall, the fried chicken is long gone. Instead, we receive baked and tasteless chicken patties made with you know what (replace lips with beaks). You can imagine how we felt about that. Then they had to lockdown the whole farm to catch up on count, delaying and cancelling all scheduled programs, which made for a lot of angry authority figures.
I’ve got a feeling we won’t be entertaining fried chicken again for a long, long time.
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