By Eric Pera
The Ledger
BARTOW — Jail food. It’s supposed to be unpleasant, right? Or even downright awful. All the better to motivate inmates to shape up, ship out and never, ever return.
The idea of food as punishment has changed. Maybe not by leaps and bounds, but inmates aren’t exactly eating mush or going hungry. In some cases they’re gaining weight.
A sampling of menus being served to inmates in Polk County’s jails and correctional facilities may not read like The Ritz, but it’s a far cry from Skid Row.
As The Ledger’s food critic, I decided to judge what sort of goodies await those who spend time for their crimes. I came away impressed with the quality and, in some cases, the quantity, of what Polk’s inmates are being served.
Meals in general, whether served up in the Polk jails or state institutions, are substantive, nutritionally dense and better than most people on the outside might suspect.
A routine breakfast for the roughly 1,230 inmates at Polk Correctional Institution (PCI) near Polk City includes sausage, grits, hash browns and biscuits with jelly. They also get coffee and fruit juice. A typical dinner? How about baked chicken and rice, stewed tomatoes, cole slaw, bread and pudding for dessert?
Yes, the days of bread and water are gone, but the “loaf” persists as a management tool to correct behavior and enforce discipline. Most often made from a blend of ground meat, vegetables and binders like eggs and bread crumbs, the loaf is fed to inmates in the Florida prison system and in other institutions across the nation.
Seasoning is kept at a minimum to heighten blandness. Inmates who misbehave are fed the loaf morning, noon and night for days or weeks at a time.
As the outspoken sheriff of Milwaukee County, Wis., told National Public Radio earlier this year, serving “nutraloaf” in his jail significantly reduced fights and attacks against staff. Said David Clarke: “You know, we’ll often hear from inmates, ‘Please, I won’t do that anymore. Please, don’t put me in the disciplinary pod, I don’t want to eat nutraloaf.’ ”
CUTTING COSTS
Human rights advocates deem this sort of punishment unethical, even though these all-in-one concoctions are nutritionally balanced and, in the case of the Polk County Sheriff’s Office “management loaf,” not that far removed from your grandmother’s Sunday meatloaf, minus the bacon and ketchup.
The Polk County Sheriff’s Office says it rarely, if ever, has served management loaf, though it’s ready with a recipe that includes ground beef or turkey, onions, carrots, beans, tomato, rice, cabbage, potatoes and other veggies.
Still, Polk Sheriff Grady Judd runs a lean cafeteria, forsaking the more expensive powdered dairy milk for powdered, vanilla-flavored soy milk, served only once a day at breakfast. Juveniles receive low-fat or skim milk at some meals. Other than breakfast, adult inmates are given only water to drink.
Judd made headlines in 2008 for cutting back certain luxuries, such as chocolate milk, cornbread and peanut butter in order, he said, to reduce costs.
Guided by a certified dietitian, the county’s Department of Detention cut its annual budget by $200,000 through a variety of substitutions, such as switching from two fresh eggs a week to one frozen egg “patty.”
Judd said those savings continue, and his staff always is seeking ways to save taxpayer money while maintaining quality and nutrition.
“Ethically, I’m not going to serve them something that’s not good,” he said. “But this silliness about having ice cream and all these specialty foods ... At the end of the day, this is about insuring they get a healthy meal and saving the taxpayer as much as possible.”
For the fiscal year ending in September, the Sheriff’s Office expects to spend $2.1 million on food and food service, having slimmed the average cost of a single meal to $1.06, or slightly more than $3 per day for each of the approximately 2,400 inmates held at the county’s jails in Bartow and Frostproof.
The state reimburses the Sheriff’s Office for the cost of food served juvenile inmates; otherwise, the budget would reflect an additional $600,000, officials said.
By comparison, the state Department of Corrections serves 100,000 inmates at a total cost of $2.62 per inmate for three meals a day. DOC does reduce costs by growing much of its own food, as much as 10.4 million pounds of produce annually, things like broccoli, cabbage, cantaloupe, greens, peas and watermelon.
Barry Martin, food service administrator for the Polk County Sheriff’s Office, said he strives to shave costs. He recently cut out ground beef and switched to ground chicken, for a savings of 27 cents per pound, which works out to $20,000 a year.
A former baker in the Marine Corps, Martin, 53, has been with the county for 31 years, the past 16 as head of food service. During that time he’s seen costs escalate, making his job all the more challenging to abide by state and federal nutrition guidelines while maintaining quality.
TREATS FOR TRUSTEES
Inmates in general population are provided a diet of approximately 2,300 calories a day, well within federal dietary guidelines that call for between 2,000 and 3,000 calories per day for adult men, and between 1,600 and 2,400 daily calories for adult women.
Most inmates are fairly sedentary, Martin said, “and we don’t want them leaving here real fat.”
Juveniles incarcerated in the county’s jail system require more to eat, so their daily diet has as many as 2,800 calories. “They go to school and we need to make sure no bellies are rumbling,” Martin said.
Most jails and prisons have canteens where inmates may purchase snacks such as honey buns, freeze-dried coffee and ramen noodles. But their regimen of three daily meals is carefully calculated with the advice and guidance of nutritionists, Judd said.
Yet even with the occasional cookie, brownie or piece of cake, inmates in Polk County’s Central Jail say they lose weight, even when sedentary.
“They feed the trustees pretty good, but for the regular inmates, you’d be pretty hungry,” said Michael Barnes, 32, wearing the brown uniform of a trustee assigned to work in the Central Jail commissary, a bustling space where the pace and long hours -- 10 hours a day, seven days a week -- require plenty of fuel.
Jail trustees are inmates afforded certain privileges because they have demonstrated a certain degree of trustworthiness. Often, they are given work assignments, affording a much-needed break from the monotony of wasting their days away in lockup, and it provides the bonus of extra food. On this particular weekday, Barnes and fellow trustee Robert Lassiter, 35, both serving time for violation of probation, enjoyed a small pile of sandwiches and chicken-and-rice soup. Extra servings are encouraged.
Trustees eat in a spartan room just off the kitchen. Their chores include serving inmates in general population their meals, which are eaten in their dormitories.
The regular inmates got one sandwich -- simply two slices of bargain-priced, day-old ButterKrust Bakery bread, a thin swoosh of a mustard/mayonnaise mix, and a single slice of a turkey-based meat product similar in taste to Lebanon bologna. No cheese. No lettuce.
Lassiter said he weighed 215 pounds upon entering the jail two months earlier, and prior to earning the right to chow down as a busy trustee, he’d dropped to 198 pounds, though he’s gained it all back and then some.
Barnes, too, has gained weight on the trustee meal plan, as much as 20 pounds, he said.
Both men said inmates generally gripe about the food, and that beans are served too often, they’re tired of eating ground meat patties and they fantasize about all-you-can-eat buffets.
But overall, “It’s your basic nutrition,” Barnes said, “what you need to survive. They don’t want you coming back.”
PLENTIFUL FOOD AT PCI
Inmates at Polk Correctional Institution line up for lunch in silence inside one of two cafeterias on the sprawling campus ringed ominously with razor wire that gleams beneath a midday sun.
This is a level 5 facility, the most secure within the state’s prison system. Operated by the Florida Department of Corrections, it houses men who have committed all sorts of crimes, including murder.
Unlike the county-run jails, which house many people simply waiting for a judge or for a jury to decide their guilt or innocence, PCI is a not-so-temporary home for convicted criminals. Here, the food philosophy is different. Most inmates are kept busy with academics, vocational and substance-abuse programs. There’s a law library. Aerobics classes. A writers club.
The food is plentiful, too, and there’s lots more on inmates’ plates compared with the county jail.
I was granted permission to eat lunch, but isolated from the inmate population. The DOC’s ground rules: no interviews, not even with staff or administrators. And no pictures.
The food, prepared inside a mammoth kitchen, is pretty darn good, certainly equal to many a high-school cafeteria. Here, inmates busily mop tile floors with steamy water, the smell of bleach mixing with the aroma of meals simmering in stainless, oversize kettles.
The midday meal available to every inmate -- no extra rations for anyone -- consists of a heaping helping of pasta and some form of ground meat in a tomato-based sauce tasting vaguely of chili. While light on salt, the dish would be worthy of any campfire gathering. The lunch tray included a mix of steamed carrots, cauliflower and green beans, along with two slices of white bread and a serving of pinto beans cooked to a pleasing, soft mush.
Cold, sweetened tea was allowed, but only a single cup. And while dessert wasn’t on the lunch menu, a most generous kitchen manager served up a slice of vanilla cake, plain except for a light drizzle of sugary glaze.
According to DOC spokeswoman Jessica Cary, all menus are planned at a central office, while food costs “are primarily controlled through proper utilization of department farm produce, utilizing progressive cooking methods, accurate inmate participation tracking and ensuring staff are properly trained.”
Missing a meal is cause for “receiving a disciplinary report for disobeying a verbal or written order and deemed noncompliant,” Cary said in an email, adding that the penalty doesn’t rise to a level where an inmate would be placed on a diet of management loaf.
KEEPING INMATES CALM
Suffice to say, proper food and nutrition appear to be taken seriously by those in charge of the state’s prisons and jails. And it’s not just because they have kind hearts. A satisfied tummy, it appears, helps keep things calm.
“Quality food service within a correctional facility is a key factor in inmate satisfaction and morale,” said Karen Cutler, spokeswoman for Aramark Correctional Services, a division of the food-service behemoth that also cooks up meals for special events and entertainment venues around the country.
Aramark provides meals at more than 500 correctional facilities throughout North America, including the Osceola County Jail in Kissimmee. Guided by facility staff, Aramark customizes meals according to medical and religious restrictions, averaging 2,500 calories per day.
Responding by email, Cutler added: “Sheriffs, wardens and departments of corrections know that an efficient meal service program contributes to better inmate behavior, improved correctional officer morale and turnover.”
Judd’s philosophy on food is tailored more to the realities of county jail, where inmates generally serve much less time than in state lockup. And he said he eats what they eat every so often to prove that the food is fine.
“It’s good food but it’s not fine dining,” he said. “We’ve got them on three square meals and we look out for the calorie count. Our focus is to make sure we serve a healthy meal and save taxpayer money. It’s all about watching the dollar.”