Food in jail is a big deal, no a HUGE deal. For the first few day you can't eat anything because you are so freaked out that you are actually incarcerated, plus the food truly is disgusting. Once you are semi-accustomed to your new surroundings you can't get enough of it. Every waking moment is governed by what you will be consuming for your next meal. You have to be really sick to skip a meal.
Breakfast was always my favorite. The oatmeal in Key West Jail is good. It reminded me of the thick stodgy stuff I grew up on in England. On Tuesday mornings I would trade my slice of baloney, which for some unknown reason lots of women seemed to like, for a second helping of oatmeal, which very few of them liked. Thursdays were the best. We'd have oatmeal and cinnamon coffee cake. I still can't recreate that oatmeal at home and I have tried many times.
Nothing about suppers was appealing. Nothing. It was a strange phenomenon to witness though - the bartering of food. Women would walk up and down the aisles between the tables trading in loud whispers their "mystery meat" for someone's fruit cup. No one liked the food and who could blame them. The meat wasn't real or if it was, it was unrecognizable. Any salad was simply a limp piece of iceberg lettuce. There was never a fresh vegetable to be seen and mashed potatoes could have passed for wallpaper paste. But the funny thing was, if the guard yelled out "Who wants an extra tray?", you would have thought you were amongst the bulls at Pamplona - get out of the way or suffer the consequences.
Breakfast was always my favorite. The oatmeal in Key West Jail is good. It reminded me of the thick stodgy stuff I grew up on in England. On Tuesday mornings I would trade my slice of baloney, which for some unknown reason lots of women seemed to like, for a second helping of oatmeal, which very few of them liked. Thursdays were the best. We'd have oatmeal and cinnamon coffee cake. I still can't recreate that oatmeal at home and I have tried many times.
Nothing about suppers was appealing. Nothing. It was a strange phenomenon to witness though - the bartering of food. Women would walk up and down the aisles between the tables trading in loud whispers their "mystery meat" for someone's fruit cup. No one liked the food and who could blame them. The meat wasn't real or if it was, it was unrecognizable. Any salad was simply a limp piece of iceberg lettuce. There was never a fresh vegetable to be seen and mashed potatoes could have passed for wallpaper paste. But the funny thing was, if the guard yelled out "Who wants an extra tray?", you would have thought you were amongst the bulls at Pamplona - get out of the way or suffer the consequences.
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