Incarcerated, But Eating Well
Note: This article was put together while I was working the "night cops" shift, which means that I was working from 2 p.m. to 11 p.m. and the primary newsroom reporter covering any police and crime that may occur. I had time to work on trend stories like this one, an idea I came up with.
By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 12, 2000
CLAYTON -- With just a few days left on his sentence at Marsh Creek Jail, Lorin Frost worried whether his waistline could handle it.
"I need to get out of here real quick if not, they're going to have to roll me out," said the 43-year-old inmate whose taste for the grill is a constant threat to the kitchen's inventory.
For the 220 or so incarcerated souls who call Marsh Creek Jail home, adding girth is seemingly part of their penalty phase. Three meals, prepared mostly from scratch, are served each day inside the concrete-floored mess hall, where as many as 100 inmates eat together at cramped tables.
And they're not gnawing on dry bread. The menu consists of grilled chicken fajitas, spaghetti with low-fat meatballs and golden-brown pancakes right off a scalding grill.
"If you want to start a riot, serve bad food," said Jeff Vickers, director of food services for the three county jails in Contra Costa.
Marsh Creek Jail, or The Farm, is the smallest of Contra Costa County's jails, allowing for more creativity in the kitchen. At the West County Jail in Richmond and County Jail in Martinez -- each with between 650 and 850 inmates -- one is hard-pressed to find a cook with time to sprinkle ground chives over a baked potato.
Historically, the incarcerated have been grousing about their meals since the days of dungeons and leg shackles. A year ago, a Bentonville, Ark., man awaiting trial on a murder charge at Benton County Jail sued the county and a sheriff for serving meals that he considered "a health risk."
But out at The Farm, where the bucolic setting near the base of Mount Diablo could be lifted from a John Steinbeck novel, things are different.
The cooks at Marsh Creek Jail take care of their guests, an assortment of burglars, car thieves and random crooks who serve less than a year of county time.
"Ninety percent of jails are microwave heaven -- and I don't believe in microwaves," said veteran head cook Bill Foltz, who has been in charge of the jail's kitchen since 1975. "I believe in cooking fresh."
It's so fresh that inmate Frost said he gained 45 pounds during his time at the minimum-security lockup for men. Part of a rotating inmate cooking crew, Frost said his time at The Farm was trouble-free, save for a few extra inches around the waist.
Eating is a ritual that occurs at 6:30 a.m., noon and 4:30 to 6 p.m. each day. Skipping a meal is an option, but not a popular one.
"The biggest change for them is that they can't walk over to a refrigerator for a snack," said Vickers, who joined the county jail staff in 1987. "You have to eat what's sitting in front of you there are no other choices."
For instance, coffee isn't served because "it has no nutritional value whatsoever," Vickers said.
During a typical week, Marsh Creek Jail will go through 30 cases of half-pint cartons of milk, 200 loaves of bread, 21 cases of fresh fruit, 80 pounds of ground turkey meat, 135 pounds of sliced luncheon meat and countless gallons of juice.
But the most wildly popular dish is something that is apparently tastier than it sounds. It's a stew of fresh biscuits, creamed turkey beef and hash brown potatoes.
"Even the deputies will eat it," said Foltz, 54, a former cook at the Claremont Resort & Spa in Berkeley.
The inmate menu is on a five-week, rotating cycle and is revised twice a year. But the chef will cater to some inmates who cannot eat standard fare for either religious or medical reasons.
The sheriff's deputies have a different menu, posted on a bulletin board in Foltz's cramped office. Their meals are automatically deducted from their paychecks. A recent menu for staff included barbecue pork chops, chicken fajita nachos, almond crusted pork and tenderloin baked fish.
Inmates at Marsh Creek Jail will gain an average of 10 to 20 pounds during their stay, the cooks said.
"You should see these guys try to fit into their regular clothes again when they're free to leave; it's pretty funny," said Vickers, whose $2.4 million county jail budget produces more than 4,500 meals each day.
Part of that is because Foltz and a pair of full-time lead cooks, Ben Servida and Bob Reynolds, take pride in their jobs.
Foltz, who lives in Antioch with his family, has had repeated offers to take jobs elsewhere, including one offer from a sheriff's deputy visiting from Texas.
"People don't leave these jobs once they get them," said Foltz, enjoying his 26th year at The Farm. "In the restaurant business, the benefits are not very good. You can't beat this place. It's paid my bills and taken care of my family."
Together, Foltz, Servida and Reynolds head a group of four 10-person inmate cooking crews who learn not only the artistry of basting a honey-glazed turkey-ham, but also how to properly push a mop.
In the end, the cooks hope, each inmate will leave with enough skills to get a job beyond the barbed-wire fences.
Matthew Bryant, a 32-year-old Oakland plumber serving time for burglary, said his time in the kitchen has been well-spent.
"I've learned how to put a kitchen together," said Bryant, wearing a yellow shirt and a pair of Latex gloves. "I can put several dishes together now, which is something I can follow up."
Foltz watches as the crew begins preparing for lunch. He nods toward a row of meticulously arranged plates of fresh salad, each resting on a bed of ice, and reveals a secret.
"We eat with our eyes," he said.
By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Sept. 12, 2000
CLAYTON -- With just a few days left on his sentence at Marsh Creek Jail, Lorin Frost worried whether his waistline could handle it.
"I need to get out of here real quick if not, they're going to have to roll me out," said the 43-year-old inmate whose taste for the grill is a constant threat to the kitchen's inventory.
For the 220 or so incarcerated souls who call Marsh Creek Jail home, adding girth is seemingly part of their penalty phase. Three meals, prepared mostly from scratch, are served each day inside the concrete-floored mess hall, where as many as 100 inmates eat together at cramped tables.
And they're not gnawing on dry bread. The menu consists of grilled chicken fajitas, spaghetti with low-fat meatballs and golden-brown pancakes right off a scalding grill.
"If you want to start a riot, serve bad food," said Jeff Vickers, director of food services for the three county jails in Contra Costa.
Marsh Creek Jail, or The Farm, is the smallest of Contra Costa County's jails, allowing for more creativity in the kitchen. At the West County Jail in Richmond and County Jail in Martinez -- each with between 650 and 850 inmates -- one is hard-pressed to find a cook with time to sprinkle ground chives over a baked potato.
Historically, the incarcerated have been grousing about their meals since the days of dungeons and leg shackles. A year ago, a Bentonville, Ark., man awaiting trial on a murder charge at Benton County Jail sued the county and a sheriff for serving meals that he considered "a health risk."
But out at The Farm, where the bucolic setting near the base of Mount Diablo could be lifted from a John Steinbeck novel, things are different.
The cooks at Marsh Creek Jail take care of their guests, an assortment of burglars, car thieves and random crooks who serve less than a year of county time.
"Ninety percent of jails are microwave heaven -- and I don't believe in microwaves," said veteran head cook Bill Foltz, who has been in charge of the jail's kitchen since 1975. "I believe in cooking fresh."
It's so fresh that inmate Frost said he gained 45 pounds during his time at the minimum-security lockup for men. Part of a rotating inmate cooking crew, Frost said his time at The Farm was trouble-free, save for a few extra inches around the waist.
Eating is a ritual that occurs at 6:30 a.m., noon and 4:30 to 6 p.m. each day. Skipping a meal is an option, but not a popular one.
"The biggest change for them is that they can't walk over to a refrigerator for a snack," said Vickers, who joined the county jail staff in 1987. "You have to eat what's sitting in front of you there are no other choices."
For instance, coffee isn't served because "it has no nutritional value whatsoever," Vickers said.
During a typical week, Marsh Creek Jail will go through 30 cases of half-pint cartons of milk, 200 loaves of bread, 21 cases of fresh fruit, 80 pounds of ground turkey meat, 135 pounds of sliced luncheon meat and countless gallons of juice.
But the most wildly popular dish is something that is apparently tastier than it sounds. It's a stew of fresh biscuits, creamed turkey beef and hash brown potatoes.
"Even the deputies will eat it," said Foltz, 54, a former cook at the Claremont Resort & Spa in Berkeley.
The inmate menu is on a five-week, rotating cycle and is revised twice a year. But the chef will cater to some inmates who cannot eat standard fare for either religious or medical reasons.
The sheriff's deputies have a different menu, posted on a bulletin board in Foltz's cramped office. Their meals are automatically deducted from their paychecks. A recent menu for staff included barbecue pork chops, chicken fajita nachos, almond crusted pork and tenderloin baked fish.
Inmates at Marsh Creek Jail will gain an average of 10 to 20 pounds during their stay, the cooks said.
"You should see these guys try to fit into their regular clothes again when they're free to leave; it's pretty funny," said Vickers, whose $2.4 million county jail budget produces more than 4,500 meals each day.
Part of that is because Foltz and a pair of full-time lead cooks, Ben Servida and Bob Reynolds, take pride in their jobs.
Foltz, who lives in Antioch with his family, has had repeated offers to take jobs elsewhere, including one offer from a sheriff's deputy visiting from Texas.
"People don't leave these jobs once they get them," said Foltz, enjoying his 26th year at The Farm. "In the restaurant business, the benefits are not very good. You can't beat this place. It's paid my bills and taken care of my family."
Together, Foltz, Servida and Reynolds head a group of four 10-person inmate cooking crews who learn not only the artistry of basting a honey-glazed turkey-ham, but also how to properly push a mop.
In the end, the cooks hope, each inmate will leave with enough skills to get a job beyond the barbed-wire fences.
Matthew Bryant, a 32-year-old Oakland plumber serving time for burglary, said his time in the kitchen has been well-spent.
"I've learned how to put a kitchen together," said Bryant, wearing a yellow shirt and a pair of Latex gloves. "I can put several dishes together now, which is something I can follow up."
Foltz watches as the crew begins preparing for lunch. He nods toward a row of meticulously arranged plates of fresh salad, each resting on a bed of ice, and reveals a secret.
"We eat with our eyes," he said.
posted by Corey at 8:56 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home