Cooking in Prison
Before I went to a super shitty prison with no kitchen, I never realized that you could cook a whole meal like you might with a stove, but using the microwave. It sounds cheap and gross, but after dining out of the micro for two years, I can’t complain too much. When cooked properly (by me), the meals were borderline bangin’.
The main problem for the prison gourmand is that since my joint technically wasn’t a “cooking facility,” there was no cooking oil in the commissary and it wasn’t allowed in the care packages we got from the outside. The only butter we had was from margarine packets stolen from the mess hall and mildly poisonous margarine from the commissary that most people couldn’t afford anyway. The only oil to be found was in canned octopus, which I ended up using a lot—more on that later.
I usually cooked solo. In prison, concepts like sharing become complicated. And even if I get along with someone, that doesn’t mean I wanna eat the same shit as him. Most dudes eat summer sausage or pepperoni with every meal, while other guys go the canned seafood route. But my recipes are bugged the fuck out. For example, I used to get a monster ginger root in my monthly 35-pound packages from home. I would try to put it in every meal. It scared a lotta heads away because of its pungency, and that stroked my boat just fine.
In the warmer months I stayed tight with dudes who worked with horticulture and had access to herbs and vegetables. It wasn’t a bad setup. July through September I would often eat a raw zucchini, cook spaghetti squash, and munch on monster 15-pound cabbages. Heads thought I was nuts, but most prisoners don’t even know what healthy is. I took my health serious while I was in there. But it was damn difficult to get any fresh food in the clink-clink. I still get my knickers in a knot over the fact that nearly everything I ate was packaged, processed, or quick-chilled. That can’t be good for an inmate.