Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, October 19, 1994 TAG: 9410190025
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KEVIN KITTREDGE
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
The reviewer should have been so lucky.
The lunch he ate in Sheriff Kelly's jail ranked head and shoulders above anything else he sampled in this survey.
It ranked, indeed, head and shoulders above anything he had eaten since he last visited Isaiah's Busy Bee Cafe in Oxford, Miss., in 1985.
For this he thanks Miss Alice - better known here as "Squeeze." "Because I hugs them all," Miss Alice says.
But when the reviewer left, it was he who squoze Miss Alice.
Because, after all, how many times in his seemingly endless survey of the region's hoosegows had he encountered real mashed potatoes? Club steak with gravy made from scratch? Corn? Salad in a bowl, with sprinkled cheese and bacon bits on top? Homemade rolls?
Would he ever again encounter the equal of her homemade strawberry shortcake?
(The day before, he heard, it had been lemon cake. The day before that, it was apple pie).
Miss Alice, who cooked in a truck stop for a dozen years, has been here now for four.
And if some would quibble at feeding inmates on her ambrosial creatures, Sheriff Kelly thinks it keeps the inmates out of trouble.
"The other jails have recreation and things like that. We're not big enough to do that," said the sheriff, whose jail had 40 inmates. "There has to be something to keep the discontent down."
Surely no one here was discontented.
The Botetourt County Jail is the only jail in our survey to be awarded our highest jail-food rating of five handcuffs.
The reviewer only wishes it could be more.
BOTETOURT COUNTY JAIL:
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: Lunch was a striking arrangement of earth tones and light colors. The reviewer was reminded of Van Gogh's "Sunflowers."
TASTE: Can one describe a lover's kiss? Measure the peaks of joy?
SERVICE: The reviewer carried his own tray. Proudly.
AMBIANCE: It was a jail. Big deal.
COST: Less than $1.50. To maintain the appearance of objectivity the reviewer would have insisted on paying, if he hadn't forgotten his wallet.
RATING: Five handcuffs.
ROANOKE CITY JAIL:
Were friendliness dessert, the Roanoke City Jail would be Death By Chocolate.
The deputies here are not only friendly, they are Bill Clinton. They are Jay Leno. They love to talk. They finally had to be persuaded to stop asking the reviewer questions for a moment, so that he could eat his lunch.
The Roanoke City Jail handles 500 plus inmates, or some 1,500 meals a day. It specializes in economy.
"Nobody goes hungry, but there's no frills on top," said C.I. Poff, captain of services, who isn't kidding.
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: Lunch consisted of an ample if somewhat dry beef patty, containing a significant bone fragment. The beef and bone patty was served up with cheese, on a jail-made bun. On the side were a slice of tomato, lots of shredded lettuce with thin white dressing, milk, Doritos tortilla chips and a machine-made cookie in a plastic wrapper.
TASTE: None.
All right, this is too harsh. Let us say instead our meal was the gustatory equivalent of a vacation in Youngstown, Ohio.
SERVICE: In the interest of fairness and objectivity and all that stuff, the deputies insisted that the reviewer select and carry his own food tray. Otherwise, the reviewer's needs were addressed in a pleasant and efficient manner.
AMBIANCE: The aforementioned geniality of the staff does much to enhance the ambiance of the Roanoke CIty Jail, but the decor requires attention. The reviewer ate in a cubicle littered with old notices, a desk calendar (blank), and one tiny, weary ``Merry Christmas'' stocking, which was fastened to the wall with a thumb tack, perhaps in 1963.
COST: $1. Paid by generous jailers.
RATING. Two and one half handcuffs.
ROANOKE COUNTY/SALEM JAIL:
This new jail in downtown Salem was feeding 178 inmates on the day the reviewer visited last summer. Aileen Bohan, the director of food services, says she never gets complaints.
"They eat better than they should here," Bohan says.
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: This lunch was an attractive summer medley of browns, greens and raspberries. A visual treat!
TASTE: Our meal of thinly sliced turkey ham, baked beans, Tater Tots, Kool Aid and Texas toast contained a few surprises. The baked beans, for example, were accented with zippy chopped peppers. The day's menu had called for homemade cookies, which were replaced at the last minute by fresh watermelon - an unfortunate choice, as the watermelon lacked charisma.
SERVICE AND AMBIANCE: The Roanoke County/Salem Jail is a stately blend of white cinder block and dark brown steel. The floors were freshly waxed. The ventilation system made a pleasant, space music hum. The reviewer dined alone, at a table beside the rest rooms - an arrangement that soon had him nostalgic for the friendly folks back at the Roanoke City Jail.
The nice ladies in the front office did check on the reviewer frequently, however, and he was later treated to a tour of the kitchen, and thus had nothing to complain about.
COST: 90 cents. Somebody paid. Must have.
RATING: Four handcuffs.
BOTETOURT CORRECTIONAL UNIT: This state work camp in Botetourt County was home to 356 inmates on the day we visited. Its menu is set by the state prison system, which owns its own cows and hogs and grows some of its own vegetables. Superintendent J.D. Terry couldn't remember the last time he received a complaint about the food. Perhaps this is because the inmates do the cooking - and can only blame themselves.
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: Without the juicy orange that adorned the Botetourt Correctional Unit's classy, five-compartment plastic lunch trays, this noonday meal might have been irredeemably brown.
TASTE: The ubiquitous hamburger patty here joined a slice of cheese, lettuce and tomato on a homemade bun, accompanied by French fries.
The orange, hero of the previous category, also added some much needed taste to this ensemble - which is asking a lot of an orange.
According to Superintendent Terry, the jail sometimes provides a choice of French fries - shoestring or crinkle cut. On this day, sadly, only the crinkle cut versions were available, which were woefully undercooked.
SERVICE: Service was quite adequate. The superintendent himself ate lunch with the reporter, then showed him around the prison - a public relations gambit that almost certainly earned this correctional unit an extra handcuff. Even though the reviewer paid his own bill. For once.
AMBIANCE: The dining area boasted a yellow/white cinder block motif that, if quite as uninspiring as it sounds, was nonetheless a tonic on the nerves. The dining area also offered a clear view of the coils of razor wire atop the fence outside, which Superintendent Terry explained is sharp enough to slice a man to pieces.
Which was food for thought.
COST: $1.45.
RATING. two and a half handcuffs.
FRANKLIN COUNTY: "We haven't been sued about the food in a long time," said Franklin County's chief correctional officer, Lt. Vicki Meadors - who wins the International Association of Jail Food Reviewers Golden Handcuff Award for Year's Best Quote. In addition to filing frivolous lawsuits, Franklin County inmates have been known to express their displeasure by throwing fully loaded food trays at the nearest jailer.
From the reviewer's perspective, there was very little to complain about in this Southern-style, homecooked lunch - which included a genuine baked potato.
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: The bland appearance of this meal was a highly misleading indicator of total quality. Fortunately, the reviewer is of the belief that in food, as in people, beauty only runs skin deep.
TASTE: This was a meal of zesty contrasts - a bouquet of seemingly discordant elements that nonetheless came together in a harmonious way. The chopped steak, accented with Western Seasoning sauce, was a spicy surprise, while the pineapple Jell-o was the perfect cool finish.
SERVICE: The reviewer walked his own tray through the kitchen, cafeteria style.
AMBIANCE: The reviewer dined in the jail kitchen, surrounded by shelves loaded with cans and condiments, various kitchen-ey odors and a clutch of story-telling jailers. Charming, in a cluttered sort of way.
COST: Unknown. We did not pay - though our objectivity was unimpaired.
RATING. four and a half handcuffs
MONTGOMERY COUNTY JAIL: This modern-looking jail in downtown Christiansburg was home to 95 inmates the day we came to lunch. The building has a bunker-like quality to it that one would think was custom-designed for a jail, if only the courthouse next door didn't look that way, too.
But we are not architecture critics, after all.
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: As did so many of our jails, Montgomery County came up short on food presentation. The tray was a drab light tan color, with a special section for mustard and ketchup. Weak visual accents were contributed by a tomato slice and lettuce.
TASTE: The Montgomery County Jail gets high marks for its politically correct choice of low cholesterol turkey ham. Unfortunately, any health benefits were negated by the pile of salty, fat-soaked potato sticks.
The chocolate cake for dessert was an appropriate, if inadequate reward.
SERVICE: Slow, but complete and courteous.
AMBIANCE: The Montgomery County Jail receives the Reviewer's Choice award for superior ambiance. The reviewer ate his lunch in a fine spacious office, decorated to suit a wide variety of tastes. In other words, there were NASCAR photos on the wall, plus a bookcase.
COST: $2.27. We meant to offer to pay, but forgot.
RATING: two handcuffs.
PULASKI CORRECTIONAL UNIT: "You got insurance?" inquired Assistant Superintendent Danny Crigger, as a reviewer sat down to lunch.
Crigger, who is quite the comedian, in fact has gained 40 pounds since he began eating here himself four years ago.
This work camp - a near twin of its Botetourt County sibling - holds some 350 inmates and thus rolls out roughly 1,150 meals a day. The inmates who do the cooking are paid 20 to 45 cents an hour, which they well deserve.
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: The Pulaski Correctional Unit offered us an interesting variation on the usual jail fare - a bowl of Irish stew!
The stew, which they call beef pot pie, was served up along with two quite credible homemade biscuits on a sky blue plate. The use of the real plate brought tears to the reviewer's eyes, even though the plate was plastic. It almost did, anyway.
There were salt and pepper shakers, too. And napkin holders. It was almost nice, for a jail.
TASTE: The stew had a fine, full-bodied flavor unencumbered by gratuitous spices. It contained very generous chunks of beef and potato. The biscuits were substantial without being heavy - a rare blend!
SERVICE: This facility was serve-yourself.
AMBIANCE: Please see Botetourt Correctional Institute, above.
COST: $1.45. The reviewer was a little short.
RATING: four handcuffs.
RADFORD CITY JAIL: The Radford Jail has been run for 25 years by Tommy and Dianne Lavelle. Located upstairs in the same building that houses the Radford Police Department, it has a homey atmosphere that no doubt derives from the fact the Lavelles once lived here themselves. For several years, they even raised two boys here.
On the day we visited, the jail housed 16 inmates - a far cry from the old days, when Dianne Lavelle used to cook up fried chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans from her own garden for the three or four occupants of the jail. The city jail now has its own cook.
PRESENTATION OF MEAL: One hates to sound ungrateful.
And yet this was the standard, brown meat and bread arrangement with which the reviewer had, by this time, become all too familiar. The meat and bun was accompanied by Tater Tots
Sigh.
TASTE: Hamburger is hamburger is hamburger is ...
SERVICE: This facility was serve yourself. The reviewer fished his own hamburger patty from the skillet, and scooped his own Tater Tots out of the pot.
AMBIANCE: Distinctly informal. We sat at a table beside the kitchen while Tommy Lavelle told us stories of the olden days. It was a little like dinner with Grandma and Grandpa - who, come to think of it, would have tanned our hide for grumping about the burgers.
COST: Unknown. The Lavelles estimate feeding their inmates costs about $5 per inmate per day. The meal was their treat.
RATING. two handcuffs.
ESCAPEES:
The RT&WN regrets that it was unable to include the jails of Pulaski County and Bedford County in its survey. Pulaski County Sheriff Ralph Dobbins did not return phone calls.
Bedford County Sheriff Carl Wells declined to feed us. Perhaps he didn't believe we'd pay.
by CNB