Book Review/Heather Seggel

Chow Time

There are some mysteries to unpack around “Commissary Kitchen: My Infamous Prison Cookbook” (Infamous Books). I read this guide to cooking with foods available in an average prison commissary not knowing much about author Albert “Prodigy” Johnson of the rap duo Mobb Deep, who shares writing credit with journalist and author Kathy Iandoli. His voice is so fresh and conversational that once or twice I wondered if the book was transcribed from interviews, but did not explore the matter further. The bio at the end describes Prodigy as currently writing and lecturing about the prison system and how to better inmates’ health; I was sufficiently intrigued to search out more information, then saddened to discover he died in 2017. Here’s what I know for sure: Johnson was a talented artist and this book is a testament to both his hustle and creativity.

Prisons have a cafeteria system in place — if you read or watched “Orange is the New Black,” you got a sense of the issues that make it a less than ideal way to keep people healthy. Many inmates get by on the meals served there, but if you have money on your account you have access to the commissary, a kind of company store that sells luxury items like poor quality radios and fake Air Jordans, but also food. If you can cook it in a microwave or toaster oven, you’re good to go, and cooking is a way to deal with homesickness, show off for fellow inmates, and take pride in your ability to make something from next to nothing.

Cooking your own food can also be a matter of survival. Johnson lived with sickle cell anemia, which can be grueling. To maintain his health, he avoided some fairly classic inmate fare like “Chi-Chi,” a mash-up of ramen noodles, prepared chili, canned sausage and hot sauce. That’s a literal mash-up, mind you; ingredients are cooked and combined in a sealable bag and then squished into a kind of savory pudding. He includes a recipe for it here, but groups it with others he avoided, adding, “F**king disgusting yo.” Another, called “P’s Don’t Try This At Home Prison Surprise,” (ramen, tuna, hot sauce and Doritos crushed fine enough to make a serviceable cheese sauce) sounds gross, but definitely filling and wildly salty.

To stay healthy Johnson had his wife send the allowable limit of prepared food from outside entirely in the form of canned green vegetables (he had a female fan who was sending other food and goods as well; one day on a whim he asked her for a Gucci watch, and that quickly ended things). Cutting up vegetables with the can lid (do not try this at home), then wildly overcooking some plain pasta into mush, it’s possible to form curry potstickers to fry on the toaster oven pan, or add the veg to microwaved rice and powdered eggs, maybe a little canned canned sausage, and you’ve got good if not great fried rice.

There are professional photos of some of the dishes here (a garlicky grilled cheese looks better than anything I could make at home), and the respect it confers on these very haphazard recipes is nice to see. It’s not a long book, but the stories range from funny to frightening; Johnson was clearly an intense guy (listen to any Mobb Deep track and you’ll immediately feel it), but also a raconteur and fan of the finer things. He describes an antipasto platter with rapt appreciation, but his defiant pride in making healthy food and getting stronger from pouches and cans is what holds the reader’s attention.

This book grabbed me in part because my dad spent two years in San Quentin in the 1960s and used to complain about the privileges inmates have today; his big food story was about making a “donut” of toilet paper and then setting it on fire to heat a tin cup of water for instant coffee. Seeing what’s available now and how it’s put to use is fascinating. But it also reminded me of being homeless, which presents obstacles to nutrition as well. I used to buy a can of Del Monte mixed vegetables and a can of rather grody chicken and dumplings and combine them into the saltiest “stew” humanly imaginable, but it was low fat and had a respectable balance of protein and fiber. I compared it to the grain and vegetable sludge M.F.K. Fisher described during WWII rationing in “How to Cook a Wolf” and immediately felt a lot less down about things. “Commissary Kitchen” is not a book to cook from; it’s a potent reminder to value your freedom, seek it for others, and prepare whatever you have with gratitude.

Heather Seggel is a writer living in Northern California. Email heatherlseggel@gmail.com.

From The Progressive Populist, July 1-15, 2020

Populist.com