Nutraloaf: For some naughty inmates, it’s what’s for dinner
CLEVELAND (AP) — For a carefully prepared meal to have its desired emotional impact, the presentation is essential.
When the dish called nutraloaf is served, there’s little doubt what the chef intends for the diner to say. It’s a word that ends with the letters u, c and k.
Yuck.
It’s served in a plain brown bag, on a piece of paper or alone on a plastic foam tray. It emits an institutional bouquet, much like a school cafeteria ... on the hottest day in July. And its appearance? Perhaps it’s best to let Lt. John Derchon of Medina County Sheriff’s Office describe it.
“What it looks like is somebody regurgitated it in a pile,” he says matter-of-factly.
Hmmmm, nutraloaf — it’s what’s for breakfast ... and lunch ... and dinner. At least for a few unlucky inmates.
If you haven’t been to jail, you’ve probably never heard of “the loaf” — sometimes called food loaf, meal loaf, prison loaf and a whole host of expletives by inmates.
It’s a complete meal — meat, veggies, fruit, milk, sometimes dessert and even coffee — only it’s blended together, shaped into a slab and baked.
It’s given to very few prisoners, usually the ones who have landed in the segregation unit because of extreme misbehavior such as attacking a guard or throwing a food tray.
Because these bad guys can’t be trusted with trays and utensils, nutraloaf is designed to be eaten by hand and served on something as simple as a sheet of paper.
“It’s a behavior-modification tool,” says Cuyahoga County Director of Corrections Ken Kochevar. “It’s supposed to be a wake-up call for the inmate. Follow the rules, don’t misbehave, and you’ll be able to partake in a delicious gourmet meal like everyone else.”
It’s effective, too, says Cuyahoga County warden Kevin McDonough, although the county’s jail doesn’t serve this particular dish.
“The first thing an inmate wants to know when he comes to jail is how can I get out of here, legally or otherwise,” says McDonough. “And when they figure out they’re not going anywhere, they want to know what’s for dinner.”
The reputation of nutraloaf has gained an almost mythic status. According to lore, it’s baked for at least two hours until it reaches hockey-puck hardness, it’s served cold with a warm glass of water, and its taste is something akin to roadkill.
“Those are probably embellished statements that corrections officers like to make to sound overly dramatic,” says Kochevar. “We do what we have to do in this business.”
Inmates in a number of states have sued, claiming nutraloaf is cruel and unusual punishment prohibited under the Eighth Amendment. Most of those cases have failed. Kochevar says some courts have even OK’d the old-school discipline diet of bread and water.
Still, earlier this year, the Supreme Court of Vermont ruled that nutraloaf was considered a punishment, and inmates in that state could not be served it without the due process of a hearing.
“I think it’s great,” says Laura Dodd, director of food service for the Summit County Jail, where nutraloaf is served in a brown bag with three slices of wheat bread. “If they are going to throw food trays at any of us, yeah, I’d give it to them. It’s healthy. It’s nutritious.”
Dodd sometimes adds leftover ketchup, mustard, even cheese to the recipe to clear her shelves and spice up the loaf.
“What’s the difference between that and your grandmother and your mom making vegetable soup?” says Dodd. “They clean out the refrigerator.”
Her loaf, she says with a laugh, is “yummy.”
Not all counties in Northeast Ohio serve The Loaf. Medina, Summit and Lorain counties do. Lake and Geauga counties do not. Cuyahoga County uses bologna sandwiches as a disciplinary meal.