Every resident at my Florida state prison has a footlocker in their cell. It looks like a carry-on rolling suitcase turned on its side. Here, we are expected to store our belongings that aren’t clothing. Prison rules state that these are exclusively for the storage of personal items, including food and other canteen purchases.

At present, my own locker is divided into quadrants based on ease of access and frequency of use. Up front are things I access regularly. Right now, that’s a substantial collection of single-serve condiments: ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, soy sauce and barbecue sauce. A collection of toiletries, medications and other items I could potentially need in a hurry also resides up front. 

The back half of the locker is essentially consumed by old, handwritten stories, photo albums and other paperwork. My emergency stash of Pop-Tarts and ramen are also towards the back. It’s my attempt to avoid the temptation to forego meals in the dining hall. 

My gallon-sized bag full of condiment packets is part of an effort to make dining hall food palatable. It weighs about 4 pounds.

Keefe is the canteen operator for the Florida Department of Corrections. (Most services in the DOC are outsourced; Centurion provides medical care, and Aramark provides food service.) They sell what is essentially convenience store food at convenience store prices and sometimes more. The menu also features a small quantity of single-serve condiment packets, including Heinz ketchup, barbecue sauce, mustard and mayonnaise. 

Kikkoman soy sauce is another, surprising option in Florida. Kraft ranch dressing and squeezable cheese are also on offer. 

The prices for these single-serve packets range from 10 cents for ketchup and mustard to 12 cents for mayonnaise. A soy sauce packet is 7 cents. Barbecue sauce is a ridiculous, yet flavorful, outlier at 29 cents per packet. 

I bring the following condiment trinity to nearly every meal in the dining hall: soy sauce, ketchup and mayonnaise. They constitute a 29-cent tax on every lunch and dinner eaten in the dining hall. 

Each individual condiment adds a layer of flavor to the otherwise abysmal meals. Heinz mayonnaise brings its silken smoothness, not the egginess of Hellman’s. Ketchup adds sweetness and the tang of vinegar. Soy sauce adds umami, the legendary “mouthfeel.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but I know it makes a difference. Equally important is the salt it adds to the offensively bland meals we are served. 

With these powers combined, most meals are made edible.

But condiments have their limits. No amount of soy sauce can uncook mushy, overdone noodles. No amount of mayonnaise can soften undercooked, molar-cracking rice grains.

I can’t help how food in the dining hall is prepared, only how it’s consumed. A mystery patty, grilled or perhaps merely thawed, that is slathered with ketchup and mayonnaise at least tastes like ketchup and mayonnaise. 

I know the provenance of the ketchup and mayonnaise, and that’s also not nothing. I purchased the packets at the canteen window, stored them in my locker for a few days or weeks, toted them to the dining hall, and tore them open to artlessly glop their contents onto the patty. The condiments are a distraction from the “meat” abstraction on the plate.

With a limited budget to spend on canteen items and a lack of desire to eat the high-sodium canteen offerings — one ramen soup with its seasoning packet contains 67% of the daily recommended sodium intake — condiments plus state-issued food is my best option. Yes, the soy sauce has sodium. Yes, the mayonnaise adds about 100 calories and probably some cholesterol too. But in prison we make do with what we can.

For the price of 29 cents and the space taken up in my locker, this condiment trinity improves dining hall food to a passing level of edibility. That’s a cost I can stomach.