I ate dinner in Charlotte's jail

Axios

3 hours ago

We paid $80 to dine with sporks and strangers.
To be exact, we paid $80 for what was promised to us as an "unforgettable 5-course dinner inside an active Mecklenburg County detention center," with meals inspired by commissary items and jail inmates as our fellow guests.
Why it matters: It's an incredibly rare opportunity to eat inside a jail among "residents," which is how the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's office refers to inmates. Sheriff Garry McFadden says he likes to push the limit and agreed to collaborate on this controversial event, held July 24.
"This dinner is not about glorifying jail or turning incarceration into entertainment," organizer Evan Diamond wrote online, responding to a barrage of criticism. "It's about connection, creativity, community, and hope."
Zoom out: Diamond's group Charlotte Foodies hosts some of the most immersive and unconventional pop-up dinners you can come by in the city. They've thrown a Beetlejuice-themed party outside a funeral home and curated a menu inspired by Hidden Valley Ranch.
Diamond says his goal is for people to come as strangers and leave as friends.
"Usually people are exchanging numbers to go break bread at another time, privately," Diamond tells me. "I always get a little teary-eyed when I see people connecting like that."
But this event was much different, as the strangers were the people waiting inside Uptown's detention center for their day in court.
Flashback: Roughly two months before the event, Diamond and Crawford met with the residents to plan the menu together. All the residents involved were in a reentry program and volunteered to take part.
How it worked: Leading up to the night, attendees submitted background checks and picked up blue T-shirts that we all wore to disguise our differences. The small, intimate group passed through security. Staff took phones, keys and anything else we carried. (The sheriff's office let me bring in my phone for photos and videos.)
I'm told the ticket cost covers only ingredients and labor, and Diamond often loses money on these dinners.
We sat at tables of four. My fellow guests were a friendly couple and a reserved man, hunched over in his seat. The couple said they were well. The man said he was blessed.
Though the online posting mentioned we'd be dining among residents, some attendees were surprised at the end of the night when, after small talk and praise for the food, organizers asked the residents to stand and reveal themselves.
"There was a moment of quiet surprise," one attendee wrote on Facebook after, "not because of any judgment, but because for nearly two hours, we'd simply been people sharing a meal."
My thought bubble: What I can tell you is the resident I dined with was kind, optimistic and, yes, human. What I want to tell you we had a breakthrough conversation. But how do you connect with someone who's going through something much bigger than you can grasp? Where do you start?
You can't talk about your summer travels or complain about the heat. They can't even go outside.
Zoom out: McFadden is proud of the nationally accredited detention center, which he never refers to as a jail. He took me on a tour after dinner and shared that they have a library, dentist chairs, even a recording studio. He shows me the hospital, where a young woman is curled up asleep. Some residents will receive some of the first-ever medical care while incarcerated here, he shares.
Still, there's no place to go outside and feel the sun.
The average resident is here for less than 21 days. The longest anyone has stayed there in recent memory? 11 years.
The bottom line: Diamond believes his event achieved its goals: Erasing stigma for attendees and hopefully inspiring residents to never return to the center again upon release.
As my dinner guest left the table, the couple told him never to come back. He promised he wouldn't.
Now, let's take a closer look at the experience and menu.
Meet the chef
Erick Crawford is the owner Marlee Jean's Raw Bar + Kitchen in Davidson and won an UPPY Award last year from Unpretentious Palate for his food truck Chop Chop Red Pot.
He's also four years sober and now uses food to share his story of recovery.
"I always want to give back to the community because I took away from the community," he tells me afterward.
Crawford credits people like Sam Diminich of Restaurant Constance, a sober chef himself, for helping him get a second chance.
"Now that people are reaching out to me, I'm taking up that phone call," he adds. "The most amazing thing that I can do with my life is to help the next person in need."
First Course: "Deviled in Dentention"
Our starter is pickled deviled eggs, topped with crispy turkey bacon and crushed Flamin' Hot Cheetos.
Crawford says the residents told him they only eat powdered eggs, so he wanted to incorporate real eggs into the meals.
Cheetos are commonly purchased at the commissary and used as a seasoning.
Second course: "Hibachi Ramen Stir-Fry"
Next up, we're served ramen noodles with hibachi-style vegetables, finished with sriracha aioli and a poached egg.
Crawford intentionally mixed foods that the residents couldn't access with ones they could: Fresh vegetables and ramen noodles.
Residents can't access boiling water. Instead, they'll use the warmest water they can pour from their cell faucet and place a book on top to steam the noodles as soft as possible, Crawford explains.
Third course: "Surf and Cellblock"
Grits are also served often in the detention center, but they're bland and watery. "I wanted to give them some good, nice, creamy grit," Crawford says.
Crawford's take was seared shrimp over pimento grits, topped with salsa verde and crispy tortilla shards. A Wagyu crumble is on top, inspired by beef sticks, another commissary item that residents may use to enhance the flavor of their food.
Fourth course: "Yard-smoked Ribeye and Commissary Steak Sauce"
In place of a steak dinner that residents craved, Crawford served prime rib atop more fresh produce: mashed sweet potatoes, carrots and rosemary pepper sauce. The pineapple soy glaze was made with Push soda.
Since we couldn't have knives, all the food was bite-sized. Crawford shaved the prime rib as a workaround.
Fifth course: "The Sweet Escape"
For dessert, Chef Anthony Denning, a Food Network "Chopped" champion, prepared an elevated version of a "state cake" — the term for a cake made in jail and prison, typically by mashing honeybuns up and mixing in candies.