On a Dollar a Day: One Couple's Unlikely Adventures in Eating in America

by Christopher Greenslate

  I spent the morning chopping at the rock-hard dirt and pulling weeds. I got to the gardening store just after they opened, and filled my cart with the makings of a vegetable garden: tomatoes, lettuce, bell peppers, jalapeños, and squash. I treated myself to a pair of gloves and a silly gardening hat. I justified the hat by claiming I needed it to protect my easily sunburned skin, but in reality I thought I might be a better gardener if I looked the part. Over the week I made several trips because I either needed more compost or realized I had more room and might be able to fit in one more tomato plant.

  The garden didn’t last long. By the time we were ready to start our dollar-a-day project, all that was left were some anemic, withered cherry tomatoes. Our dogs caused its untimely demise. They ate the jalapeños first; I found the peppers chewed up and spit out on the patio. The next day, Viola pulled the plant out of the ground, perhaps as retaliation for its spiciness. The lettuce I planted from seed didn’t even have a chance to sprout; the day after I planted it, there was a large hole in the bed. My mom came to visit and we planted onions, which were ripped up one at a time over the course of the week. We laughed, but I was saddened each time the dogs came in with my labor on their breath. By the time Christopher got home, I was down to two bell pepper plants, three squash, and five tomatoes, which I think were spared due to the wire cages surrounding them. “You planted a salad bar for the dogs,” became his running joke.

  School began during the last week of August, and we were going to start our experiment that following week. We spent most of our first weekend running around to stores looking for the best prices, burning a few gallons of gas trekking around town. Finally, we ended up doing most of our shopping at Smart and Final. This fluorescent-lit industrial-style wholesaler was a far cry from our airy, eco-friendly natural food store. But at that time, they had the best prices for what we were doing. The price of beans per pound was cheaper than at the dollar store, but we would have to buy in much larger quantities. We thought we would be able to get more variety, but it was harder than we originally planned. We calculated the cost of our meals by adding up the prices of the ingredients for each meal and dividing it by the number of servings. The cheapest way to get the ingredient costs low was to buy in bulk.

  We walked around using our phones as calculators, trying to find the best deals. Should we get fifteen pounds of flour, or twenty-five? Was it better to get pinto beans or black beans? Could we get both? Our shopping trip lasted much longer than our weekly visit to the store, and there were several times when we had to resignedly put items in the cart back on the shelf. In the end, we were surprised by what we couldn’t get. It would have been roughly twenty-five cents per serving to buy black beans, but approximately eleven cents per serving for pinto beans. We could have bought a bag of ten apples for $2.99, but that made each apple $.29, and we decided it might not be worth it to use 29 percent of our daily allowance on a piece of fruit smaller than my fist. We bought white flour and wheat flour, but the wheat flour was a bleached blend, which meant that it was more difficult to get a good consistency for the seitan that we would be making. (Seitan is a low-cost meat alternative made from wheat flour.) We bought a twenty-pound bag of rice, jars of peanut butter and jelly, and a large bag of yeast for making our own bread, as well as several other industrial-sized items. The can of tomato sauce was so big we had to use both hands to carry it.

  We then headed back to Jimbo’s to buy a few items from the bulk bins. It ended up being less expensive per pound to buy oatmeal, popcorn, and dried garbanzo beans there. Overall, for the cheapest price per pound, our dollar store did not have the best bargains, and its proximity to Rico’s made it a reminder of what we couldn’t have. We were lucky that the dollar store had recently introduced a small produce display; it was an unlikely addition to the aisles lined with third-party brands and cheap household items, but we found some deals. They had onions, four for a dollar, and one of my favorite purchases: eight bulbs of garlic for a buck. We also got a one-pound bag of frozen broccoli. In total, we spent about eighty-five dollars during our first day of shopping. That was more than the total cost of what we would eat for the month (sixty dollars), but our idea was to calculate what we ate, not to eat every ounce we bought.

  The rest of the afternoon was filled with opening huge bags, filling large green construction buckets with bulk foods, measuring and weighing the food, and starting meals for the week. We weighed every item to find out the cost, and we bought a food scale to make sure we were as accurate as possible. If a twenty-five-pound bag of pinto beans was $12.75, then two cups, weighing one pound, would cost approximately $.51. We used masking tape and a Sharpie to label the bright orange lid of each container with the cost per cup or teaspoon, depending on the item. Once everything was labeled, I started preparing a few things from our menu, including a batch of homemade seitan steaks and a loaf of bread. I put garbanzo and pinto beans in water so they could soak overnight before I cooked them the next day. As our first under-a-dollar meal came together, our excitement began to grow. This was going to be an adventure.

  “HEY, WE’RE GOING to write a blog,” Christopher said, the day before we started our project.

  “Excuse me?” I replied. I was elbow deep in beans and flour. “I don’t want to blog. I have nothing to say.”

  “Of course you do. Besides, I’m setting up our site, we just need to take a picture.” He brought his laptop into the kitchen to show me what he had been working on while I toiled away making sure we would have food the following morning. The fact that he sprung the blog idea on me at the last minute might have worked to our benefit. Had I spent the entire summer thinking about the fact that I would be writing about my daily experiences for anyone to read, I would have vetoed it.

  “Okay, fine,” I agreed. I had gone along with everything else, so there seemed to be no harm in adding one more thing. “But can I shower and brush my hair before you post my picture on the Internet?”

  The original intent of the blog was to share our experiences with our friends and family. Our families and Christopher’s students became our first audience. When we set out, we didn’t have a political agenda. Even though the idea came from the fact that there are people who have to eat on tight budgets, we weren’t trying to make a statement. We didn’t have something to prove. The only objective was that we make it through the month. When we prepared for the temporary change in our lifestyle, we weren’t trying to show the way that people in poverty can, do, or should live; we were only trying to learn how we could eat for less. We knew that many people on stringent food budgets don’t have the ability to price-check several stores, buy in bulk at the start of the month, transport and store large amounts of food, or have the time or means to cook everything from scratch. However, if we could explore these issues, we’d be happy to learn from it.

  On that final night in August, we had our last dinner without worrying about the cost. We didn’t go crazy or eat until we were sick, but instead we dined on what would soon become one of our staple meals: beans, rice, and tortillas. However, that night we savored the creamy Sour Supreme (a sour cream alternative), crunchy lettuce, juicy tomatoes, and spicy salsa. We ate this way so we would feel more prepared for the next day, but nothing could have prepared us for what we would experience in the next month.

  2

  And So It Begins

  Christopher

  It was still dark when I woke up, and the smell of fresh-baked bread filled the house. We had set the bread machine on a timer the night before. Kerri lay there with our old grumpy kitty, Mrs. B. (the B often takes on several meanings), sitting on her belly, calling out for breakfast. We have an alarm clock, but there is no need for it. When the missus is ready to eat, it’s time to get up. I rolled out of bed, doing my best to get back into the routine for the new school year.

  As Kerri started getting dressed, I began packing our lunches and preparing breakfast. Six cents’ worth of rolled oats was thickening on the stove as I s
cooped one tablespoon of peanut butter and one tablespoon of jelly onto each slice of our homemade bread for our lunches. I popped some popcorn, salted it, and put it into small containers. Our lunches were looking much slimmer than usual, and I knew Kerri wouldn’t be ecstatic over the thick mound of cooked oat groats, even if I put her portion in one of her favorite smiley face bowls. Kerri loved traveling in Scotland, but she didn’t like this particular Scottish culinary tradition. While students at ancient universities in Scotland used to be released for “Meal Mondays” to collect more oats for food, this would not be a Monday treat she looked forward to. I was right. As Kerri took her first bite, her nose crinkled in disdain.

  “If we split one tablespoon of margarine, it would only add three cents to the cost of breakfast,” she said.

  “Nah, let’s skip it,” I replied.

  I picked up my briefcase and lighter-than-usual lunch bag and headed off to work. On the drive I thought to myself, “We can do this. It will be hard, and our meal options will be limited, but I’m optimistic.” As I passed the manicured grass of the local park and took a right into the school parking lot, I considered what eating would be like in an emergency situation or natural disaster, and what would happen if the normal food system came to a sudden halt. I thought about all those zombie movies I loved, and how a group of survivalists often made the best of raw materials in the films. Now, this was not going to be the zombie apocalypse, but at least at the end of the month I would be better prepared just in case the walking dead actually did rise up and start to roam the earth. We would know what to do; we would survive.

  At the beginning of my social justice class that day, I announced to my students that today was the beginning of our downsized culinary quest. They stared at me, confused and surprised. Some probably checked their schedules and considered switching into a class where the teacher might be a little more “normal.” After ten seconds of awkward silence, hands started to sprout up all over the room. I smiled at the storm of questions from these high school seniors, most of whom had been raised with a magically replenishing fridge stocked full to bursting with all kinds of tasty treats. Their questions ranged from “What will you eat?” to suggestions like, “You should just get some twenty-nine-cent cheeseburgers at McDonald’s and call it good.” They didn’t know that it had been over a decade since I stepped into the golden arches. Last time I checked, McDonald’s offered little in the way of vegetarian fare. Surprisingly, snarky advice took a backseat as they mulled over the proposal. If there were any naysayers present, they kept quiet.

  Within minutes, my students started thinking of all the ways we could get free or low-cost food. To my surprise, I had a room full of new allies. They suggested foraging the samples at wholesale stores like Costco on the weekends, and even tracking down some fresh fruit that was growing in various parts of the surrounding community. One girl drew me a map to the places where oranges were waiting to be picked. After class, she stayed behind and asked me if I’d be willing to tell her where the best deals on food were. I could see in her eyes that she needed to know, not because of some quaint curiosity about our efforts, but because her family had been struggling to figure out how to make it through the economic downturn. She told me that her family of four had about fifty dollars a week to spend on food. Our conversation took place just before the reports about the possibility of a recession began to emerge. She was a living, breathing early indicator that our country was headed for a financial maelstrom. I promised her that I would share anything that I could. We would hear more of these stories as our fledgling blog, intended for friends, family, and colleagues, gained more readers.

  We knew before we started this project that while eating for less was a compelling challenge for us, for some people, it was a daily struggle. Kerri and I are both very aware of the amount of privilege that we were born into; we are lucky. Like the majority of our students, we were born white, middle or upper-middle class, and were fortunate enough to grow up without any major financial struggles. Our parents had jobs that allowed them to provide for us, and at times treat us with trips to Disneyland and weekend baseball games. Kerri’s parents were both schoolteachers. My mom became a teacher after my parents divorced, and my father owned a successful small business. It was this recognition of our privileges that prompted me to start a place on our blog where people could sponsor our efforts. At the end of the project, we would donate all the money we had collected online to a local group that helps those who actually do struggle to find enough to eat. We eventually decided on an organization in Encinitas called the Community Resource Center, a group that provides social services for over ten thousand people a year, including services related to hunger. We chose this organization because of their focus on helping people become self-sufficient, and because we saw them making a palpable difference within our community. This part of the project was an opportunity to do something that would actually help other people. Plus, we knew that our friends and family were economically stable enough to help others, and this was a way to bring that opportunity to them.

  For the rest of the school day, I stayed busy. The morsels I had packed for lunch seemed to be just enough to get me through. The first few weeks of school are so hectic that sometimes it is easy to forget to eat altogether. Many of us eat rushed lunches, often while we push past hordes of students on our way to the copy room. The journey is often a failed mission, as the copiers resemble mechanical paper-spitting dragons. I have seen too many downtrodden teachers leave with only toner-covered hands to show for their courage. The typical teacher workday at the beginning of the school year makes Wall Street traders look like beach bums, and eating is often an afterthought. However, our lunchtime challenges were changing. Instead of struggling to find the time to eat, Kerri and I would eat little, and find it hard to maintain our energy levels.

  Our first dinner was the same as the previous night: beans, rice, and tortillas. Kerri seemed to have survived the first day, but something was missing.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” I said.

  “No, it wasn’t. I’m still a little hungry though,” Kerri answered.

  “Some of my students said there are orange trees near the school. I was thinking I’d drive by and check it out.”

  “That would be awesome. I could eat an orange right about now.”

  We sat looking at each other. It was clear that we both needed just a little more to eat. It could have been psychological, but we were itching for something to top off our first day. We had each spent ninety-one cents for our meals throughout the day, and that remaining nine cents was burning a hole in our stomachs. My sweet tooth would have to find a way to survive this month without chocolate.

  As I stared into the open cupboards, wondering where to expend these last few pennies, it dawned on me: peanut butter. For six cents a tablespoon, this plastic tub of high-fructose corn syrup–sweetened goodness was the shining light in the darkness of our barren pantry. I called to Kerri, “You want a tablespoon of peanut butter?” She came into the kitchen with a smile on her face; she didn’t need to say a word. I took the tablespoon off the drying rack and scooped out one serving for each of us—a habit I picked up from watching my father dig into jars of peanut butter when I was a kid. I put the spoon in my mouth and savored it. The salty sweetness opened my salivary floodgates, and I could feel the smooth butter move around in my mouth. I made it last for as long as I could, and licked the spoon clean. Nothing could be wasted. This was the perfect reward for surviving the first day.

  The next day the menu was the same, but my students came to class armed with new questions that led to some engaging discussions about poverty, local food pantries, and clever ways to raise the profile of other important issues. The student who had asked me about finding low-cost food stayed behind again, and we got to talking about the privilege of eating high-end natural foods. We then discussed how the remaining indigenous people on our planet sustain themselves. We were both left with questions about
how the global food system got to the point it’s at today.

  During that second day, I felt more energized than usual. By the time I got home, I had two different messages from casting departments in Hollywood who were calling to offer me auditions: one for a game show and one for a reality TV show. I’m not an actor and have no aspirations to become one, but I love to put myself in new situations. I think it’s good to experiment with situations, just to see what happens. I got to thinking about these new television opportunities during dinner. We sat there eagerly chomping away on our bean and rice burritos, and I imagined how funny it would be for my friends to see me, the vegan, appearing on a network program squeezed between Taco Bell and Burger King commercials.

  Then I started thinking about how often we are told to eat. Television and radio commercials offer us $1.99 “Super Value” meals with fast-moving images of food set to snazzy music. The message is clear: EAT. Most of us in the United States eat three squares a day without really giving it a second thought. We are surrounded by an empire of cereals, sodas, and snacks. Colorful packages line the shelves of brightly lit big-box stores, each proclaiming how healthy its contents are. Most folks walk right past the fresh fruits and vegetables. Just eating a salad gives us a sense of holiness. People eat far more fats and sugars than the more nutritious food options. Unfortunately, when one looks at the number of new food products introduced into stores in combination with how large companies spend their marketing dollars, it becomes easy to see why our country is overweight. It should come as no surprise that only 2.2 percent of all food-marketing dollars are spent on fruits and vegetables, whereas 70 percent of advertising dollars are spent on convenience foods, candy and snacks, alcoholic beverages, soft drinks, and desserts.