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

by Christopher Greenslate

  The social nature of eating left us feeling secluded. Several times during that month, I was invited to meet friends for lunch or coffee, and each time I declined. I could have gone and not ordered anything, but it would have been torturous to sit and smell the food and watch people enjoying tasty treats that I couldn’t have, even though they were right in front of me. Food is more than what we need to keep our bodies running. Food helps us interact socially; it is part of what we do to entertain. When I have people over, I like to try new recipes with ingredients that we don’t typically have at home. I usually have some type of appetizer and dessert, which we don’t do every night when it’s just the two of us. I have a tendency to overdo it for guests and special occasions, often making enough food to feed twice as many as we have invited. Like most people, I want to make sure that my guests go home full and happy.

  Our dinner with Dave was different. He was coming over to see how things were going and to sample what we had been eating. While I did want to make sure he enjoyed his meal, I was also well aware of the fact that Christopher and I would each have a little less that day, as our rule stated that guests must eat from our share. We decided on this rule because we knew that when money is tight, more does not magically appear just because there’s an extra mouth to feed. I also knew that Dave would most likely go home and eat something more. Still, while serving dinner, we made sure that each of us received an equal portion.

  As we sat down to eat, I anxiously awaited Dave’s response to our menu. Although beans, rice, homemade tortillas, and potatoes were a dish that we were now overly familiar with, our version was going to be new to our guest. I wondered what was going through his mind as he lifted the little burrito to his mouth. As he chewed, I could see the surprise on his face. He hadn’t expected it to taste good.

  All of the food we ate tasted good, except for one bean soup that I’d made. Christopher would disagree, but he’ll eat almost anything. We never had to eat things that tasted horrible. It was more that some of the dishes were a bit bland, our portions were much smaller than we were used to—and again, the lack of variety. By the time we had Dave over for dinner, it was the second time that week that we had eaten that meal, and we would have it at least one more time before the week was over. The lack of variety not only bored our taste buds, but also left us wanting more.

  I searched for a way to make that “more” seem tangible. For this entire month, I was constantly thinking about food: how little I had eaten, what I would be eating next, and whether or not it would fill me up. By this time, I was well into “window shopping.” Under the pretext of looking for new recipes that called for few ingredients, I frequently got out several of my cookbooks and flipped through the pages. I dreamed of what I would eat when we were done and imagined the shopping trips where I could put anything I wanted into the cart. In some of the cookbooks were sticky notes that tagged our favorites, and others that I wanted to try. After dinner I sometimes tormented Christopher by saying, “You know what sounds good right now?”

  Usually I only intended to tell him one thing that I wanted, but it wouldn’t take long for my “want” list to spiral out of control. “I’d like a salad” turned into “with a side of mashed potatoes and something chocolate, followed by baked tofu and salsa.” At that point I fell into listing every food I had ever enjoyed in my lifetime. There is no questioning who the weak link was, but more often than not, Christopher jumped in with one or two dream meals of his own. However, these dreams had to be put on hold; my cookbooks needed to tide me over for a few more days. The countdown to the end had started.

  As he only ate one meal with us, for Dave, the lack of variety wasn’t an issue. He said, “This is actually good,” as he worked on his second burrito. He was right; it was good. We offered him a splash of Tang to wash it down. He was hesitant; he didn’t want to take too much and leave us hungry, but his curiosity got the best of him and he tried it. He said it was just like he remembered from childhood. As we ate, we talked about our project and how we had been doing.

  When we calculated our cost that evening, we were pleased to see that we could afford to each have a cookie. Dave mentioned that he was impressed by the portion sizes we were able to feed him. He had almost stopped to eat something before he came over, but he said he was glad he didn’t. Of course, the next day I asked him if he had eaten when he got home. He said, “Not right away,” but he did have a snack later that evening.

  We had a few days left before we could rejoin the world of late-night snacking. I felt as if I had a better understanding of why weight-loss diets fail so often. My mind was consumed by all of the items I was deprived of. My situation was artificial; I could have quit anytime, and the foods I wanted were in reach. If I wanted them, I could have had them. I was tempted. I wanted something new; a new flavor. Despite the fact that we were almost done, we cracked, but just a little. Our rules stated that we would only have our packaged ramen noodles if there was no other way to stay under budget. On our last Saturday, we were short on time and needed something fast to eat for lunch. By this point, we were looking for an excuse to eat the ramen. I offered it as a suggestion, sure that Christopher would shoot it down, but he agreed without any prodding. When I confessed that it actually sounded good to me, I didn’t expect him to concur, but he did.

  We rationalized that there wasn’t time to make something else, but in reality, we probably could have managed. The truth was that we were excited. Tearing open the blue packaging and seeing the crispy noodles made me happy. My brain took a quick trip down memory lane to elementary school when I had just learned of the miracles of ramen. At that time, it wasn’t uncommon for kids in my school to crunch up a package of uncooked noodles, sprinkle the flavor package on it, and eat it as a snack. I was sure that I was guilty of this at some point in time. I also thought back to all the jokes about starving college students eating only ramen noodles to survive, and how proud I was that I made it through my first year without ever buying a package; maybe working at a grocery store gave me other options. Now here I was at twenty-nine years old, waiting for the water to boil so I could let my noodles cook for the requisite two minutes before I could sprinkle in the salty, MSG-laden contents of the little silver packet.

  I never thought I would be so thrilled by such a meal, but I was almost giddy with excitement after my first bite. The warm, salty broth was just what I needed, and the noodles were such a wonderfully different texture and taste from the white rice and potatoes that had been so prevalent in our diet. However, as is typical of ramen, it sounded like a good plan, and the first several bites were great, but as we finished our bowls, sure to get every last slurp of the broth, it no longer seemed like a great idea. My stomach was already saying, “Why did you do that?” I worried about what toll it would take on Christopher, who had been battling stomach issues for the past twenty-four hours. But I didn’t regret it. It was the new flavor I needed. Now I’d had it, and I was over it.

  My food daydreams continued, though. One of my favorite guilty pleasures is eating a fluffy, chocolate-covered donut. When I was little, my dad used to take my sisters and me to get donuts on Sunday mornings before church, and my favorite is forever the chocolate bar. One problem I run into is that there are very few bakeries that make vegan donuts. The closest one I know of is in Las Vegas, which happens to be over five hours away if traffic is clear. Fortunately, our friends Spencer and Stacy have family in Las Vegas, and every time they go, they bring a box back to us. They called us on Sunday and asked us if we wanted them to bring some. They knew we were approaching the end of our project, and they could bring them by on Monday—but we wouldn’t be able to eat them until Wednesday.

  Christopher passed the decision off to me, but I felt the answer was obvious. I wanted them. It would be difficult to have them sit on our counter and not eat them, but we had made it twenty-eight days—two more would be a breeze. When they arrived, I had Christopher put the box in the cupboard above our refrigerator:
out of sight, out of mind. But that wasn’t really the case. I was acutely aware of the pink box of wonder that lingered just beyond the reach of my fingertips. Anytime I walked into the kitchen I would inhale deeply, as if I could actually taste them if only I could get enough of their scent.

  But these donuts spurred another conversation in our house. How would we eat after this project? We knew that we were beginning to look at food differently, and now we needed to discuss how this would impact the way we shopped and lived. While our wallets, and not our health, were the initial focus, we had learned that healthy foods were something we valued, our sweet tooth notwithstanding. We liked starting from whole foods to make our meals, but we wanted variety, and we craved fruits and vegetables. One of our observations was that we would need to be willing to spend more time planning and preparing our meals if we wanted to avoid the boxed and canned convenience foods from before. Not to say that we planned never to eat anything that might be bad for us, or that we had only eaten “healthy” foods before this, but we were now looking for a more healthful diet. Perhaps not the first day. After all, there were perfectly good three-day-old donuts to consider.

  Despite the fact that the week before I would have said I thought it would never end, on our last day I couldn’t believe that our month had gone by so quickly. Still, I had no desire to continue. While I lost half as much weight as Christopher had, for my size it still felt like too much. During my free period at school, I used a pair of scissors to poke a new hole in my belt. I would be visiting my parents the next week, and I knew they would tell me that I was too skinny.

  On the last day, I headed to the grocery store after work to get some food for our lunches the next day. Christopher had called me with two requests: Tofurkey slices and strawberries. This would be the first time I had been to a grocery store, other than a bulk store, in over thirty days. I wasn’t prepared for it. It had been so long since I had walked under that much fluorescence; when I walked in, the lights felt like an assault on my vision. But that wasn’t the hardest part. I knew we only needed those two items, but I grabbed a basket and wandered. The vibrant reds, greens, and oranges of the produce section were juxtaposed against the different variations of white, beige, and brown that had graced my plate for a month. I was overwhelmed. I found strawberries on sale, and then worked my way back toward the refrigerated section. I considered going back to the front of the store to get a cart. I wanted to load up and gain the security that comes from having a full cabinet and knowing that food is there if I need it.

  Several times I put crackers or chips or other snack-type food in my basket, only to take it out when I realized I didn’t really need it. But I kept wandering. Twice I called Christopher to have him talk me out of things. I knew that with the donuts, we didn’t need more sugar in our house, but didn’t he think that soy ice cream sounded good? Did he want chips and salsa as a snack tomorrow? There was a game show that used to be on when I was in high school, and at one point in the game, the customers had a limited amount of time to run through the store and get as many items as they could into their cart. I think the object was to make the checkout total as high as possible. That day, I wanted to run through the store and, with grand sweeping motions, knock everything I could reach into my cart. I wanted to fill my car with full grocery bags so that I could replenish my Mother Hubbard cupboards. But I didn’t. I was reasonable, mostly. I cruised the aisles for at least twenty minutes, but in the end, I went home with my two items.

  That night, we had our last meal for under a dollar. With the dishes done and the blog posted, we went to bed early. The next day would be a whole new start for us. We would be reintroduced into the world of food. I could have coffee, and I wouldn’t be eating oatmeal, not for a long, long time. We were filled with so much anticipation that it was almost like the night before Christmas—but instead of sugar plums, I had visions of chocolate bar donuts dancing in my head.

  6

  The Aftermath

  Christopher

  Like any other day, I opened my eyes to the darkness of morning and rolled out of bed to get ready for work, but today was different from those that had come before it. Our month of eating on a dollar a day had ended. I should have felt more excited, but like birthdays and other big celebrations, often the anticipation of a particular moment is greater than its arrival. The vegan donuts that our friends Spencer and Stacy brought back from Ronald’s Donuts in Las Vegas were waiting patiently in their big pink box. Most people would probably see the eating of a three-day-old donut as disgusting; some would call the excitement over said baked goods patently absurd. But as a confessed sugar addict who had forgone a necessity like chocolate for a month, this custard-filled chocolate bar donut was nothing short of a climax for the taste buds. The feeling was probably similar to what addicts feel once they finally get a fix: pure ecstasy, with a recognition of how good it feels to be bad once again—a victory for our darker natures.

  Our doctor had recommended that when this project was over, we make sure not to overdo it on our first day back. He cited those people imprisoned in death camps during World War II who had died shortly after being released because they overworked their starved bodies by eating too much. They literally ate themselves to death. Our experience was nothing in comparison, but we appreciated the advice and would not make the same mistake. Surely a donut was acceptable.

  That the treat had lost some of its doughy nature was easily forgotten as my teeth found the smooth vanilla custard, and my tongue lapped up the excess chocolate frosting. After the first few bites, the foreplay was over and I got down to the business of militant chewing, only to be interrupted by momentary breaks to wash down the bites. Today there would be no Tang. The sugar from my breakfast dessert floated down my throat on a current of freshly squeezed juice from some of our leftover oranges. For a moment I rationalized that the nectar of this fresh fruit made up for what I was about to do next.

  Kerri emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her head, and I smiled as I popped open the lid of the pink box to survey my options. I would be good. I would not reach for the spectacular swirls of the cinnamon roll; that would be too much. The jelly-filled dusted with powdered sugar would have been an elegant option, but the raspberry gel seemed a touch extravagant. I settled on another chocolate bar, this one unfilled—an obvious and reasonable choice. The oatmeal that had occupied a place in our daily morning ritual had officially become a thing of the past, a tradition easily discarded for a new era in eating. I would once again revel in the variety of the American food system. I could go back to having fruit smoothies, or cereal with fresh fruit before work, and French toast with soy sausage on the weekends.

  I watched Kerri as she delicately enjoyed her own sweet relief. The bliss of our morning breakfast seemed to settle our souls. We had made it through a month of frugal dining that left us exhausted, and we were overjoyed to get back to life as usual. No more weighing, calculating, and rationing out meager portions. No more feelings of desperation or frustration at the thought of cooking something that would leave us only mildly satisfied. No more worries about getting the proper amounts of nutrients. No more fighting over cookies. I said good-bye to Kerri and left for work with a new sense of satisfaction. We had made it; we had survived for one month eating on a dollar each a day.

  I blasted the car stereo on the way to work, with the chorus of Minor Threat’s “Stepping Stone” giving me an added air of accomplishment. The first thing my students asked when we started class was, “What did you have for breakfast?” However, as I recounted the joy of our morning treat, I could feel my stomach rising up in protest. I worried that my body was breaking down from sugar overload. I wondered if I had overdone it. Would I throw up? Would I have diarrhea? Were the donuts too old? Would I end up like those unfortunate folks who ate too much after years of forced starvation? Sweating and starting to feel painfully uncomfortable, I did what any teacher would do. I put on a smile and faked it. I ate on a d
ollar a day for a month; I could manage a couple of donuts. At break I rushed to the bathroom and, sure enough, my body quickly rejected the foreign food. I felt better immediately, and by lunch I had no inhibitions about launching into my soy turkey sandwich and organic strawberries. The rest of the afternoon was a breeze, and the thought of eating out made me light with excitement. What was once commonplace was now novelty. To think that I could go to a place where people would prepare me a fantastic meal, and that I wouldn’t have to worry about the cost, seemed reserved for mere fantasy.

  After work, Kerri and I accompanied my mother to Sipz, one of our favorite restaurants in town. This vegetarian Asian-fusion cafe boasts a lengthy menu, and flipping through the pages was like being in the office of a travel agent and looking at all the places worth visiting and having to pick just one. I know that most foodies sneer at any establishment that calls itself “fusion,” but Sipz pulls it off with style. Even our staunchly omnivorous family members request it when we get together.

  First we ordered some summer rolls and mock-barbecue chicken for appetizers. Then we put in our entrees: pad Thai for Kerri, and mock chicken curry with broccoli for me. Of course our meal would have been incomplete without beverages, so I requested a taro-root boba slushie (tastes like a vanilla milk shake) and Kerri had an iced tea. My mother, who was taking us out to celebrate the end of our project, was happy to see us finally eating a proper amount of calories, and I think she would have paid for just about anything that night if we could have eaten it. When our bowls came out, the servings were enormous. These mountains of food could not possibly fit into our newly shrunken stomachs. I thought about the obesity rate in our country, and one of the causes was sitting on the plate right in front of me. The size of portions we are served at most restaurants is far more than we actually need, especially since most people lead relatively sedentary lives. I thought back to my high school days of overeating at fast-food joints and reminded myself that I did not have to finish everything served to me.