For a while we were so deep in debt we couldn't even afford to eat. And the Food Line was a…read moreblessing. Now that we're not so desperate, I try always to remember what a relief it was to save the extravagant cost of groceries while we struggled, and now I return the favor with what little I can now afford to donate. One never knows when it might be needed again. I never assume I will never end up living under a bridge in old age!
No one wants to admit to periods of such poverty, but I was moved to write this review by the bad review someone else left, complaining that so many of the offerings were "expired." This is true, but fact is, supermarkets who donate so much off their shelves basically only give stuff for which the "best used by" date is nearly achieved. This does NOT mean the food is not good; it's just as good as it was the day it was packaged.
First, the manufacturers WANT the stores to replace stocks that don't sell with the same stuff, and fact is, expired potato chips or canned beans or soup are still perfectly fine. As for the bread and milk, the Food Line has a big walk-in freezer and they freeze this stuff, thaw it the day it is given to people in need, so the expiration date is meaningless.
And the people who work and volunteer at the food bank are simply the nicest folks who make nobody feel like a worthless drain on society for being in need. I kind of love them, anonymous though they remain to me, and I to them.
You can get a big box including fresh veggies (and meat if you eat it; I do not), but only once a month. The thawed out bread, however, you can get as often as daily if you need that much. I would grab a couple loaves at least once a week, all sorts of breads, and though often they'd been in the freezer for a bit, that never hurt the bread in the least.
The canned goods, and government commodities, all perfectly good stuff. And the oddball stuff donated by the community, that was actually a fun section, you just never knew what someone grabbed out of their cabinet -- nothing wrong with it but might be imported or strange, like canned wheat gluten meat substitute which tastes great despite the sillies who want to eat gluten-free with no health need to do so.
The building is very near Olympic College, so a lot of students use the place, besides there being a campus food drive for the kids. This pleases me; our kids and students merit the assistance, even if they are broke only because bought too many costly pizzas.
I like to eat WELL, and what you can get at the food bank is heavy on carbs and not gourmet. I am not choosy and when in need it was all great, but when I was back on my feet, I wasn't gonna drop in for stuff I no longer needed, and it was very good to be able to have complete mastery of my diet again. But I always think of the food bank folks with fondness and appreciation.
There's a tiny park next to their building. Once a week a hot food wagon parks by it, and this attracts some homeless people, a few students, and generally one or two Native Americans. I realize some folks despise such people for being poor, but I find them interesting to talk to, and I dress raggedy enough to fit in if I'm in the mood to be even a little social.
One day I arrived early and the food line wasn't yet open. So I was hanging out in that little park with a K'lamath couple and a homeless white couple, the guy being deeply seriously depressed and babied by his worried girlfriend. The hot food truck arrived. Now I didn't need that food, but I didn't want to put myself apart from the people with whom I'd been sitting around a picnic table. So I got in line. The food was boiled potatoes with salt pepper and butter and very good; some hot green beans which were so-so; and some grey wayyyyy over-cooked chicken (getting mushy on the bone) which I doubt I'd've liked even if I weren't vegetarian.
Everyone was eating and happy to do so, so I tried to eat my chicken, truly hating it. One bite was all I could manage. I snuck it into a napkin and snuck it in my jacket pocket, ate just the potatoes and green beans. There was some real camaraderie at at the table, so I did finally tell them that despite my raggedy vintage leather jacket, I had a really great home and probably shouldn't've gotten in line for the food. The Indian couple said, "Us too!" it was no biggie. We talked about all sorts of things then went our separate way. I went into the food bank and grabbed some free bread before heading home.
When I got home I took the grey chicken out of my pocket and divided it up for my tiny dogs. They looked at it like I was trying to poison them. Then they decided, what the hell, she wouldn't do that to us, and ate it reluctantly.
