Five teaspoons is how Reid sweetens his coffee. This regularly goes up to three tablespoons if it's been an interesting kind of night. The granola bars in his bag are the good, grain-packed ones which is good considering he's been known to live off of granola bars, sugar, and whatever little protein there's in the coffee cream. And that's when it's a slow day at the office: when they're out on a case and time is pressing, Reid might go for days on little except for syrup-thick black coffee.
Keywords being, "left to his own means." Reid's team, they have Opinions.
Candies come in different shapes, sizes and colours and Penelope keeps a big glass jar choke-full in her office, sweet and pretty. The jar's on the cabinet in the back: hard candy isn't much of a hazard for her precious system but coffee is, and there's only so long Boy Genius goes without refueling, which is why he usually perches in the back of the room when he's in. The bright colours get the candy noticed no matter how distracted Reid is. Cookies aren't that shiny, so she makes up for it by hiding them. Profilers are hunters, after all.
Teen athletes develop a hyper-vigilance for food that only anorectics and bulimics can beat, so JJ knows exactly how hard it is to eat everything you need and that multivitamins just can't make up for a diet as bad as Spence's. She says nothing as she steals his fries or mac and cheese, just smiles. It annoys him, and if she annoys him enough he'll steal from her plate just to spite, and her plate has actual vegetables on it. It's trickier when it's midnight and they're having Chinese at yet another cop shop, but JJ has had a lot of practice.
Reid brings a sandwich with either chocolate or peanut butter and Morgan paws it with fake sugar-glee, tossing Reid his own avocado, egg and sprouts sandwich. He shames Reid in front of the waitresses at whatever sucky diner they're at to get the kid to order something with meat in it. He even risks his fingers by snatching the sugar out of Reid's hands when the kid is trying to get himself into a diabetic coma. Morgan just doesn't let Reid make any kind of decision about his own meals, ever, even if Reid threatens to shoot him for it.
It's not unlike pot calling the kettle black, but at least she's gained a few pounds since she was fourteen and if Reid had, than she doesn't ever want to know. Still, there's bad and there's bad, and Reid is the latter. He'll reach for any steaming cup on his desk, so if it's getting late she leaves him soup. Fat makes up for everything, so she pours a generous serving of cream over the microwave-able cannelloni she deliberately brought too much of and Reid doesn't register the spinach. She's actually eating better for it, and that's a disturbing thought.
Rossi does wonder how Reid will survive his FBI career, but it is still nothing compared to his complete and utter shock at Reid having survived to have one, considering that for an attentive and meticulous genius Spencer Reid is a complete airhead of a moron. Which was why when an asshat uniform got smart over Rossi "coddling" the kid when Hotch put them on evidence duty at some godforsaken PD yet again, Rossi turned right around and chased him off with a glare. He'd cut the sandwich down to bite-size as a crumb countermeasure to protect the case documents.
… and Hotch
It's pointless to pretend they're not all a little neurotic when it comes to Reid. It's not the attention Reid ever complains about, only sometimes the manner of delivery. Hotch knows the moratorium on intra-team profiling is intact because it never occurs to anyone else what this is actually about. He leaves Reid to Morgan and Rossi because Reid cares too much and fights too hard and does not need Hotch's example. And if there is a blueberry muffin left on Spencer's desk after Hotch broke a too-long coffee break, Hotch is pretty certain nobody ever notices it but Reid.