Gratitude Monday: table graces

This is a big Gratitude Monday—the week of Thanksgiving, we should really be upping our game. So today let me express my heartfelt appreciation to everyone who contributes to our meals every single day.

Thanks to all the animals that provide us sustenance. Turkeys, chickens, geese, ducks, pigeons, sheep, cows, pigs, deer, goats, bison, rabbits, fish, shellfish and any others I’ve missed. For giving us bacon and chorizo, cottage pies and chops, eggs and kabobs, venison and bouillabaise. Thank you for Thanksgiving dinner with the family, Sunday brunch with friends, picnic sandwiches with a lover, chicken soup for a sore throat, fish ‘n chips on the pier, bangers and mash in a pub.

I pray that if you were raised for this purpose, you were safe, sheltered and healthy; that you had space to roam about when the fancy took you, and a warm place to spend the night. And that when the time came for slaughter, I hope you had no idea what was in store for you. Thank you for giving us your life to enrich ours.

If you were wild, my wish is that your death was a clean kill and that your herd or flock or school did not wonder where you’d got to. Thank you for your time on earth and for giving us our nourishment through your death.

I’m also grateful for the people who care for these animals—ranchers, wildlife conservationists, fisherfolk; and for those who grow and harvest the other things we have on our plates and in our glasses. Farmers, orchardists, vintners, brewers, distillers, bee keepers, pickers, packers, truckers—thank you for doing jobs that never end, that depend on the vagaries of nature, that are hurry-up-and-wait…and sometimes worry. Thank you for my mangos, my apples, my raspberries, my broccolini, my potatoes, my haricots verts, my pinots noir and gris, my cask ale, my Oban, my coffee beans and my decaf green tea.

I’ll even thank you for the Brussels sprouts, because there are some misguided people out there who like them. I guess I’m grateful to them, too, since with them eating those nasty things there are more roasted parsnips and steamed carrots for me.

I’m grateful for millers, bakers and pastry makers—especially those who show up at the local farmers markets. And for baristas who give me latte with a picture in the foam. And for counter people who recognize my face and remember my name. And for wait staff and bussers and dishwashers for the times when I want a meal without having to prepare, serve or clean up after it.

It has been said that is love. If so, then there ought to be a whole lotta that going around this week. Spare some of it for those who made it possible.