Food Gratitude
Bendice Señor nuestro pan.
Y da pan a los que tienen hambre.
Y hambre de justicia a los que tienen pan.
Bendice Señor nuestro pan.
I love this Spanish dinner blessing. I came across it a few years ago. Translated it means: Bless our bread, Lord. And give bread to those who are hungry. And a hunger for justice to those who have bread. Bless our bread, Lord.
Acknowledging that our food is a gift is important. Especially in a country where the majority of the population suffers from a deplorable lack of awareness as to how food gets to our table or restaurant. As I sit at my breakfast bar now, eating a Costco rotisserie chicken, I consider the journey of the chicken.
I do not know this chicken, nor the coop it lived in. I had nothing to do with making sure no foxes ate it. I neither fed nor provided water nor built a shelter for this chicken. Yet it grew. It grew. Some call it science. Sure. But also, a miracle. Thank you Mr./Ms. Farmer. Thank you, God, for the sun, rain, and seasons. Thank you Tractor Supply for chicken feed and chicken coops.
This chicken was sold. Negotiations took place and the bird was then transported via a truck driver (apart from his family- thank you Mr./Ms. Truck Driver) to a slaughterhouse. This is where I really thank God because I didn't have to take life from this animal, someone else did. A tough job. Probably an immigrant, maybe legal, maybe not. More than likely, they are living at the poverty line, taking a job no American wants. Thank you Sr./Sra immigrant.
My rotisserie bird is then meticulously cleaned, packaged, frozen, sold yet again, and transported to a warehouse. Thanks again Mr./Mrs. Truck Driver---and let's give a shout out to the gas stations that provided the fuel, the manufacturer that made those 18 rolling tires, the enforcement officers who keep the roads safe, direct traffic and check scales. And gracias to the warehouse operator who works nights to load that truck with my frozen chicken.
Yeah, we are getting closer.
My bird has finally made it to Costco, where an amazing machine, created by a smart engineer and a facility in China who buys stainless steel from I don't know where cooks it perfectly. The end of the story? Noooo! Because I haven't even done anything yet.
I have a job that earns money to buy food, and a car and gas. I have legs that work and a brain that says, "get that rotisserie chicken at Costco".
So, as I sit down finally to eat my food in quiet contemplation, without a TV or device, I chose to acknowledge that I had little to do with getting my food to the table. It really is a gift, a blessing. Overthinking about my food humbles me and genuinely make it taste better.
PS - And thanks Mr. Chicken for your life, given to nourish mine with a lot of proteins and stuff I don't know about but really need.
Y da pan a los que tienen hambre.
Y hambre de justicia a los que tienen pan.
Bendice Señor nuestro pan.
I love this Spanish dinner blessing. I came across it a few years ago. Translated it means: Bless our bread, Lord. And give bread to those who are hungry. And a hunger for justice to those who have bread. Bless our bread, Lord.
Acknowledging that our food is a gift is important. Especially in a country where the majority of the population suffers from a deplorable lack of awareness as to how food gets to our table or restaurant. As I sit at my breakfast bar now, eating a Costco rotisserie chicken, I consider the journey of the chicken.
I do not know this chicken, nor the coop it lived in. I had nothing to do with making sure no foxes ate it. I neither fed nor provided water nor built a shelter for this chicken. Yet it grew. It grew. Some call it science. Sure. But also, a miracle. Thank you Mr./Ms. Farmer. Thank you, God, for the sun, rain, and seasons. Thank you Tractor Supply for chicken feed and chicken coops.
This chicken was sold. Negotiations took place and the bird was then transported via a truck driver (apart from his family- thank you Mr./Ms. Truck Driver) to a slaughterhouse. This is where I really thank God because I didn't have to take life from this animal, someone else did. A tough job. Probably an immigrant, maybe legal, maybe not. More than likely, they are living at the poverty line, taking a job no American wants. Thank you Sr./Sra immigrant.
In Spanish, when a chicken is alive, it's a gallina. When it is dead, it becomes pollo. In English, no difference. A chicken is a chicken, dead or alive. I think this says something about our approach to food.
My rotisserie bird is then meticulously cleaned, packaged, frozen, sold yet again, and transported to a warehouse. Thanks again Mr./Mrs. Truck Driver---and let's give a shout out to the gas stations that provided the fuel, the manufacturer that made those 18 rolling tires, the enforcement officers who keep the roads safe, direct traffic and check scales. And gracias to the warehouse operator who works nights to load that truck with my frozen chicken.
Yeah, we are getting closer.
My bird has finally made it to Costco, where an amazing machine, created by a smart engineer and a facility in China who buys stainless steel from I don't know where cooks it perfectly. The end of the story? Noooo! Because I haven't even done anything yet.
I have a job that earns money to buy food, and a car and gas. I have legs that work and a brain that says, "get that rotisserie chicken at Costco".
So, as I sit down finally to eat my food in quiet contemplation, without a TV or device, I chose to acknowledge that I had little to do with getting my food to the table. It really is a gift, a blessing. Overthinking about my food humbles me and genuinely make it taste better.
PS - And thanks Mr. Chicken for your life, given to nourish mine with a lot of proteins and stuff I don't know about but really need.
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