Last week I made a summer lunch of Israeli salad (tomato, crisp green peppers, cucumber, chickpeas and bright purple sweet onion) and sweet corn-on-the-cob with salt, pepper, and a generous squeeze of lime juice. As I sat down to the table, I called a friend whom I hadn’t spoken to in a while. I nibbled my way through the salad as I recalled tales from a recent trip to Chicago and she caught me up about her summer studying Hindi.

After we hung up I started on the corn, which was too unwieldy to eat while juggling a cell phone. As I picked up the cob, it hit me how freaking beautiful it was, with its swollen rows of fruit and lacey strands of silk.  It seemed holy - worthy of a blessing.

Blessing food has never been a huge part of my life.  Growing up, my family wasn’t the “hold-hands-and-bow-heads” type, as my father had experienced growing up a minister’s son in the Midwest.  Except for the occasional, disjointed hamotzi over challah or borei pri hagafen over grape juice, the brachot of my mother’s heritage weren’t a part of our nightly dinners either.  

Still, it bothered me that, I had to put down my cell phone before noticing that the food in front of me was so amazing.  Throughout the call, I barely noticed that I was eating at all, let alone eating a gorgeous, nourishing salad made from vegetables I picked up the day before from my CSA.  Before taking a bite of corn, I said the bracha, “borei pri hadamah,” which also covered my salad made entirely from “the fruit of the ground.”

Better late than never I thought, not entirely believing myself.

As a society, many of us spend huge amounts of time wondering whether the food we eat is organically certified, kosher certified, fair trade, contains genetically modified ingredients, etc. We worry that it will make us fat if we eat to much of it. We eat standing up, on the run, while watching TV or (gulp) on the phone.  It’s easy to get preoccupied.  It’s easy to forget to be thankful. 

Brachot, on the other hand, cut through everything else and let us focus on the small miracle that we, once again, have the opportunity to nourish ourselves.  The blessings uttered before eating acknowledge our food’s source and ask permission to consume it, and the birkat ha’mazon is recited in thanks after our bellies are full.  Of course it’s possible to say a blessing without being mindful - but I can’t help but think that if blessing food was a part of my tradition, I would have been more present while I ate and saved the phone call for dessert.