My heart feels heavy as I watch a video on food production, more specifically on spice production. The woman sits on a hard concrete floor sorting and grading cinnamon sticks. Cinnamon that will travel far and be enjoyed by someone who will not know her name, of the labor she contributed and at a cost that I’m sure is difficult to articulate. One of my grandmothers at meal time would lead us in saying grace, always adamant that we include “bless the hands that have helped prepare this food.” She meant not just the people in the household but those beyond, right down to the farmer who grew the food and everyone in between.

I love green cardamom. It is perhaps one of my favorite spices and it also happens to be the world’s third most expensive spice after vanilla and saffron. This is because it is considered labor intensive and has to be picked by hand. I think about this often as I gently tap it with my pestle and then use my fingers to pull the pod apart to reveal the seeds. The familiar scent caressing my nose as I grind the seeds in the mortar. Or of the tea leaves and coffee beans that have become part of my morning ritual right before I begin my journaling session. Of the Zanzibari black peppercorns that made me fall in love with black pepper. Of tonka beans, Madagascar voatsiperifery and some of rarer things and those that are hard to find. Of the spices/ingredients that I am yet to discover.

I think often about how I don’t want any of my life’s little luxurious to come at the cost of another human being’s misery. I know this might not always be the case, so I’ve taken to becoming a conscious consumer, at least as conscious as I can be. And in the same vein as my grandmother, I quietly give thanks to the people I may never get to know as I find joy playing in the kitchen, working on various flavor compositions and getting to experience some of the best ingredients. May the hands that have led these ingredients to me be blessed!