When I was a teenager, I was invited to some sort of dinner party for a friend. There were a bunch of us gathered around the supper table where turkey was served.
And in the midst of the cheerful chatter that bubbled and floated in the room, I realized that I thought the turkey was very good. Turkey is not an easy thing to cook well -- it's drier and less flavorful than chicken, for example -- and so, when I had the opportunity, I told my friend's mother that I thought she had done a spectacular job on the turkey.
The woman looked pleased, but admitted candidly that she had not cooked it. The cook had.
And so I walked out to the kitchen and told the cook she had done a spectacular job.
She too looked pleased.
The farmer who raised the turkey was not immediately available for thanks, but I think there is something to be said for thanking the source... whatever it may be.