One evening, I was at a Greek restaurant having dinner with a group of women—some I knew well, some just barely, some not at all. I was the only Asian at the table. While we waited for our food, a small plate of grilled baby octopus arrived at the next table. One of the women at ours scrunched up her face and said she couldn’t bear the thought of eating “small” animals—baby octopus, veal, chicks. “It’s just too cruel,” she said. That was the starting point. “Shrimp are just disgusting. I can’t stand them.” “Fish fillets are okay, but a whole fish with the head? Absolutely not.”

I didn’t say anything. I just sat there wondering: why do so many European women I know seem to fear shrimp? What is it about shrimp that’s so horrifying? It’s one of my favorite foods. And really, what’s the difference between a fillet and a whole fish with a head? To me, this kind of selective revulsion felt like a strange indulgence—an exaggerated fussiness masking itself as moral sensitivity. Like how some people speak of their allergies as if they’re badges of sophistication. Then, a shift. The woman sitting next to me said, “You know what’s dangerous? Eating in China. You don’t understand the menu, you don’t know what you’re eating....