She eyes it, shuddering. “I don’t know how you can eat that.”
“I like salmon.”
“It’s raw salmon.”
“No, it’s, in effect, pickled salmon. Anyway, as I told you, I travel a lot. Unless you want to live on burger and fries, you learn to adapt.”
She follows my fork from plate to mouth, her voice doubtful. “Is there anything you don't eat?”
I scratch an ear, pondering that one. “Well…. France has a reputation for good food, but they eat parts of the animal the Chinese wouldn't touch.” She chuckles as I continue. “Besides, you can learn a lot about a place from the regional food.”
Her brow wrinkles. “How do you mean?”
“If the local delicacy is pigs’ ears or cows’ hooves, then it’s worth asking who’s eating all the pork and the beef.” She’s getting that greenish tinge again. “You did say yo
