Biking all morning, we finally sit down to lunch, famished. We check restaurants for a menu with pictures and English. I pull out the slip of paper with a Chinese phrase for the waitress. The woman nods. She flips through the menu and points. The dishes look suspiciously meaty. I point again at the slip.

"Yes!"

Her voice is tense.

Despite intuition, I order a dish she recommends. Chicken arrives. My acknowledgment that it isn't vegetarian sends the staff into an uproar.

Yelling.

Glaring.

Pointing.

My paper gets snatched. I eat the rice.

Sorry for giving a damn about animals.