I do my very best to avoid shark fin.

Host: The night hung heavy over the harbor, shrouded in a mist that tasted faintly of salt and memory. The sea murmured below, a slow, restless breathing — like some old creature remembering the wounds of nets and hooks. Inside a dim dockside tavern, two silhouettes sat facing each other beneath a single flickering bulb. Wooden tables, scratched and stained by years of rum, bore the echo of sailors’ stories. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and melancholy.

Jack leaned back in his chair, his grey eyes reflecting the amber light of his drink. Jeeny sat across from him, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, steam curling upward like a fragile spirit.

Jeeny: “Anthony Bourdain once said, ‘I do my very best to avoid shark fin.’ He said it with such quiet conviction… and I think he meant more than just soup, Jack. He meant compassion.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Compassion? Or convenience? You know, Jeeny, people like to dress up their preferences in virtue. But Bourdain was a chef, a traveler, a man who devoured the world — literally. Avoiding shark fin didn’t make him a saint. It made him modern.”

Host: A boat horn wailed in the distance, its sound low and aching. The tide lapped against the dock, echoing their voices like whispers of an ancient argument between hunger and mercy.

Jeeny: “You think it’s just a trend? The killing of millions of sharks every year, their fins sliced off while they’re still alive, then tossed back to drown — that’s not about modernity. That’s about conscience. Bourdain realized that eating isn’t just appetite — it’s ethics.”

Jack: “And yet, Jeeny, every ethical eater has a blind spot. They’ll refuse shark fin but still eat beef, chicken, or tuna caught with slave labor. Hypocrisy is the price of existence. We can’t live without taking something from something else.”

Host: The lamp above them buzzed, its filament trembling like a tired heartbeat. Jeeny’s eyes glimmered — not with anger, but with hurt — as if Jack’s words had cut through more than just philosophy.

Jeeny: “You always reduce everything to survival, Jack. But survival isn’t all we’re here for. If it were, why would people choose to sacrifice comfort for principle? Why would someone like Bourdain, who could have eaten anything, refuse something just because it was wrong?”

Jack: (leaning forward) “Because guilt sells, Jeeny. Because the modern conscience is curated like an Instagram feed. Avoid shark fin, post about sustainability, and then board a jet that burns thousands of liters of fuel. People need to feel moral — not necessarily be moral.”

Jeeny: (coldly) “And you think cynicism makes you wiser?”

Host: The sound of rain began to tap against the window, soft at first, then harder — like a moral drumbeat. The light shimmered across the wet glass, bending around Jeeny’s face, illuminating the quiet fire in her eyes.

Jeeny: “He didn’t avoid shark fin for the applause, Jack. He did it because he saw the blood in the water. Because when you look into an animal’s eye, and it’s filled with fear, something inside you changes. You can’t unsee it.”

Jack: “And yet, humans have always eaten other creatures. From the caves of Altamira to Tokyo’s fish markets. Are you going to condemn all of history? Are we monsters for being what evolution made us?”

Jeeny: “No, but we’re monsters if we stop choosing. Evolution gave us the teeth — conscience teaches us when not to bite.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the glass. The room seemed smaller now, the walls closer, as if their words had drawn the very air into the struggle between them.

Jack: “You talk like the world can afford purity. But morality’s a luxury, Jeeny — something for the full-bellied and the safe. Ask a fisherman in Guangdong whose family eats only if he sells fins. What does your compassion mean to him?”

Jeeny: (voice rising) “It means I care enough to see beyond my plate! It means I don’t pretend necessity absolves cruelty! History is filled with people who justified suffering for survival — slave owners, poachers, factory bosses — all of them saying the same thing: ‘I had no choice.’ But we do have a choice!”

Host: The rain pounded now, merging with the crash of waves beyond the pier. A flash of lightning briefly revealed Jack’s face, caught between anger and something deeper — a sadness he couldn’t name.

Jack: “You think I don’t care, Jeeny? You think I’m blind to cruelty? I’ve seen what happens when you strip people of work in the name of ethics. I was in Indonesia once — saw entire fishing villages collapse when Western companies banned certain catches. The kids there went hungry, Jeeny. Hungry. Your compassion for sharks killed people.”

Jeeny: (quietly now) “Maybe. But maybe the answer isn’t to abandon compassion — it’s to broaden it. To find ways where both the child and the shark can live. We can’t keep pretending morality is a zero-sum game.”

Host: Silence fell between them, heavy as the mist. The rain softened, the sea whispering its eternal questions. Jack’s eyes wandered toward the window, where the harbor lights blurred into soft halos through the droplets.

Jack: (after a long pause) “You know, Bourdain once said he loved the ugly parts of the world — the raw, the real. Maybe avoiding shark fin was his way of saying: ‘Even the real needs boundaries.’ Maybe I’m just… tired of seeing boundaries that only the poor have to obey.”

Jeeny: “That’s fair. But compassion without consistency is still better than apathy. Every act of refusal is a whisper against the storm — maybe it’s not enough to stop it, but it’s something.”

Host: The lamp above them flickered again, then steadied. The smoke in the room seemed to slow, as if even the air was listening.

Jack: “So you think avoiding shark fin saves the world?”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “No, Jack. But it reminds the world it can be saved.”

Jack: “You sound like a preacher.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Or maybe just someone who still believes that what we consume defines what we become.”

Host: Jack sighed, a deep, weary breath that seemed to carry years of conflict — between the heart that wanted to feel and the mind that refused to hope. Outside, the rain began to ease, leaving behind the scent of salt and forgiveness.

Jack: “You know what’s strange, Jeeny? I used to think food was just food — meat, flavor, survival. But maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s a kind of language. And maybe Bourdain was just… learning to say sorry.”

Jeeny: (softly) “And meaning it.”

Host: A long silence followed. The harbor lights glowed softly now, mirrored on the wet wood of the pier like trembling stars. Jack’s hand drifted toward Jeeny’s cup, steadying it before it tipped. She met his eyes, and for a moment, all the arguments, all the philosophy, dissolved into something simple — the quiet recognition of shared fragility.

Host: In that stillness, the sea seemed to breathe again, calm and ancient, as if it too had listened and forgiven. The rain had stopped. The world, for a fleeting heartbeat, felt clean.

Host: And there, in the dim light of the dockside tavern, the words of Bourdain lingered — not as doctrine, but as a small, enduring gesture of mercy:
“I do my very best to avoid shark fin.”