I was standing in the poultry aisle of the Salon international de l’agriculture, a massive farm and food show that takes place in late winter in a giant exhibition space on the southern edge of Paris. I was surrounded by unfamiliar sights—unique sheep and goat breeds, draft horses and dairy cattle—and immersed in smells, with the tang of aged cheese and the funk of grilled fois gras competing against the fresh scent of hay and the winy reek of the manure trekked all over the carpets. There was a lot of noise—mooing, cackling, vendors shouting, politicians speechifying—but the child’s exclamation somehow cut through it all.

What she said was: “Look, Mom—A chicken’s that’s dressed!”

But what she meant was: Look: a