My last brush with mortality came in April, at a branch of Starbucks. Finding myself running early for a meeting, I took the chance to pop in for my usual: a latte and a ham-and-cheese croissant. As I waited for the barista to pour my coffee, I took a nibble of the pastry. Within a minute, my lower lip was swollen and blistering.
I checked the ingredients list. Though I’d ordered this very same item about once a month for years, I knew what was coming: this croissant now contained peas.