If you know, you know.

There was a pie. No ordinary pie, this – a pie of lentils and Armenian sausage that would make a Lebanese mother chase you from the kitchen with her broom. Concocted from the gleanings of unprepared cupboards and fridges, what it lacked in culinary stripes it made up for in diplomatic gaffes. For it was gloriously adorned with a pastry Lebanese flag, a pastry Union Jack, and a small pastry model of Rafiq Hariri whose time al forno left him sadly separated from constituent torso, moustache and monobrow.

They consumed it with wine and Billie Holiday. If you know, you know it good. All is well.