Crete, 1944

It was a slightly run-down joint, pretending to be a cafe on the outside when everyone knew it was something else. The soldier had been recommended to pay a visit and ask for something local. An old woman was clearing dishes as he went in.

"I'd like the best Greek tart you can manage, please," he said.

She nodded, went into the kitchen, and carefully sprinkled some feta, tomatoes and black olives on top of the thinnest of pastry bases. Fifteen minutes later, it was ready.

As she set it before him, he said, "I wonder if you misunderstood me?"