‘What’s the point of being president if you don’t have a wine cellar?’ The president said he’d had no way of knowing that he was about to gain a son-slash-master chef, or else he certainly would have been better prepared. He snapped his fingers, at which point an otherwise invisible assistant showed up. Aleko ordered her to fetch the best wine the finest hotel had in stock. ‘White or red?’ asked the assistant. ‘All the colours you can get your hands on. As many bottles as possible. Tell them I’ll stop by to pay for it when I get the chance, if I remember to.’
