East is East, West is West, two different colors on the map.

Three young people walk into a pizza place, two boys and a girl. They are fresh and lovely, and all three are foreign; even though the driver can’t really hear what they’re saying, their heavy accents are obvious. He is not sure where they are from, though there is an air of Southeastern Europe about them.  The driver’s opinion is that they are from somewhere in the Balkans, but they could be from anywhere.  They might even be Israeli.
They are at the cash register, talking to the cashier, trying to decide what to order for dinner. Wherever they’re from, they are apparently either Jews or Muslims, and are unable to eat pork. Their accent is charming if a bit obtuse, but their vocabulary is somewhat limited, and among the words they have not yet learned is “pork.” So they are going over the menu with the cashier, trying to ensure that they don’t accidentally order “pig meat.” The cashier is unable to understand them, however. His imagination is maybe a little too vivid, or his knowledge of foreign cultures might possibly be derived too much from comic books and Eli Roth movies. He hears “pig meat” as “Pygmy.”
So when they ask him, “Is this made from pig meat?” he tries to cover his horror with an affronted politeness.  “I’m sorry,” he responds, “but we don’t eat people in this country.”