The worst apple pie in the world

Today was a little subpar, at best. For some reason I had very itchy feet (metaphorically, not literally). I needed to get out of Athens, out of a city, away from people. Being in an apartment with 5 other girls can get a little crowded, even though we have a great time and get along really well. A girl just needs her space. Well, since I have a commitment to my classes and studies, it's not that easy to just pick up and head out to the country in the middle of the week. I did the next best thing.

I grabbed my book, keys, and a few bucks and headed out the door to my favorite cafe: Ciao Italia. It's a little over priced and the espresso isn't the best I've ever had, but it reminds my of my time back in Italy, and for that, I am willing to overlook it's shortcomings.

Usually I would just get an espresso, enjoy the little complimentary biscotti, and be on my way. Today, though, was a particularly rough day. I was completely lost in Greek class, I made a fool of myself in the cafeteria, was under a lot of emotional stress and exhausted from physical fatigue of breathing in smog for the past month, and to top it off, I came to the realization that I will be alone (without any best friends or family) on my birthday, which is coming up in a few days. Today needed more than just a cup of espresso. It needed apple pie.

If you grew up in my house, you would know the ins and outs of apple pie. It is more than a dessert. It is a ritual experience that occurs every holiday. Homemade crust, perfectly cut apples, bake to perfection. My mother has this art down to a science, and because of that, I have somewhat high standards when it comes to pie. However, I've become used to the underachieving pie, the over cooked, the runny pie, but this one takes the cake. It was the worst pie on the face of the planet. All I wanted was a reminder of home, a little bit of comfort I could sink my fork into. And would I be asking too much for a little bit of vanilla ice cream? Instead, I got a frozen chunk of apples and a spoon. Even after it thawed, the taste was unbearable, the texture even worse. I quickly paid for this abomination that dared share its name with my mother's glorious concoction and went home, still in a mad mood, now with an awful taste in my mouth.

My itchy feet will just have to wait until this weekend, when I head to Meteora (in Central Greece) to spend the weekend camping and hiking up to cliff monasteries all over the area. I can't wait.