Mus Pie

You know what’s American?

Pie. I should know. I love pie. In fact, I’ve tried practically every pie on the face of the planet (this includes pear pie, avocado pie, eggnog pie, cantaloupe cream pie, Kool-Aid pie, nectarine pie, zucchini pie, pomegranate pie, and even bacon bourbon pecan pie. My mom loved variety.)

Therefore, after four weeks in Italy, my homemade desserts being an endless row of lifeless Tiramisu and dry biscotti, I felt like I was going to go crazy. I had to have some pie. Homemade pie. AMERICAN BETTY CROCKER APPLE PIE.

It was the worst craving I’d gotten since my arrival in Italy. Worst even than my desire for deep dish pizza. Worst even than my incredible homesickness. I felt like my stomach was going to implode if I didn’t have a bit of something succulent, apple-y, and soggy… NOW!

So, Guido and I decided to make an American Apple pie.

My excuse to mia madre: “It would be a wonderful sharing of cultures for me to bake a pie!” (this was said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster on a stomach that was trying to invert itself).

Even though my cooking abilities were never stellar (let’s just say it took me many years to graduate past “baking” toast) I set up shop in mia madre’s kitchen by laying out an array of American cooking cups that I had brought with me. Guido (who Mia Madre had agreed to let in the house as long as he was clean) sat on the counter and admired his reflection in the toaster.

I’d found the easiest recipe I could find- one that involved a premade crust that you cooked and then dumped apples inside of. It was nowhere near the caliber of my Mom’s pies but it would work.

STEP 1: TURN ON OVEN

ME: Take that, oven!

Step 2: INSERT STOREBOUGHT CRUST INTO OVEN AFTER REMOVING ALUMINUM FOIL

ME: See? I can cook.

Step 3: CHOP APPLES.

ME: Look at me go!

STEP 4: REMOVE STOREBOUGHT CRUST FROM OVEN.

ME: Evil sense of satisfaction is growing!

Step 5: MIX SUGAR, CINNAMON, FLOUR, SALT AND COMBINE WITH APPLES. PUT IN CRUST.

At this point my brain had started to reach its straining point. See, the reason why I’ve never been a very good cook is because I simply can’t enjoy mixing random grainy things together for very long. I want instant satisfaction. I want something warm and yummy.

I can’t count the times in middle school where I would come home starving and set to work making the most delicious chocolate chip cookies ever and then… got tired after cracking the first few eggs and abandoned the messy globs, instead consolidating myself with some stale Oreos.

Such could have been the case of my apple pie experiment, as I was painstakingly scooping the ingredients into the crust like an unwound toy, had Guido not intervened and starting scooping up tiny granules and stuffing them in his mouth like a chipmunk. I was so bemused by this that I didn’t even notice what was coming out Guido’s OTHER END into the fresh pie crust.

Unfortunately, at the same time as Mia Madre and ALL of her friends from church walked through the door.

(In Italien)

Mia Madre: Look? My little American and her mouse are baking! Isn’t it sweet?

Me: (in panic; trying to desperately cover the disaster and unfortunately forgetting all of my Italien) heh, heh… urm… well…

Mia Madre: And just in time for my friends to have a taste! Let’s try it while it’s still hot!

Me: No, that’s definitely not a very good ide…

Before I could do anything—even scoop out a bit of retched contents, which I’m sure must have resembled tiny chocolate chips-- Mia Madre had scooped up the contents of the pie and was dishing up slices to every last one of her friends. I flew in a crazed frenzy around the room, desperately trying to convince them not to try it…

…while Guido sat on my shoulder with a sort of smug satisifaction as if he were saying “See? Any mouse can cook.”

I guess it would be unfair not to tell you that Mia Madre and her friends all ADORED “the American’s” pie (I politely refused a piece when they offered it to me) and all asked me for the recipe—which I gave in English, minus the “Secret Ingredient”.

For the next week I huddled in my room convinced that I would soon have the mafia or the police coming to my door and arresting me for poisoning all the nice little housewives in the city. My craving for pie had disappeared as I saw my future melting like a puddle of apple goo!

Guido, however, seemed strangely satisfied by his newfound cooking skills. For a whole week I kept finding him just sitting dreamily by himself in the kitchen and staring at the toaster (I still don’t know what mia madre thought about this).

And thus, Guido and I managed to create the most unusual/weird/disgusting pie in the history of sh*tty pies.

Forever live Mus Pie.

Guido’s Widsom: Vive per sempre la torta di topi

Guido's Survival Guide: Part 2

Scenario 7:  The Peanut Butter Withdrawal.

You can’t possible go another day without peanut butter… you can’t. In fact, you’re certain if you don’t eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich RIGHT NOW you’ll turn into a rabid dog and start attacking people.

The Solution:

NUTELLA! Almost as nutty, but chocolatey at the same time. Heck, Italians have the best Nutella in the world. Eat the whole container until your symptoms of rabidness have vanished.

Scenario 8: Yes, Baby eels are on the menu.

If your host mom isn’t serving spaghetti, she’s no doubt serving something gooey, possibly-still-alive, and very disturbing. These meals can come in a variety of different forms—baby eels are popular, as well as “casu marzu” (maggot cheese). How to escape?

The Solution:

1.  Fake a bite of whatever disgusting item has been put in front of you]

2.  Say: “Mamma Mia!”

3.  Jump up from the table as if astonished at how good this ‘item’ tastes, meanwhile slipping the item to whatever animals may be roaming under the table.

Not only is this escape method effective, but you also flatter your host mom and gain a mutual relationship between you and your host family’s dog.

Scenario 9: The Wrong Jersey

In the team spirit, you decide to wear that fantastic new jersey you bought because the soccer team had hot players on it (with long hair). It’s bright green and has the “Milan” soccer team’s emblem on it.

Unfortunately, not everyone thinks “Milan” soccer players are as hot as you do. You find yourself surrounded by a mob of angry young men with face-paint and “Livorno” jerseys. How to escape? How to survive in a country where soccer is more important than politics, pasta, and even (gasp!) gelato?!

The Solution:
The confusion tactic. Wear the face-paint for “Fiorentina”, the jersey for “Empoli”, headband for “Roma”, and the shoes for “Ascoli”. They can’t get mad at you because you’re wearing their team’s colors...somewhere.

Scenario 10: The Chin Rubbing Thing.

Some guy is glaring at you and you don’t know why. He keeps rubbing his chin. What’s more, another guy on the other side of the room is also glaring at you. He looks like he has a stomach ache. What the heck?

The Explanation:

Chin rubbing in Italy = “I detest you”

Stomach rubbing in Italy = “I dislike you.”

The Solution:

Luckily, YOU can pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time!

Scenario 11: Being an I.I.M. (Insignificant Ignored Midget)

Everybody talks at the same time and it seems like no one ever hears what you are trying to say. By now you feel like an insignificant midget who doesn’t matter.

The Solution:

In Italy it’s POLITE to talk at the same time. However, if you DO have something important to say, blurt out as many random words as you can until you finally get someone’s attention.

You: Blap! Cow! Gelato! Slamdunk! Whirg!

Scenario 12: Communication Confusion

The Hard Truth: You have come to realize that no one in Italy actually speaks to communicate… it’s a scam! Instead, the only thing they do is wave their arms and pretend like they know what they’re saying.

The Solution:
Ha ha, it’s now even easier to learn the language! Just move your mouth and speak in gibberish while waving your arms to express your meaning. You’ll be considered an expert.

Scenario 13: I… am…. Mooooooovvvviiiiiinnnnngggggg

At times I amaze even myself with my impatience to get somewhere. Sometimes I just run around in circles before I’ve determined my destination.

Unfortunately… Italians move at a pace somewhere on the scale between “snail” and “turtle”. It’s enough to drive anyone crazy! How do you keep from going insane?

The Solution:


Bring a lawnchair… everywhere. Even if you originally just planned to hurry down to the post office and mail a letter. Inevitably you will be slowed down and the mission will take 30 to 60 minutes longer than you anticipated. Remember, in Italy slow progress is considered a delightful, wonderful state of being.

Scenario 14: You have a phobia of rocket ships…

So every house in Italy looks like it’s about to take off. They’ve got red roofs, domed foundations, and you are absolutely terrified of all methods of galactic transportation. What to do?

Three… Two… One… Lift off!

The Solution:


Join the alien invasion! No, just kidding, you’ll have to take all the houses down with a sledge hammer.

Scenario 15: I protest!

Work/School/Life-in-General is cancelled again because a bunch of people decided to wave sticks [also called “going on strike]. You’re tired of yelling and throwing stuff. How to tolerate?

The Solution: Pick up the stuff they throw. Jewelry, coins, souveniers… you name it. Call me when you’re rich.

Scenario 16: But I’m hungry…

Eating on the streets is practically against the law, with the exception of gelato. You’re really hungry and you want to eat that Snickers in your pocket. How do you do it stealthily without getting glared at?

Solution: Switch to a 100% Gelato Diet. You can eat on the street whenever you want, plus you’ll get a boost of Calcium (and a few extra insulating pounds for wintertime).

Scenario 17: You seem to have picked up a “Guido”

An abnormally intelligent mouse has been following you everywhere, and it’s starting to freak you out. It could be rabid, or from outer space! How do you keep it under control?

The Solution: Feed the mouse Gelato… lots.

Guido’s Italian Behavior Survival Guide: Part 1

Scenario 1: PLEASE DON’T TOUCH ME

You are sitting in a coffee shop quietly minding your own business when someone says your name. At first you think you misheard. You look around, hoping there’s some other poor fellow who may possess the same name. Unfortunately, no. You see that creepy old guy you chatted with for 10 seconds in the Laundromat last week. What’s more, he’s coming towards you. You desperately stare deeper into the depths of your coffee cup, hoping he’ll get the message, but to your horror he is approaching with his arms open wide for a hug. He’s closing in…!

The Explanation: Italians love touching people. It is their personal mission to invade your space bubble as quickly as possible after meeting you. Hence the hugs, kisses, and hand-holding with absolute strangers.

The Solution: No, DO NOT kick box the old guy or spill your coffee on him (Trust me—it doesn’t work. He’ll just hug you anyways and you’ll both get soaked). Instead, give him a bear hug first. He’ll be temporarily disabled with surprise—make your escape!

Scenario 2: Chronically Under-dressed

The invitations to the party says “casual” and you come in your trademark jeans and a tee-shirt. Pretty casual, right?

Unfortunately, everyone else is wearing their “casual” suits, ties, and black dresses.

The Solution:

You:[With Western Accent] “You dare insult my apparel? I am showing off my cultural heritage!”

Scenario 3: The Spaghetti Hate Spiral.

It is the sixteenth night in a row, and your host mom is serving you (surprise!) …. Spaghetti.

By now the very thought of spaghetti has got you imagining horrific and epic suicidal jumps out of windows. Spaghetti, it’s disgusting. It’s vile. It’s slimy and tomato-y and disturbing. What to do????

The Solution:

Get yourself Gnocchi. With Alfredo Sauce. It’s a winged miracle to those of us who can’t stand the thought of eating a plate of what looks like worms coated in red monkey brains. We worship it.

Scenario 4: The Drivers in Italy are all trying to kill you.

Yes, you are convinced someone has put you on the hit list for all Italian drivers. In fact, they seem to purposefully be aiming for you—swerving, honking, speeding, not putting seatbelts in the vehicles you ride in…

The Solution: Stick to the dark alleyways and wear dark sunglasses. If you can’t see them, they can’t see you…

Scenario 5: Everyone but you is afraid of… SEVENTEEN (da, da, da, daaaa….)

In Italy “Seventeen” is a dark, scary number… ten million times worst than “Friday the 13^th.” You can’t get your friends out of the house on the 17^th day of any month, or step on the 17^th stair of a hotel.

The solution: Use it to your advantage. Dentist appointment and root canal? Nope, can’t come, it’s on the 17^th.  10 hour church sermon? Nuts! Is Sunday on the 17^th again?! School? Gosh darn it, that must be on the 17^th too.

Scenario 6: The scary eyes

Everyone expects you to stare them in the eyes—if you don’t, it means you’re hiding something. Unfortunately, you’re an anti-social pipsqueak (like me) who is scared of looking at anyone when you talk to them. Not to mention, you don’t have enough eyes to stare at everyone with.

The Solution: Hmm…. Grow some more eyeballs.