Pota vs. Pita

The lovely Maura Brennan and I set out at approximately eight o'clock this evening to fetch ourselves some grub and fresh air (at least as fresh as it gets in Athens). Claire was not feeling too well, so she opted to stay, but she bid us good luck in our foraging. Maura and I decided to go to the same restaurant that we ate at our first week of being here (has it really already been three weeks?!) thinking that it was a safe bet . . . we were wrong.

The waiter fetched us menus promptly, and we cracked them open, stomachs growling in anticipation as we read them. Maura opted for the chicken, I, for the pork souvlaki . . . with "pita." Having ordered this a dozen plus times in Nafplio, I felt confident ordering this dish that had become a staple of my diet here in Greece. We placed our orders and I specifically asked the waiter for pita with my order. He reiterated my request, and I nodded my consent. A few minutes later the waiter returned with toasted bread topped with herbs and a drizzle of olive oil and  . . . a bottle of "Fix Hellas" beer. Maura and I peered at each other with questioning glances as the waiter popped the top on the bottle. Thoroughly confused, we simply moved the bottle to the other side of the table and set into the bread. About thirty minutes and a dozen mosquito bites later, our food came--my souvlaki was bereft of pita. Saddened, more confused, but no less hungry, I dug into my souvlaki, and was very pleased with it's taste though I was a bit dejected by the absence of my pita. Maura and I decided that we would just sort the matter out when the receipt came. Well, soon enough we were finished and had a nice long chat while reminiscing about this past month and getting to know everyone. We received the check and scanned over it. On it, it said that I had ordered "pota" which in Greek just means "drink." I, the baby on the trip, and Maura, one of the non-drinkers on the trip had been the ones to unwittingly order a house beer.

That is just our luck. Afterwards, to replace the pita I missed out on, I went to the neighborhood bakery shop and had a lovely chocolate pudding to remedy the situation. As for the beer, we just took it back to our flatmate as a gift from our excursion. I know now to really make sure I enunciate a little more clearly when ordering.

Me and my pota.

Chocolate pudding: a true panacea.