The word tiramisu does amazing things to me. It brings back a flood of dear memories of New York City. Many moons ago when I lived in New Jersey, a group of girls and I would periodically drive into the city at night to walk around. We would take in the hustle and bustle and then enjoy dinner, a dessert, or both in Little Italy. And yes, I always chose tiramisu. Lovely, luscious, creamy, rich, fluffy tiramisu. Sometimes it was absolutely incredible, other times it was a smidge too dry, but always it was my favorite.
NYC is now too many miles away, and my sisters and friends have scattered. But new memories are being made in my own kitchen with my own husband. I introduced him to this recipe (doubling the coffee and rum and waiting at LEAST 24 hours before eating it), and he’s hooked.
In fact, I won’t reveal how many days it takes us to polish off a 8×8 pan. We eat it on our porch on sunny afternoons while we watch the birds at the feeder, we eat it curled up on the couch reading good books, I eat it at “coffee time”, and Josh eats it late at night, sneaking it out of the fridge and diving into it with fork in hand.
I started to count the calories last night, adding up the mascarpone cheese, lady fingers, whipped cream, egg yolks….but I gave up. Let’s just say we need to keep this dessert as a once-in-a-while special treat.
I’m thinking that’s why Josh suddenly decided to bike to work this morning: