Tiramisu, perhaps the most universal dessert in existence, lives outside of Italy in a variety of places: menus on chain restaurants, fancy restaurants, your local “place”, it’s morphed from its perfect original form into cheesecakes and cakes and cupcakes and other dessert solar systems. It’s as if a teacher was taking attendance, Tiramisu is always present.  People get wild in their minds for tiramisu, conjuring up dreams like slow desert sandstorms. It has a high reputation to live up to. But we hardly ever see the real, authentic dessert, do we?

You do if you go to Italy. Tiramisu still has the same attendance rate over there, except since it’s motherland material we’re experiencing it at it’s best. If someone is making a dessert for anything over there, it’s always tiramisu. The hype is real. As the ending of my initiative meal in il bel paese wrapped around me like a slow hug, I almost scoffed as I was presented with a pre-made refrigerated thing of tiramisu. I’ve never been a fan of tiramisu really, as I much prefer a whole bunch of other stuff, but my waiter Andrea absolutely insisted I give it a try, as it’s la specialita della casa. As the bowl stared back at me, empty with remnant swipes of yellow custard cream and cocoa dustings too difficult for my spoon to catch, wanting a spatula, and wishing I was alone to finish off what was left, I finally understood.

I also understood when Maura made it for us, as I scrutinized her every move like a hawk/papparazzi, in a feeble  attempt to simultaneously jot down every move and photograph it, terrified of missing a thing. Because this motherland tiramisu does not exist here. As if it were engrained in her being, Maura made the zabaglione, dipped ladyfingers into espresso, layers and let it sit, sit, sit, marinate and waft. What I once thought required rubix cube-like deciphering became effortless as Maura moved and perfected it, swift and dextrous like a tornado. And it’s good and worth it, because it’s real. More things about being real, in human form, and how it’s similar to tiramisu-ness.

1. Sometimes it’s harder to be real. I can’t do small talk because I feel like it’s an awkward interaction. Like how long are we supposed to say how are you and in how many ways? Tell me what’s real. Tell me what’s up. Once I meet someone, I have urges to nicely hoe out their feelings and see who they are. It’s probably deeper than most people. But, it’s real and it’s me. It takes guts and courage to consistently demonstrate this type of vulnerability, to basically catapult your true self onto other humans.

2. The more real you are, and the more you realize how much more fun it is, the more it will propel you to be real in more aspects of your life. You’re real with others -> you’re real with yourself -> you’re real with your career -> health -> eating -> love -> parents -> friends -> actions = life.

3. If you’re real, you will attract real people. And then you’ll be surrounding yourself in a nice little whirlpool of realness. A funky bunch, if you will, sans Mark Wahlberg. Which is always fun. Every single person that is close to me is real. Which, in turn, makes us all very weird quirky bunch who say and do out of the ordinary and inappropriate, albeit hilarious, things. But it also makes us open, genuine, and sincere and ultimately gives us much more fulfilling relationships.

4. Being real might mean revealing how weird you really are. But it’s okay because we’re all weird. It’s just a matter of who shows it. Being real involves taking a risk.

5. Being real will make people like you more. Or less. As the tides turn and people fall where they may, you’ll be left with the ones that stick around that are worth sticking around for. Ditch the ones who don’t like your real-ness. Why spend precious life minutes dealing with that?

Lesson? Be real, in food and in life. It’ll make you so happy it’ll make you wanna tell someone to throw you up in the air….tiramisu.

Motherland tiramisu

Recipe from Maura Fourneris

Makes enough to serve at least ten people, in the dish of your choosing

Notes: Maura does not add any sort of fuss to this such as liquers, etc. She keeps it as simple as possible. If you must have the liquer, such as kahlua or frangelico, add a few tablespoons to the coffee and dip away.

Also, if you have very small eggs, you might want to use four. Maura decides whether or not to add the fourth depending on the size of the yolks.

This can be made in a variety of dishes but note that smaller dishes will yield more layers and vice versa. If you choose a smaller dish, like an 8×8, you might get 3-4 layers. A bigger dish like a 13×9 will yield less layers. But it’s totally up to you. Anything can work.

I think this sugar amount is great but it’s not overly sweet. Taste and add more sugar if you want. Also, she doesn’t add vanilla to the mascarpone mixture but I think it might be a nice addition.

The ladyfinger exact amount is tricky depending on how much you layer. Buy two packs, but you’re probably going to use around 30-40.

Since you’ll be consuming raw egg, make sure they’re as fresh as possible. Health!

Feel free to mix this by hand using a whisk, or with an immersion blender, hand mixer, or stand mixer.

3 or 4 eggs, separated

1/2 cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract, optional

2 cups (16 ounces) mascarpone cheese, room temperature

Salt

2 cups of coffee, brewed to the strength of your liking

About 40ish ladyfingers (gluten-free if  you can find them), a pack and a half

1/4 cup cocoa powder, for dusting

In a medium bowl, whisk the egg yolks and sugar together vigorously until very pale yellow. This should take about  5-10 minutes. You know you’re done when you lift your whisk from the bowl and what drips down ribbons on top of the yolk and sugar mixture.

In another medium bowl, whisk the egg whites with a bit of salt until soft and frothy, almost to the point of stiff peaks but not quite. This might take a little while, about 5-10 minutes. Mix this mixture with the mascarpone cheese and vanilla, if using. Then combine that mixture with the egg yolk mixture. It should be completely uniform. You’ve got your zabaglione!

Pour coffee into a bowl to cool. Pull out a dish of your choosing. Dip the ladyfingers (immerse them completely in the coffee but quickly not letting them soak tooooo much) one by one into the coffee and layer at the bottom of the dish of your choosing. Spread the mascarpone mixture on top. Dust with cocoa powder. Repeat this process of dipping ladyfingers, setting them on top, then spreading the mascarpone, and dusting with the cocoa powder until you run out. You want to end with the mascarpone mixture and dust with the cocoa powder. Let sit for at least four hours and up to two days.