My oldest and best friend, Dani, has a t-shirt that says: ’Life’s too short not to be Italian’. She is not, but she speaks it and looks it. Lucky her. I neither speak Italian, look Italian, or am Italian, but sometimes I think I should have been, if only for the food.
What I love about Italian food is that everyone in Italy eats well. Peasant, pauper or prince, all Italians are fiercly protective of their inalienable right to good food. And why not. Also, there’s nothing half-arsed about Italian food. A lemon tart is LEMONY, and if you’re going to make a boozy, creamy coffee trifle, make it BOOZY, CREAMY & full of COFFEE. Nothing trifling about this famous dessert.
Tiramisu literally means pick me up. (I’m taking this on faith as I may have mentioned that I don’t actually speak Italian). I always assumed that the sugar, kahlua, caffeine content was what they were talking about. But I read recently that the dessert is so good that it makes you swoon, necessitating a ‘pick me up’, preferably by some gorgeous Italiano. Either way works for me. The unashamed, over the top, blatant sexiness of the dessert appeals to all my senses. No doubt about it, for someone who doesn’t eat trifle, this is one of my all time favourite desserts.
There are shortcuts, like using ladie’s fingers or boudoir biscuits. But as with life in general, I always contend that if something is worth doing it is worth doing properly. This recipe is a no -shortcuts recipe, but for those un-domestic goddess days I have added any possible shortcuts in brackets.
As with any recipe that is virtually a national treasure, there are always regional differences of opinion. Unwilling to embroil myself in civil disagreements, I contend merely that this version is my perfect Tiramisu. Let me know if it’s yours. xx