I was six the first time I had Tiramisu.Cocoa powder, dreamy cream and that fucking liquor soaked up into the biscuits, like it was begging me to eat it even through the wrapper. My little-kid heart didn’t understand gluttony yet, but my body did. I’d sit too close to the Tiramisu, knees pressed together, my face hot, my hands clenched in my lap because of the way it smelled, the way its cream had a wavy texture, the way its layers cross section could be seen through the bowl, made my stomach flip like I was on a rollercoaster.I didn’t know what overindulgence was back then. But I knew I’d get this ache in my gut whenever it was nearby, this need to press my face into my pillow and squirm until it went away.Now? Now I know exactly what it was.I’m twenty-eight years old, and I still think about Tiramisu every single day.I have folders of recipes. Downloaded YouTube tiramisu vids, amateur blog posts about Tiramisu, pictures of Tiramisu. I’ve watched some of these clips so many times the audio’s started to warp, its sizzling savoiardi biscuits cracking like a vinyl record, but I don’t care. I need it. I need to taste it like it's saying "Ciao, ragazzi!" with that sweet, cocoa powdered goodness right before I bite, because it’s the only way I can pretend it's here, that it's real, that it’s mine.I’ve mapped it out in my head a thousand times. I know the way its mascarpone would’ve thickened as it aged, how the ratio of coffee to marsala would’ve spread out under those golden brown biscuits that rests beneath the cream. I’ve imagined it so many times I’ve given it ingredients it might not even have, brandy on the biscuits, the way its structure wiggles on the fork before I consume it. I’ve bit my tongue to the idea of it so often I’ve started to hate my own mouth for not being filled with it.Linguanotto’s dead. No recipes, no stories. I hate that it's not here and that I can’t have it.
>>22076829for your own sake I sincerely hope that ChatGPT wrote this.
I hate that I can't afford it. I hate that I can’t have it, can’t know what it would taste like now, can’t fantasize properly because my brain’s filled in the gaps with too many possibilities.I’ve thought about buying a supermarket cake. Maybe try pouring some coffee on it, maybe spread some condensed milk over it all. But it wouldn’t be the same, it would never be the same.Some nights, when I’m really deep in it, I let myself imagine that it knows.That it has seen my droolings. That it has laughed at them, maybe, or blushed. That it thinks about me, too, this stranger who’s loved it for two decades, who’s built a shrine to it in his mind.That one day, it’ll slide into my shopping cart.So I’ll keep watching. Keep waiting. Keep drooling to the ghost of a dessert that doesn’t know I exist.And I’ll never stop.
That one from your OP pic is industrial garbage. Shameful you took that to represent your story. Shame on you!
>>22076853this one is too dry not enough liquor and coffee but I'd take it. Always multiply the liquor by 10 to 20 and the coffee by 2 to 3.the cocoa powder looks so delicious and the cream.......
>>22076829Not your personal diary
>>22077010I'm trans btw
>>22076841Don’t some supermarkets sell it by the slice in the refrigerated bakery section? Trader Joe’s does an actual one now too in the frozen section
Most tiramisu is done poorly, and I'm sick of nobody talking about it. It is one of my favorite cakes when done properly, but most of them are basically bland vanilla cream cakes with barely any coffee essence and stale lady fingers. It fucking blows.>>22077774I've had this, it sucks. I like Trader Joe's in general, but this, I do not recommend.
>>22077774Some do and they can be surprisingly good. Pic related
