I can’t remember when I first had tiramisu, but it must have been before that night.

How could I have missed it?

Tiramisu translates to “pick me up” — and it does. A jolt of sugar, caffeine, and alcohol, it’s a great start to the end of a meal, giving you enough energy to stay awake after a coma-inducing Italian feast. It should be intolerably cloying; being so sweet and rich with ladyfingers and mascarpone custard, but it’s not. Few people can resist it. I know I can’t. I’ve probably consumed at least a hundred servings in my thirty-something years, but one night in particular stands out in my mind.

Is This A Date?

It was 1994. I was living at home, working at a job far beneath my mental capabilities, and I had just broken up with a boyfriend. He was a nice enough man–on paper everything that I should have been looking for–but there was something missing so I ended the relationship, for no other reason than a feeling. There was something better out there; I just hadn’t found it yet. I wondered if I ever would. Opportunity wasn’t exactly knocking at my door.

February in Chicago isn’t the most cheerful place anyway, with only a portion of the miserable cold winter behind us, several more months until the city’s spring rebirth, and my situation at that time only made it that much more depressing. But things were looking up as I had accepted a surprise invitation out to dinner with a young man I knew from high school.

He called me up with an offer of opera and dinner at the Verdi & Puccini Opera Café in Evanston. A little place on Sherman Street, I don’t know why I had never noticed it before. A nondescript entrance, but the restaurant sounded fascinating. The staff was comprised of local students from Northwestern University who sang opera while they waited on tables. I love opera and Italian food, so we agreed upon the time that he would pick me up.

I should have been nervous for this night, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t been out on a first date in quite some time. But this was a friend, not the beginning to a romance, right? The young man in question was an ex-boyfriend of sorts. We hadn’t seen each other in five years, after a brief and disastrous relationship, but he was cute and funny, and I was bored. He was so self-assured and comfortable on the phone that I felt confident in my assumption. This was just a casual dinner between friends. The day arrived and the appointed hour and he was there.

This Isn’t A Date; It’s The Beginning Of Something Bigger

The short car ride was uneventful. We sat down to dinner and began to talk. I really couldn’t tell you what we talked about, only that the conversation was pleasant. His kind demeanor put me at ease immediately, any nervousness in my determining his motivation erased. I couldn’t tell you what I ate for dinner, because that’s not the part of the story that I remember. All I know is that we finished our meal, and decided to split an order of tiramisu for dessert.

The young soprano took her place in the room and gave us a brief synopsis of the aria she was going to sing. The name of it also failed to stick in my memory because it wasn’t important. I only remember that it sounded pretty and as most good operas are, was a love story. The young man across the table from me took my hand in his and I felt a brief moment of panic. Oh sh*t! This is a date (luckily the words were only in my head). I looked up at him and he was smiling at me. This wasn’t a casual dinner, it was the beginning of a courtship. And something in me broke wide open. I smiled back, thinking it was the nicest surprise I had experienced in a long time.

The dessert was a metaphor for the night. It was too sweet to consume alone, best shared with someone you care about, someone who won’t be petty enough to hog the whole thing for themselves. The tiramisu was savored, enjoying each new flavor and sensation. It was too messy of a dish to be overly concerned with appearances. I forgot my brief moment of panic. The dessert was soon gone, but the pleasant feelings lingered the rest of the evening.

Now I won’t share what happened next, because nice girls don’t kiss and tell, but that was the last “first date” that I ever went on. Two weeks later that young man told me he loved me and two months later he proposed. On July 1st, 1995, he became my husband.

We’ve had tiramisu many times together since that night. The sweet surprise of new love has mellowed, just like a well-made tiramisu. The hard edges of the ladyfingers soften with the custard and, like life… sometimes just a little from the alcohol. It transforms into something different, but good. He still reaches for my hand across the table and shares one of the sweetest things I have ever tasted.

Now, create some of your own magic…

‘First Date’ Tiramisu

Note: Brandy is traditional in this recipe, but I was out of it one day when I decided to make this recipe (does anyone else get the urge to spontaneously concoct difficult desserts or is it just me?) and I substituted dark rum. That’s something we nearly always have in the house and we liked it just as well. So go ahead, use dark rum.

Note 2: Yes, it’s also traditional to use raw eggs. I call for bringing them up to a safe temperature in step one. You can skip this step if you use pasteurized eggs or you’re willing to live on the edge. I like to cook dangerously, but not at the risk of food poisoning. Even my mad skills and stellar wit couldn’t get me out of that one.

Ingredients:
*6 egg yolks, room temperature
*¼ cup sugar
*½ cup dark rum divided
*1 ½ cups espresso coffee, divided
*16 ounces mascarpone cheese
*30 ladyfinger cookies
*Bittersweet chocolate — shaved or grated

Whisk the egg yolks and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer (or in a regular bowl if you are going to whisk the eggs by hand or with a handheld mixer) over a pan of boiling water. Continue whisking until eggs reach a temperature of 160 degrees

Place bowl on a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment on high speed (or using a handheld mixer or whisk, which will take longer), for about 5 minutes or until very thick and light yellow. Lower the speed to medium and add 1/4 cup rum, 1/4 cup espresso, and the mascarpone. Whisk until smooth.

Combine the remaining 1/4 cup rum and 1 1/4 cups espresso in a shallow bowl. Dip 1 side of each ladyfinger in the espresso/rum mixture and line the bottom of a 9 inch by 13 inch glass dish. Pour half the espresso cream mixture evenly on top. Dip 1 side of the remaining ladyfingers in the espresso/rum mixture and place them in a second layer in the dish. Pour the rest of the espresso cream over the top. Smooth the top and cover with plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least 6 hours or overnight.

Before serving, sprinkle the top with shaved chocolate. Share. Fall in love.