I am going to have to kill you after you read
this…it’s my family secret Italian recipe for our classic Tiramisu.
Ingredients
- 6 large egg yolks (approx. 1/2 cup of yolks)
- 1 cup sugar
- 1 1/4 cup mascarpone cheese (room temperature)
- 3 large egg whites
- 2 -7 oz packages Italian Lady fingers (Savoiardi style}
- 1 cup espresso warm (I know, everybody else says cold,
well, I did say this was a secret recipe, didn’t I?)
- 1-ounce unsweetened cocoa for dusting
Instructions
- Over a warm bowl of water beat egg yolks and sugar
about 10 minutes, using an electric mixer (hand mixer or stand mixer,
either would work).This allows for the sugar to melt and it develops a
smooth sabayon. It should be a very pale yellow in color.
- Add Mascarpone to whipped yolks, beat until combined.
- In a separate bowl, using an electric mixer whip egg
whites to stiff peaks, (again. a hand mixer or stand mixer, either
would work).
- Gently fold the whipped whites in the mascarpone
sabayon mixture and set aside. The mascarpone does not have to be at room
temperature, but it will help it mix in easier if it is. Take it out of
the refrigerator as you gather ingredients to make the recipe.
- Mix the cold espresso with the coffee liquor and dip
the ladyfingers into the mixture just long enough to get them wet, do not
soak them!
- Arrange the ladyfingers in the bottom of a 9-inch
square baking dish (or container similarly sized)
- Spoon half the mascarpone cream filling over the
ladyfingers.
- Repeat process with another layer of ladyfingers
- Add another layer of tiramisu cream
- Refrigerate at least 4 hours. Overnight is
best.
- Dust with cocoa just before serving.
Recipe Notes
***If you can't find Mascarpone
in your stores. You can make this substitute. It won't be exactly
the same but it will come close.
8 ounces full fat cream cheese, 1/4
cup whipping cream and 2 tablespoons softened unsalted butter, whip until it's
just blended. This will give the equivalent of around 1 1/4 cups mascarpone.
- Have the eggs and mascarpone at room temperature before
making this recipe. That will help them mix together more smoothly
- Soak the ladyfingers in the coffee mixture briefly.
Don't let them get soggy, it will ruin the dessert.
- Only use Crunchy SAVOIARDI (ITALIAN
LADYFINGERS) Cake style ladyfingers will get too soft.
- Allow Tiramisu to set up for at least 4 hours before
serving. Overnight is best.
- Have the eggs and mascarpone at room temperature before
making this recipe. That will help them mix together more smoothly.
- Think of something super romantic while making the
dessert. It’s always fun to see guests get all mellow and gooey while
savoring the rich treat!!!
The Bridge Across Times
Entrainement Series
Book II
Giuliana Sica
Genre: Magical Realism, WitchLit, PNR
Date of Publication: May 17th, 2019
ISBN: 9781797676142Entrainement Series
Book II
Giuliana Sica
Genre: Magical Realism, WitchLit, PNR
Date of Publication: May 17th, 2019
ASIN: B07PKWTLT6
Number of pages: 244
Word Count: 63,496
Cover Artist: Enterline Design
Tagline: Join Porzia in her magic quest for a timeless soulmate.
Book Description:
Porzia's journey continues.
From the first page, Magic carries Porzia and all of us into an exotic and fantastic world. Emerging from two years of grief, her quest for a soul mate takes her to Japan where an unexpected encounter with a mysterious and fatally attractive artist unleashes an irresistible whirlwind of passion.
Music entangles them in a slow, sensuous dance. With the help of her esoteric teacher Evalena, Porzia has been honing her magic abilities. More confident and controlled, she now summons Magic at her will... with only an occasional flaring of rebellious powers.
Among scrumptious bites of delicious food and thirst-quenching sips of wine she summons a ghost from a distant past. The enigmatic message leaves her puzzled, but also determined to resolve the mystery hidden in the almond-shaped eyes of her dangerous and yet so passionate lover.
Each intriguing and intoxicating page is another luscious bite into Porzia's world and the magical possibilities that may be there for all of us.
PROLOGUE
Firenze, Italia. Galleria degli Uffizi.
The echo of the
security guard’s footsteps slowly faded toward the distant museum exit.
Silence.
Silence echoed
along the austere arcades on the first floor. Sunset filtered through the
ancient windows, the sun rays interrupted in their paths by massive walls.
Golden light ricocheted and dispersed off myriads of dancing dust motes. At the
end of the high-windowed Galleria, the heartbeat began to pound within the
chilled white marble of Michelangelo’s Davide. Life’s essence stirred through
his perfectly chiseled body until strength and heat gave him the power to move.
He slipped from his pedestal and headed toward Venere in Botticelli’s room.
Davide’s shadow
glided undisturbed amongst dozing masterpieces. On the upper level, beneath
gilded ceilings, silence reigned.
Venere stepped
out of her golden frame and leaving her seashell behind, she entered reality.
The Angels’ gazes followed her progress while her ancella gently smiled and
wiped a lonesome tear.
Still wet from
the scented sea mist, Venere’s long auburn hair trailed, barely covering her
glowing body. Desire stirred deep within her soul, conjuring rhythmic waves
within her.
She met Davide
on a sunset-lit windowsill. Doubts dissipated, washed away by the high tide of
her will. The lovers allowed the salt-scented mist to subdue them, slowly, to
unfold erotic dreams.
Please let
reality be what fantasy was.
As the sun’s
light faded away, she drew him in, savoring primitive rituals, riding the moist
rhythm of the waves to slowly drown their thirst. With the moon silently
smiling, they reached for the sky and left agony behind.
That was the
night my parents gave me life.
This life.
If I were a
color, I would be gold. Born under the blessing of the full moon, protected by
ageless winged guardians, I played hopscotch with Giotto on checkered floors
and hide-and-seek with masterpieces along marble staircases, among their golden
frames and moth-dappled velvet drapes. My tiny hands pressed against
rain-streaked windows while outside the river Arno swelled and found its way to
the sea.
I grew up in the
shadow of the Leaning tower of Pisa. And although the colors of Tuscany in
August blush my skin, it is the Manouche mystery that pounds through my veins.
I know the woods where Dante lost his way as the palm of my hand. I could
escort you to the Inferno door blindfolded, for I have knocked on it often
myself. I crossed the Mississippi River and heard Jesse James ask Huckleberry
Finn if he were real.
I swam with
dolphins in the Gulf of Mexico and danced with the Queen of New Orleans on a
wet, humid winter night. I got drunk with Ezili in Savannah and cursed life,
screaming at the moon in rage. I wandered in meadows restlessly and watched the
winds with a longing I could not understand.
I challenged the
Goddess, belied my powers, and regretted it all. I soared after a majestic
eagle toward a sinking sun and caught up with her by Ayers Rock, where,
anguished, I bowed. Subjugated at last, I embraced Magic.
Too wild, too
strong to be mortal, I wove a dream with love in my heart, passion in my soul,
and the breath of my life.
I have summoned
the elements, conjured my yearning into a spell to be taken away across the
endless sky. I have swallowed my pride and begged the gods to give me proof
that life is worth the fight. Now I walk through sorrow barefoot, careful not
to step on the sharp, shattered pieces of my broken dream.
Now I lay still,
numb and spent, waiting.
Until rage and
anger fueled my soul to rise.
I sought answers
and hope in distant lands, in ancient scripture, in encrypted mysteries and
timeless traditions. I sought answers within and finally understood how to
accept the void of my damaged soul, how to gather strength to stir and to
finally move, once again, into the beauty of life’s simplicity.
I healed,
nurturing my wounds, shedding tender skin. Reaching for the goddess within, at last,
I have accepted my feminine self. Bowing to the Rising Sun I welcomed my new
self and embraced Courage. Instants later, absolutely still in a Veronica, I
held a crimson cape of fears, enticed a crippled wolf to charge, and defied
time.
About the Author:
Giuliana was born in Siena, Italy. At the age of 4 her father gave her a box of markers. She immediately began to doodle stories on the house walls. After a few weeks of repainting, they finally gave her paper as well. She has not stopped writing since. She calls home Whidbey Island where she settled in 2001 after globetrotting teaching Italian in exotic places as far as Japan.
She holds a Classic Italian Literature and Philosophy degree with a minor in English still laced with a Chianti-infused accent. She speaks fluent Spanish, has forgotten most of her French, and holds tightly to her Japanese, mostly by eating sushi every chance she gets. She shares a yellow cottage on the island with her husband, 3 cats, an unstoppable toddler, a vegetable garden, and a fig tree named Federico. Every residual free minute of her life is spent working on Book III, and catching up on some much-needed sleep.
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