Tiramisu
on pleasure without hierarchy
My friends and I went to a diner last week. High on the post-concert buzz, we ate chicken tenders and French fries. We plotted dessert. I had spotted tiramisu behind a glass case on my way to the bathroom, a dessert that feels personal to me.
When I lived in Brooklyn, I worked at Lavazza in Eataly. One of the barista responsibilities was to pull espresso shots throughout the day to fill a one-gallon carafe that the pastry chef collected each night.
The pastry chef was always drunk on red wine, flirting with the college-aged barista boys. He never remembered my name, even though I was the only barista who never cheated the carafe with cold brew concentrate. I liked watching the brown-gold liquid fill the container, foam blooming on top.
I love tiramisu. Adore it. Coffee, cream, and old-lady cookies: it’s the epitome of my dessert palette.
I can’t tell you the best tiramisu I’ve had. I can’t tell you the worst. I can’t remember the first time I had tiramisu, only ever the last. I’m so happy in the moment of eating tiramisu that rankings pass me by. Every piece of tiramisu I’ve ever had is a 10.
My love for tiramisu is unconditional, each bite is perfect simply because it is happening.
One time, I was a guest at a wedding. I was having a bad time with my date. They brought out the dessert. Instead of one cake, it was a table of varied cakes. I saw pieces of tiramisu.
I’ve only ever had tiramisu at restaurants. It comes with the check. There’s never a chance for seconds.
At the wedding, I ate three pieces of tiramisu in clean succession. I took deep breaths on the toilet to aid digestion and drank bubbly for the rest of the night. I was full. But I was happy. My only regret was not having a fourth.
The diner server was happy to pack our pieces to go. We brought them to our respective hotel rooms and apartments and ate dessert in bed.
We are all in very different places in our lives. Different hungers, different worries, different thresholds for sweetness. It’s hard to notice when we’re all eating together. Pleasure makes us briefly equal. We all want more.
It was the best tiramisu I’ve ever had. (Until the next piece.)
I love you from my head tomatoes,
Gareth
Tiramisu is everything