Tiramisu Black Bottom Tart

Oh. My. God. The BEST pie I’ve had in my life!

That is, if I may say so myself! I’m sure the statement above is heavily influenced by the memory of recent, frenzied exertion. And what I mean is that it’s as if every ounce of effort (there really ought to be a measure of effort!) were converted into pure goodness, with no transaction fees, natural loss or attrition, or inefficiencies of any kind. And that is a rare occurrence indeed! So, a restatement: best pie I’ve had, that I made myself, in my life!

The sweet cookie tart crust, sealed with melted bittersweet chocolate, about to be drowned in marsala-scented egg yolk, mascarpone, whipped cream mixture.

Daubing the chocolate sponge cake layer with marsala-scented coffee.

 This is topped with another layer of the mascarpone cream mixture.

 The whole thing is chilled and left to gel overnight. Then powdered with some cocoa, to mark it as true tiramisu.

Beautiful!

Pure Delight!

Just a word about effort. This is my desk after the tiramisu was safely set in my refrigerator last night. And even this is a somewhat tidied up version. Because usually, pots and bowls, measuring cups and spoons, paper towels and wax paper, computer and kindle are strewn about everywhere: desk, floor, chair, sink, half-foot of counter, stove… And there’s batter drips here and there, foam flung on walls, sugar and flour scattered across the floor, and I swear, a thin coating of butter on everything. I double swear, half the time I’m not even cooking, I’m washing the dishes and cleaning up. And it takes at least a full day, usually spanning two, to make everything come together into a pie. Yes, I eat at McDonald’s, or frozen pizza, or cereal, or starve when I’m in my baking zone. I would say this much effort goes into everything I bake, though the final product isn’t always indicative of such (see previous post).

But sometimes it is. And what a surprising, joyous occasion that is!