A well-timed dessert that's been no yolk since 1972.
Le Beccherie's tiramisù is proof that sometimes the best dishes arrive by accident — legend says it was cobbled together to lift a tired diner's mood in the early seventies. Now it's the dish you'd defend with your life in Treviso. This is the real thing: no shortcuts, no room for showing off, just eggs, sugar, mascarpone, and the discipline to wait.
Crack your eggs one by one over a bowl, slipping yolks into another vessel. No white in the yolks, or your whites won't foam. Let both sit on the counter for thirty minutes — cold eggs won't whisk properly. This is not a race.
In a large bowl, whisk yolks and sugar together until the ribbon stage — pale, thick, and doubled in volume. It should look almost mousse-like and take about five minutes. Stop when you lift the whisk and the mixture falls back in a slow ribbon that holds its shape for a second.
Add mascarpone to the yolk mixture in two or three chunks. Fold gently with a rubber spatula — don't stir, fold. You're looking for a silken cream with no lumps, but you're also not trying to bruise it. Stop as soon as it's uniform.
In a separate, scrupulously clean bowl, whisk egg whites until stiff peaks form. This should take about four to five minutes with an electric whisk. They should be glossy and hold their shape; not dry and grainy. Taste nothing but air.
Add a quarter of the whites to the mascarpone mixture and fold gently to lighten it. Then fold in the remaining whites in two batches, turning the bowl and folding with a spatula each time. Stop when you see no streaks of white. This takes patience and a gentle touch.
Mix cooled espresso with Marsala in a shallow dish. Dunk each savoiardi biscuit hard and fast — one second each side, no more. Lay them in a single layer in a dish (roughly 20cm x 30cm). Spread half the mascarpone cream over. Repeat: dunk biscuits, layer them, top with remaining cream. Cover and refrigerate for at least twelve hours, ideally overnight.
Remove from the fridge thirty minutes before serving. Just before plating, sift cocoa powder generously over the top. Cut into generous squares. The cream should be cold but mousse-soft; the biscuits should have absorbed the coffee without becoming mush.
“This isn't plating — it's portioning. Use a sharp knife dipped in hot water, wiping between cuts. A square roughly 8cm across is honest and feeds one person well. Dust with cocoa right at the moment you're about to eat it; cocoa drinks up moisture and goes dusty if it sits. A cold plate helps. That's it. No art.”
First spoonful: the biscuit has gone almost weightless, the coffee and Marsala have seeped through, and the cream is a cloud. The cocoa hits your palate with a faint bitterness that makes the sweetness sing. By the last spoonful, it's all softened into a single voluptuous moment — the kind of thing that makes you understand why Italians don't mess with their classics.
Replace eggs with aquafaba (liquid from tinned chickpeas): use 180ml aquafaba and 150g caster sugar, whipped to stiff peaks as you would egg whites. Fold this through 500g vegan mascarpone (made from cashew cream or store-bought plant-based version). The result is looser than the original, so chill for fourteen hours instead of twelve to firm it slightly. Proceed as written. It won't be identical, but it's honest and rich — no shame in it.
Light, fizzy, gently sweet — mirrors the cream without bullying it. From Piedmont, but it knows its way around Italian dessert.
Sharp bubbles cut through the richness and refresh the palate between spoonfuls. Stay local, stay dry.
The tannins echo the cocoa, the temperature contrast wakes up your mouth. Proper zero-proof partner.
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