"And we're on the phone and you talk real slow; 'cause it's late and your mamma don't know."
PIGS HEART DISSECTION FOR BIO TMR/THURS OMGGGGGGGG BOLD UNDERLINE LARGEST FONT EVER?!Well, first of all, think of a very light chocolate pudding. Very light. No, you've got to think lighter than that. Think more in the lines of mocha-flavored whipped cream.
Now add in a little bit of body. Not heaviness, but substance -- you know, the kind of fullness that rich foods feel like in your mouth. Except that it doesn't taste rich, and it doesn't stay in your mouth long enough to become cloying. It tastes, well, dreamy.
Then, imagine this very light almost-like-mocha-flavored-whipped-cream concoction on lady finger pastry soaked (no, more like "kissed") with strong espresso coffee. Got that? Light, creamy, smooth lady fingers, the rich aroma of strong coffee?
Okay, now add in just a slight bite on the tongue, and tantalizing hint of the liquor. Suddenly, you get a teeny explosion of chocolate on your tongue that disappears in a flash. Got all that? Good.
Now finally, imagine that you're dressed in gossamer. You have delicate white wings and are sitting on a fluffy cloud. You are experiencing the greatest dessert ecstacy of your life. You are in Heaven, and Heaven is in your mouth.
Tiramisu has made quite an impression on me. It all started in July 1994 . . .
I had gone to a public relations society meeting in Chicago, and as usually happens at these things, we all went out to dinner together. As fate may have it, we went to Carlucci, an Italian restaurant on North Halsted Street. Food was very good, company was great. Fortune declared that I would sit next to the wife of one of my fellow PR professionals, who -- while perusing the menu after a heavy Italian meal -- noted that Tiramisu was offered.
"What's Tiramisu?" I asked, "I've kind of heard about it, but have no idea what it is."
"Order it. I make great Tiramisu, and I'll tell you if this one is good or not," she said.
"She's right. She makes the best Tiramisu I've ever eaten," her spouse chimed in.
"Okay," I agreed. "I'll order it and you can tell me how this restaurant's compares to yours."
And so it was destined that I would have the very first serving of Tiramisu in my entire life. When it arrived, I took a spoonful and shoved it rather indelicately into my mouth. The spoon froze there, as waves of wonder flooded my mouth. My eyelids drooped. The ambient sound in the room dropped a decibel or two. A tear crept slowly down my cheek. My focus blurred. My shoulders dropped, and my body relaxed completely. I couldn't feel my feet. I . . . oh, excuse me, I got carried away again.
"My God," I thought, "what if she says this particular Tiramisu DOESN'T measure up? If I ever tasted anything better than this, I'll have a coronary on the spot."
Gathering my composure, I turned to ask her what she thought. I had to speak to catch her attention. Her eyes were closed. I looked over at her husband. HIS eyes were closed.
"This is excellent," she whispered. "As good as mine."
"Well, from now on, I'll have to compare every other Tiramisu I eat to this one," I told her, then promptly announced to the rest of the people at my table that I fully intended to become a Tiramisu Gourmet.