Sinfully Sinless Tiramisu

The hot crossings of the Coastal Trail. The mountains still snow-capped. A quiet shift Saturday — appendicitis, a fishhook in a thumb, a college student's alcohol. The quiet was the gift.

Lourdes is 76. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I made bibingka Sunday. The pandan leaves, the coconut, the salted egg, the cheese on top. The dessert that is also a small church.

The blog has four hundred subscribers now who get the posts via email. The subscribers are the loyal core. The loyal core is the chorus.

The week held. The kitchen held. The chain holds.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

Bibingka is the dessert I make when I need to feel the chain — the pandan, the salted egg, the cheese, the coconut milk are a kind of prayer, and Sunday’s batch did its work. But after the week of Lourdes calling twice, and Auntie Norma asking about merienda from Iloilo, and the freezer already full of everything I’d prepared for everyone else, I wanted to share something for the quiet moments: a tiramisu that is, like the week itself, layered and patient and lighter than it looks. “Sinfully sinless” is the right phrase for a dessert you let yourself have at the end of a week that held.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 4 hours 20 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 cup strong brewed coffee, cooled to room temperature
2 tablespoons coffee liqueur (optional)
24 ladyfinger cookies (savoiardi)
8 oz reduced-fat cream cheese, softened
1 cup plain nonfat Greek yogurt
1/2 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cups light whipped topping, thawed
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder, for dusting
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions

Make the coffee soak. Stir together the cooled coffee and coffee liqueur (if using) in a shallow bowl wide enough to dip the ladyfingers. Set aside.
Beat the cream layer. Using a hand mixer or stand mixer on medium speed, beat the softened cream cheese until smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add the Greek yogurt, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and salt, and beat until fully combined and creamy, scraping down the sides as needed.
Fold in the whipped topping. Using a rubber spatula, gently fold the light whipped topping into the cream cheese mixture in two additions until no streaks remain. Take care not to deflate it — the lightness is the point.
Dip the ladyfingers. Working quickly, dip each ladyfinger into the coffee soak for about 1 second per side. They should be moist but not soggy. Arrange a single layer (about 12 cookies) in the bottom of an 8x8-inch baking dish or similar serving dish.
Layer the cream. Spread half of the cream mixture evenly over the first layer of ladyfingers, smoothing it to the edges.
Repeat the layers. Dip the remaining ladyfingers and arrange them in a second layer over the cream. Spread the remaining cream mixture over the top, smoothing evenly.
Chill. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight. The resting time lets the layers set and the flavors deepen — do not skip this.
Dust and serve. Just before serving, sift the cocoa powder evenly over the top. Slice into 8 portions and serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sinfully Sinless Tiramisu — The Dessert That Is Also a Small Church