Mother’s Recipes, Mother’s Love.

 

Tiramisu “recipe”

serves as many as you want

Mascarpone 

Amaretto

3 eggs (split whites and yolks)

2 cups of strong instant coffee

Lady finger biscuits

 

Make coffee

Sugar and yolks whipped

Pour Amaretto

Fold mascarpone into yolks

Whip whites

Fold whites

Layer biscuits and tiramisu cream.

Set in fridge. 

 

Despite food being such an integral part of my family, it’s often joked that we (the children) will never and can never inherit any family recipes. My mother never wrote her recipes down. Even if she did, they were incomplete. She either leaves out ingredients, measurements, or timings. When she cooks, she never uses measurements. “It all comes from the heart, from feeling”, she would explain. This annoyed me to no end. “How will I remember your legacy?” I find myself wondering. All those delicious dishes I’ve eaten, all wasted, never to be recreated, never to be tasted again. 

 

Then, she gave me her tiramisu recipe. I learned how to make tiramisu by being her little tiramisu assistant. There’s a concept in Daoism that prioritises learning through direct experience. Direct experience teaches us things that formal education cannot. I’m not too sure of the details, I was often daydreaming during my Chinese Philosophy seminars, but I did get the gist of it, I think. I’ve made tiramisu so many times with her that I don’t even need the recipe (complete or incomplete) anymore. I know it like the back of my hand. I know the ratio of eggs to sugar, how much liqueur to add in such that it kills the bacteria from the raw eggs without overpowering the lightness of the mascarpone cheese. I know how long to dip the biscuits in the coffee to prevent them from being too soggy to the point of disintegration. But more than that, I know my mother more through this “recipe”, the very recipe that she used to get her through her university education, the very recipe she makes every year come Christmas time. I know the sweetness and love that has been poured into this dessert. 

 

The words she never wrote are ingrained in my brain. 

“Amaretto” – 10ml. 

“Make instant coffee” – and set it aside to cool to room temperature. 

“Whip sugar and yolks” – to a pale yellow. 

“Whip whites” – till stiff peaks form. 

“Fold whites” – into the yolks in batches to make sure they are fully incorporated.

(Don’t forget to sift cocoa powder on top but only do it just before you serve it.)

 

It’s all unspoken. It’s a routine. Once you’ve done it, once you truly know it, you can never forget it. Now, I make this same recipe for my friends when we have our Christmas gatherings. There is a joy that is unmatched when I see the look of my loved ones savouring the tiramisu I made. It’s a joy that I crave and hunger for, more than food itself. It’s the warm feeling of wine gliding down your throat, it’s the heat from a spicy dish as it settles in your stomach, it’s the giddiness and surreality of eating food in a 3-star Michelin restaurant. 

 

Nothing beats homemade food. And now, whenever I’m asked, “What’s your favourite dessert?” I will always say “Tiramisu” – but only if it's made from my mother’s “recipe”.