Unlike Andy, my caffeine intake is minimal. No more than two cappuccinos in the morning, separated by a few hours or I get jittery. (Andy’s note: “’Jittery,’ means you bounce your leg, honey. You either talk non-stop or rewrite the lyrics to old songs and sing them to the pets. “Dancing in the Dark” becomes “Dancing While You Bark,” “You Belong with Me,” is now “Use the Litterbox When You Pee.”)
So as much as I love tiramisu, I never have it for dessert. No way does Andy wanna hear “But kitty Mama told you/ It’s all right/ You were on the streets with bad flea bites/ Homeless in the SoCal night/ Now you got three beds and claws of might…” at 11 PM. (Sing to Taylor Swift’s “Opalite.”)
The only tiramisu Andy made was a lemon version, usually during the annual citrus tsunami here in Southern California.
Until his Elder Millennial Coworker got hungry and bored. Like most offices, there’s always extra food from October until New Year’s. Leftover Halloween candy is followed by the Thanksgiving potluck and then Christmas goodies begin appearing. At Andy’s work, there was also the Cinnamon Roll Throw Down.
But in January? There were only tasteless Aramark lunches again. Andy, who sometimes brought in leftovers or my extra baked goods, had been moved to a different project in a different office in December.
Until Elder Millennial Coworker insisted there was a problem with the old project and Andy was recalled part-time.
Elder Millennial Coworker slyly asked Gen Z Coworker (who had won the Cinnamon Roll Throwdown) about her tiramisu while Andy (who is STILL salty about not winning the Cinnamon Roll Throwdown) was nearby.
Gen Z Coworker, “Oh, the Cortina Olympics inspired me to make some. And since store-bought lady fingers suck, I started baking my own.”
“Wow. Is that hard?”
“A little, but it’s worth it. People love my tiramisu even more than my cinnamon rolls—”
Andy: “That’s it! You and your lady fingers are GOING DOWN!”
Which is why I found Andy in the kitchen at 8 PM, whipping up mascarpone and brewing espresso.
“Elder Millennial Coworker is playing you and Gen Z Coworker,” I told Andy. “He knows you, at least, will bring in multiple ‘intimidation’ batches while you figure out the best recipe. So he’s going to get that as well as being guaranteed two servings of tiramisu on the day of the competition.”
“Actually, a couple other people want to compete this time, too.”
“The plot thickens! How many?”
“Well, one woman says she’s going to make a version with tea—”
“With TEA? What the actual fuck is THAT?!”
“Don’t you love tea?”
“Yes, and that fact that I am still saying what the fuck should tell her something.”
“And the Vegan Younger Millennial is bringing a vegan version—”
“How?”
“No idea.”
“So there are four of you?”
“More like eight.”
“Full on dessert scam!”
I thought Andy’s first version was pretty good, even with store-bought lady fingers. But when he took it to work, the verdict was “more liqueur.”
Also his Gen Z Coworker smirking and saying, “I didn’t know Kroger made generic lady fingers,” as she served up her own intimidation tiramisu.
Andy ate a bite and retorted, “And I didn’t know anyone would use instant coffee instead of making real espresso.”
“Nobody has their own espresso maker,” she scoffed.
Andy smirked in Gen X paycheck. “I do.”
FYI, Andy doesn’t actually drink espresso. He only got the expensive Italian coffee machine with the milk frother and espresso maker in order to avoid sharing any of his precious 10 cups of dark roasted drip coffee with me. Coffee addiction coupled with Chinese American frugality is the real reason I get mellow morning cappuccinos made by my own personal barista.
Highly recommend.
Andy dug out my piping set and my cookie cookbook for his next round of lady fingers.
But they turned out “too spongy.” He refused to listen to my advice: 1) bake while it’s not humid, 2) turn off the oven and let them dry out after baking. Instead, to Elder Millennial Coworker’s delight, Andy tried several more recipes before finding one with the right consistency.
“But it still doesn’t look especially pretty,” he grumbled. After his fluffy cinnamon rolls lost to Gen Z Coworker’s underbaked—but uniform—cinnamon rolls, Andy knew he had to win on appearance, as well as taste.
“You could use a springform pan,” I suggested. “Make it look like a cake. Then you unmold it at work, in front of everyone, adding to the suspense. It’ll look more impressive and get them rooting for you when it holds its shape!”
“IF it holds its shape.”
Andy practiced with my 6-inch springform. His tiramisu held (even though his icing skills need work):
Sunday night, he made his competition dish. Monday morning, he put the tiramisu (still in the springform pan) into a cooler and took it to work—along with one of my cake plates.
He unmolded it and…it held. He frosted the sides with more mascarpone filling and put it on the cake plate, sure his was the prettiest.
But Gen Z Coworker went full kawaii, creating fucking adorable bunnies with a cookie cutter out of cocoa powder:
Since Andy’s office has no windows and requires security clearances, I have no way of personally knowing how they all tasted. One was lemon, and one was rum raisin (WHY WOULD YOU WRECK YOUR CHOCOLATE WITH RAISINS). Andy reported that his and Gen Z coworkers were the prettiest and the tastiest when he got home.
“BUT WHO WON?!” I practically screamed.
Andy shrugged. “I dunno. Elder Millennial Coworker hasn’t finished tabulating yet.”
When Andy came home last night, we STILL didn’t know. Maybe Elder Millennial “loses” the results and they have to try again next week. Or there’s maybe there’s a tie and the top two chefs have to have a final bakeoff!
Ultimately, the real winner was always going to be Elder Millennial.
Or maybe me, because I get tiramisu for breakfast.
