Captio Triplicata

Imagine you don't know what the item pictured above is. You probably do, but pretend you don't.

It looks delicious, doesn't it?

Let me stop you right there: it's not. Not in the slightest. Okay, if you knew what it was before I started, then you already knew it's not delicious. If, for some reason, you have concluded that it is delicious, then you are wrong. About everything.

What you have above is a lie. A rectangular-prismatic lie commonly known as tiramisu. It sits there, looking so tasty, so scrumptious, so sumptuous, so delectable. But it is a lie, a horrid deception, a vicious falsehood, a wicked untruth, a vomitous flam.

It's the coffee. The foundation of tiramisu is ladyfinger cakes soaked in coffee. COFFEE, for crying out loud. If you aren't expecting the coffee, like me the first time I tried it, it's a slap in the face most unpleasant and reprehensible. I'm all, "oh, look at this delicious cube of custardy-cakey-cinnamon-dusted goodness," and when I bite in, I'm all "holy grossness of coffee flavor made all the worse when it's unexpected." Seriously, when I first saw tiramisu, coffee-flavoring was the last thing I thought of. Now it's all I think of when I see tiramisu (all I think of, anyway, after I get over the dry-heaving and retching).

I don't blame Italy for tiramisu; someone would have invented it later (probably France), and though it would have been called something else, a grossness by any other name still makes one want to hurl. But would it have been so difficult to use something instead of coffee? Hot chocolate, maybe? Sweetened milk? And no, liqueur or brandy or amaretto is no substitute.

I implore you, avoid this polygonal deceit at all costs. You're doing yourself a favor.