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tiramisu with a Polish twist



I was asked to put up a recipe for tiramisu. My friends and Boyfriend’s band buddies love it. It’s nothing unusual, just ordinary Italian tiramisu with a Polish twist. But my friend who’s Italian said it’s really nice and that made me feel really good about myself…I’m that sad.

So here it is, knock yourself out! It’s creamy and boozy, just perfect!


Tiramisu with a Polish twist.


Savoyard biscuits

300g mascarpone

100 ml double cream

2 eggs

Krupnik vodka – that’s the Polish twist. If you don’t have it you can use amaretto or brandy, but honestly, the vodka I’m using is perfect and my Italian friend said the tiramisu I make actually tastes like the one her mom makes, especially that she never uses amaretto, just another type of alcohol, like brandy, etc. So that’s it, I revealed my secret ingredient.


espresso coffee

cocoa for dusting




1. Make espresso (whole mug), leave it to cool.

2.. Separate egg yolks and whisk them with 4-5 spoons of sugar in a metal or glass bowl over a saucepan of warm water. Wait till the egg yolks thicken and sugar dissolves. When it becomes creamy and the colour changes into vanilla (or magnolia), leave it on the side to cool a bit.

3. Whisk egg whites in separate bowl or pot.

4. Whip cream but not too much, don’t let it become too thick.

5. You can dip your biscuits in coffee first then arrange them, I just lay them into my dish and then using the spoon, gently pour coffee over the biscuits, making sure they are all moist but not too soggy.

6. Mix gently mascarpone, egg yolks, egg whites, whipped cream, add 2 spoons of alcohol and few spoons of icing sugar if you like it really sweet or want to feel high after an insulin rush.

7. Spread the mixture over biscuits. Repeat it with another layer of biscuits dipped in coffee and again marscapone mixture.

8. Chill in the fridge for few hours. Dust with cocoa before serving and if you want to make it look even more presentable – some roasted almond flakes on top will suffice.


About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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