A reader wrote in with some tiramisu memories as strong as a shot of espresso. Where could they get a slice of the Italian dessert reminiscent of one they had at a long-closed Twin Cities restaurant? We prodded them on what made that old version so perfect, but the specific details had faded.
Perhaps it’s just the nature of tiramisu, a dessert that’s as soft and blurry around the edges as a sweet memory. It’s part cake, part custard, part espresso-soaked cloud. It’s served chilled, often shared, and usually arrives at the part of the night when the table is relaxed and the conversation lingers.
So we went in search of tiramisu with that same staying power. Here are the three that rose to the top.
Prima
This south Minneapolis neighborhood trattoria’s tiramisu leans into mocha richness without losing its lightness. Made in-house with Wisconsin mascarpone and Italian ladyfingers, the chocolate mousse-like layers are spiked with crème de cacao and a French coffee extract that gives the espresso notes extra depth. A snowfall of grated chocolate on top adds just enough bitterness to balance the sweetness. Owner Jennifer Jackson-King says it’s the most popular tiramisu Prima has made in 26 years — even a blueberry limoncello version couldn’t dethrone it.
$11; 5325 Lyndale Av. S., Mpls., primampls.com
Cossetta
Get in the lunch line at this St. Paul institution for a heaping plate of mostaccioli, and you might find yourself adding a cup of tiramisu to your tray. The classic version is sold in the deli in tidy takeout cups, though you can also grab larger portions fit for a party. Like an old-school pudding cup, it’s straightforward and deeply satisfying, and is practically begging to be devoured with a plastic spoon in your parked car. Cossetta also sells a daintier tiramisu cake in the pasticceria, but the humble cup is the one we fell for.
$5.49; 211 W. 7th St., St. Paul, cossettas.com
Broder’s Cucina Italiana
Broders’ tiramisu is cut from an elegant, oversized round cake displayed in the deli case. Tall ladyfingers line the edges, and inside, you get a slice that’s astonishingly light, with whipped layers of airy mascarpone and Marsala- and espresso-soaked sponge that are far less sweet than most versions. I bought one to go on a late-morning visit and made the mistake of taking “just one bite”; half the slice vanished before I made it home. It turns out this tiramisu works just as easily for breakfast as it does for dessert.
