Recently I went to a pretty good Italian place near Akron, Ohio, for an anniversary dinner. As I was eating, I remarked to my husband that I needed to make tiramisu again, knowing that it would be a mistake to order it at the restaurant. I generally steer away from restaurant desserts because they are almost always insipid Sara Lee-esque creations that are purchased frozen and often served in the same state. However, the owner/chef happened to be sitting behind me and overhead our conversation. He insisted that I try his tiramisu, which he had made from scratch the day before. He said he even made the pastry cream himself.
Against my better judgment, I ordered the dessert. I knew as soon as he said "pastry cream" that I would be disappointed. Most tiramisu recipes don't use pastry cream, but rather zabaglione (egg custard that contains egg yolks, sugar and liquor/flavoring, with no dairy or binding agent other than the yolks), or even dispense with cooking the eggs altogether.
What's worse, the pastry cream was topped with non-dairy whipped topping. Blech. I can spot a whipped cream imposter from a hundred yards, and this was that vile stuff. I gamely choked down about 3 forkfuls, then declared myself too full to eat another bite.
I gave the chef the thumbs-up, because at least he attempted a from-scratch recipe. That's far better than I would get from the Olive Garden.
Decent tiramisu recipes abound on various cooking sites, including Epicurious, Food Network, and Cook's Illustrated. Most of them have you whip egg yolks with sugar until thick and creamy, then mix in mascarpone cheese (similar to, but not quite like cream cheese) and whipped cream (the real stuff), and some kind of liquor. Crunchy Italian ladyfingers (aka savoiardi) are dipped in espresso (sometimes with added liquor), and the cookies are layered with the cream and topped with shaved chocolate or cocoa powder. Most of these recipes will produce a tasty dessert. However, once upon a time I came across a recipe that I adored - and I promptly lost it after I made it once. I've been trying to recreate that recipe ever since, with varying degrees of success.
I vaguely recall that it included zabaglione, so I started with a zabaglione recipe I had that called for three yolks, 3/4 cup sugar, and 1/2 cup Marsala (a sweet, fortified Italian dessert 
wine). I like Marsala in tiramisu much better than rum, brandy, or liqueurs like Frangelico. I ended up using four yolks, because three just didn't thicken it enough. I whisked the eggs and sugar together in a double boiler, then stirred in the Marsala. The recipe calls for lemon zest and juice, too, but I omitted those. If I were serving the zabaglione with fruit, I would have added the lemon. I cooked the mixture over simmering water, whisking constantly, until it had thickened, about 10 minutes. It registered about 175 degress on an instant read thermometer. After pouring the zabaglione into a bowl to cool, I added the mascarpone cheese to soften in the still-warm custard while I prepared the rest of the dessert.
I added more Marsala and a touch of Amaretto to the espresso. While some people like their tiramisu pretty boozy, I prefer to have the liquor play a supporting rather than starring role, so I didn't use too much. Since Marsala is a wine, it doesn't have as much alcohol as the typical tiramisu liquor/liqueur, so you can use a fair amount and not have it turn out harshly alcoholic. In total I probably used close to 2/3 cup of Marsala and a couple tablespoons of Amaretto.
Some recipes also call for whipping the egg whites with a little sugar (basically making an uncooked meringue) to lighten the custard, and I decided to take it one step further. I made an Italian meringue, adding a hot (240 degree F) sugar syrup to whipped egg whites and beating until smooth and glossy. Why? No other reason than I just like Italian meringue.
After that I whipped the cream and began combining the elements of the custard. First, I incorporated the mascarpone, which had softened a good bit, into the zabaglione. Mascarpone cheese is a bit stronger in flavor than cream cheese, and is terribly expensive. Some recipes call for as much as 1 1/2 pounds, but since that costs $12.00, I used just 1 pound. I believe that in my treasured, lost recipe I substitute cream cheese for some of the mascarpone. However, I didn't remember that until I already mixed in both containers of mascarpone and found I was a bit disappointed with the strong, almost funky, flavor of the cheese.
After getting the mixture homogenous, I folded in the whipped cream and Italian meringue. I didn't worry too much about deflating anything, since this custard shouldn't be too light and airy. When it was all combined, I began the layering process.
My trifle bowl doesn't get much use, so I decided to make the tiramisu in it instead of the standard 9 x 13 pan. This means that I don't get to make a pretty presentation on the plate, and each piece has a higher ratio of custard/cream to cookie than the standard version, but it works for me. Another downside is that I had to cut each cookie to fit in the bowl. I briefly dipped each cookie into the espresso, making sure not to oversaturate it. In fact, I didn't submerge the cookies but rather held each so that the coffee mixture only came partway up the sides of the cookie, flipped it, and did the same on the other side. That means the very center of the cookie didn't get wet. If you get the whole cookie wet it pretty well dissolves and has a very mushy texture. 
After arranging a layer of cookies on the bottom, I spooned about 1/3 of the custard on top and spread it to the edges. It would probably look nicer if I hadn't gone all the way to the edge with the cream. Oops. I sprinkled on some cocoa powder, and repeated the layering two more times. On the top, I sprinkled cocoa powder and made some chocolate shavings. I tried to do big chocolate curls, but evidently I need to practice that technique a bit more. What I attempted was to melt chocolate and spread it thin on a cookie sheet, let it cool until nearly set but still malleable, and use a bench knife to form the curls. Either I didn't make the layer thin enough or I didn't let it set long enough, but all that happened was that I scraped the chocolate off the tray without it curling up at all. I ended up with a sheet of chocolate that resembled modeling compound but which melted if I tried to form it with my fingers. It's back to the drawing board on that technique.
Well, did I recreate the tiramisu nirvana I once achieved? Nope, but this effort was closer than ever. Next time I'll sub a little cream cheese in there (heresy, I know) and see where that gets me.
