After Ten Years, Love Is Still Sweet

Please don't hate me for having the most romantic husband in the world. Yeah, listen up guys! The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach. And Gabriele gets to it every time.

I can't tell you how deliriously happy a gal can get, returning to the place where she met her true love, ten years later.

Finally, after ten years of visiting our home in Tuscany, shopping in every food market, studying under my mother-in-law, and under her mother—not to mention every good cook whose home I've eaten in—I finally consider myself one of them. I am loved here, they excuse my bad Italian, and now I also have the privilege of Italian citizenship. I am so thankful.

Making tiramisu with my mother-in-law is something that I consider a gift. No BS, nothing fancy. Just get the ingredients, throw it in the pan, no cooking… and voilà!

Tiramisu means "pick me up." This classic Italian dessert is not only delicious and easy to make, but also a fantastic aphrodisiac! After a hearty meal and an evening of drinking good wine, you want to serve your lover a shot of energy for the later in the evening. Catch my drift? Coffee, sugar, marscapone cream, ladyfingers—it all comes together in a light and sexy way! (Just be careful not to give to the kids, or your night will be over! Make them the kind with decaf.)

I personally had an agenda. After a wonderful bachelorette party hosted by my Italian ladies, I wanted to meet Gabriele in the 12th-century piazza where we first met, ten years ago. I remember how he sat on the stoop of a beautiful church, with a cocktail in hand and a pack of cigarettes—Italian style! He asked me to have kids with him after just three hours of conversation… no joke. The rest is history. We were pregnant and married in less than a year!

My tiramisu was a hit. To meet my husband in the ancient piazza and go down memory lane was so romantic. I told him how sweet his daughters and his mother were together. His little ladies being groomed by their grandmother warmed his heart.

And then there is me—slightly worn around the edges, but in a sexy way. I'm the mother of his children, but still trying to make him feel like I'm his girlfriend. Still dressing up, trying to impress, using cheap tricks like a delicious dessert with caffeine.

What happened next, I won't share. But trust me when I tell you that Italians do it better.

Debi.