start

The dense matter that shapes enclosure and gives presence to the emerging work is the start. It is the mass that establishes thickness, the body into which life can eventually move. Yet this mass requires another layer to achieve clarity: it must be embraced by finishes and surfaces that allow its presence to be read as unified and coherent. These surfaces cannot be improvised; they must be carefully prepared until they are smooth, continuous, and visually harmonious, so that they lend legibility to what might otherwise be formless. Only when the finishes are resolved can the infill express its true character, as more than weight and density. The presence of light and air begins to play against the solidity of the mass, producing an interplay that gives richness to space. It is here, in this oscillation between thickness and void, heaviness and brightness, that the work first begins to resemble architecture.

Beneath all of this rests the foundation, the base of the house, the condition that ties the built form to the earth. Without it, the composition would drift into abstraction, lacking contact with ground and site. The foundation speaks to the soil it inhabits, answering to the forces of gravity and permanence. Yet the site is never neutral; it carries atmosphere, history, and the traces of social life that will continue long after the building rises. To lay a foundation is therefore not a technical act alone, but a recognition of what is already there. It is an acknowledgement of atmosphere, of the social potential that lingers in a place, and of the narratives embedded in its ground. The structure that will soon rise must account for these conditions, must provide space to extend and host them, even as it is rooted firmly within the soil of the site.

From this grounding, the structural frame emerges, each level giving rhythm and stability to the growing composition. Floors and beams articulate a skeleton, a repetitive order that provides strength but also calls for completion. Against this frame, the infill is set, enclosing and thickening, alternating in a steady rhythm. One follows the other: frame, infill, frame, infill. The repetition becomes a kind of architecture in itself, a layered construction that grows not suddenly but patiently, through the act of stacking and alternating. In this interplay, mass and structure become inseparable, and together they define habitable space. The building takes form not as a single gesture, but as an accumulation of strata, each dependent on the last, each preparing the ground for the next.

As the composition nears completion, it must be brought to closure. The vertical rise cannot continue indefinitely; it requires a crown, a gesture of definition, something that marks the meeting of form and sky. This is achieved through the roofline, the cornice, or another element of termination that offers both protection and presence. Such a line is not only functional but symbolic, giving dignity to the whole by articulating its limit. It is the horizon of the building, the shadow that defines its contour, the mark that completes its geometry. Without this gesture, the form would feel unresolved, as though still in process. With it, the architecture acquires the authority of completion, an identity that can be read from afar and experienced from within.

And then there is the final condition: time. Architecture cannot be rushed into being, nor can it be fully understood at the moment of its completion. Materials must find their equilibrium; structures must settle into their ground; spaces must be lived in, so that their atmospheres can grow. The passage of time allows the disparate parts — foundation, structure, infill, light, finishes, and crown — to fuse into a single whole. Just as a city matures only through years of use, so too does a building require the slow accumulation of experience. Time gives gravity to walls, softness to surfaces, and familiarity to spaces. It transforms construction into life, ensuring that the work is not only an object of design but also a setting for memory.

Recipe for the Perfect Tiramisu, According to Vitruvius
Begin by preparing your mind and your space, for tiramisu is not a mere dessert but an act of proportion, balance, and delight. Observe your ingredients carefully: select savoiardi that are firm yet porous, capable of absorbing the essence of coffee without collapsing. Choose mascarpone drawn from rich, fresh milk, eggs of golden yolks and strong whites, and coffee roasted to the fullness of its flavor. Decide on your liqueur, be it Marsala, rum, or amaretto, and prepare cocoa to crown the dish with dignity.

Prepare your vessel and measure your layers in accord with the human hand: the sponge should answer to the width of a finger, the cream to the depth of a palm, and the entire dish to harmonious proportion. Begin by soaking the savoiardi briefly in the warm coffee, careful that they drink deeply yet remain whole, for firmness is the first virtue. As you lay them in the dish, ensure they form a solid foundation, for all that follows rests upon this base.

Next, fold the mascarpone with eggs and liqueur into a cream of gentle consistency, neither too stiff nor too runny. Spread this mixture evenly over the coffee-soaked sponge, observing symmetry and moderation. Repeat layers according to the number you have chosen, odd numbers being pleasing to the gods, each sponge kissed by coffee, each cream layer smoothed with reverent care.

If you wish to honor the divine order of flavor, you may add subtle variations: a dash of wine in one layer, a sprinkle of chocolate shavings or candied peel in another, always mindful that ornament serves to elevate and not to obscure. Dust the final layer with cocoa from east to west, as though marking the path of the sun across the sky.

Place the tiramisu in cool repose, allowing time for the layers to marry in flavor and texture. Observe the passage of hours, or, if you are inclined, the waxing and waning of the moon, for patience blesses the firmness of cream and the harmony of taste. At serving, use instruments worthy of the work: a smooth spatula to cut, a steady hand to portion, and a fair eye to distribute sweetness evenly among those gathered.

Present the tiramisu as you would a temple, with dignity and reverence. Let each eater perceive its structure, savor its layers, and admire its balance. Know that through firmness, usefulness, and delight, the dessert becomes a mirror of civilization itself, a work of art that honors nature, proportion, and human ingenuity.

Thus, the perfect tiramisu is achieved: a composition of sponge, cream, coffee, and chocolate, elevated by thought, tempered by patience, and made immortal by proportion.

I have lived the life I once traced 
in trembling, hesitant lines, 
a path stretched across mornings 
and long, quiet evenings.
A vision of a new world became compass, became burden, 
not of complaint, but of insistence, 
a slow gravity, a patient weight 
bearing all that came before.
Moments lifted me, 
gentle as a pick-me-up, 
smooth as whispered time, 
sweet in their fleeting grace.
Layers gathered, folded, aligned, 
effort and waiting, care and attention, 
each act a note in a melody 
only patience can compose.
Soft and bitter, warm and fleeting, 
strength and fragility intertwined, 
folded into one another, 
hovering, suspended, waiting.
And at last, in stillness, 
in the quiet meeting of labor and desire, 
of sweetness and restraint, 
of lift and smoothness, 
I see the fruit of it all— 
the singular, fragile, perfect, ephemeral 
Tiramisu.

@glassandashes_92 
“This tiramisu attempts to be monumental but ends up being almost nothing.” — Mies van der Rohe, Interviews & writings, Neue Nationalgalerie (1968)

@therealfrankgehry 
“I don’t know why people hire me to eat this kind of thing. It’s boring.” — Frank Gehry, The Independent interview (1991)

@mr4fountains 
“It lifts the spirit higher, like a staircase into heaven. A dessert of ascension.” — Borromini, San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane (1640s)

@qloxo88 
“This is an international style dessert without roots. It ignores the city, the tradition, the weight of the table.” — Hans Kollhoff, Lectures, 1990s

@wildrootz_flw 
“Vitruvius understood nature. The eggs breathe, the cream lives. This tiramisu is an organism.” — Frank Lloyd Wright, In the Cause of Architecture (1908)

@harmonyseekerX 
“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Cream, sponge, and cocoa sing together.” — Aristotle, Metaphysics, Book VIII

@blueprintfofdelight 
“Space, light, and sweetness intertwine. This is architecture in a spoon.” — Louis Kahn, Lectures, 1960s

@lesley_lerr 
“I followed the recipe exactly and it turned into a soupy mess that never set. Tasted fine but looked like dishwater.” — AllRecipes, 1★

@glassgarden99 
“Transparent layers, luminous mascarpone — as if dessert were light itself.” — Philip Johnson, Glass House writings

@p4ll4d1o 
“The circle contains perfection, but here perfection is layered. Each bite a geometry of joy.” — Palladio, I Quattro Libri dell’Architettura (1570)

@frescobite23 
“This tiramisu paints sweetness across the tongue like pigment on wet plaster.” — Giotto, Early Fresco writings

@vlpn33 
“I was making love to marble. Vitruvius was merely layering sponge.” — Bernini, Baldinucci, Vita del Cavaliere Bernini (1682)

@it_mante_bra 
“Measure must be kept. This tiramisu knows no measure, no golden section in its layers.” — Bramante, Vasari, Lives

@craftedSoul_14 
“You taste the hand of the maker. The roughness is beautiful, the imperfections human.” — Carlo Scarpa, Interviews, 1970s

@harmonyhunterQ 
“Beauty is the harmony of all the parts. Here the cream and sponge quarrel.” — Alberti, De re aedificatoria (1452)

@flyingm4chinedreamer 
“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. This tiramisu is anything but simple.” — Leonardo da Vinci, Codex Atlanticus

@ratiosandfacts4u 
“This was way too sweet. My family couldn’t finish even one slice. Definitely not worth the effort.” — Epicurious, 1★

@e_louis.boullee 
“This tiramisu defies gravity. It hovers, like dreams of flight.” — Étienne-Louis Boullée, Architecture, Essai sur l’Art (1780s)

@roughconcretesoul_23 
“I have always sought the simple, the direct, the poor. This Tiramisu is none.” — Lina Bo Bardi, Habitat journal (1951–54)

@lev.reviewsfood 
“Turned out perfect. Creamy but light, sweet but not too sweet. Will make again for every holiday.” — Epicurious, 5★

@theatricalmessiah22 
“What we have here is theater without drama. The cream has nothing to offer.” — Bernini, Baldinucci, Vita del Cavaliere Bernini (1682)

@aldorossthe_og 
“Every bite recalls the city of my childhood. A dessert of memory.” — Aldo Rossi, The Architecture of the City (1966)

@poorssbeautiful 
“This was expensive to make, took forever, and in the end tasted like soggy cookies with pudding. Never again.” — BBC Good Food, 1★

@firesndlight_37 
“It crackles with energy. The espresso ignites the spirit.” — Louis Sullivan, Kindergarten Chats (1901)

@harmonyseeker 
“This was the best tiramisu I’ve ever made. It set beautifully and my guests were blown away.” — AllRecipes, 5★

@livingStreetz_X5 
“My Italian mother-in-law said this tasted exactly like home. Enough said.” — Food52, 5★

@craftedsoul_14 
“I was nervous, but it worked! The mascarpone filling was silky and the flavors balanced. A new family favorite.” — BBC Good Food, 5★

@warin_ny 
“Super easy recipe with amazing results. Not a crumb left at the party.” — NYT Cooking, 5★

Hans Kollhoff’s Tiramisu. A Craft in Decline: A Critical Reflection on the Decline of the Tiramisu Profession
Tiramisu. A Craft in Decline by Hans Kollhoff is a profound critique of the contemporary state of tiramisu-making. Through a series of essays, lectures, and reflections, Kollhoff addresses the transformations that have led to what he perceives as the decline of the tiramisu profession. This text offers a comprehensive analysis of the factors contributing to this decline and presents a compelling argument for a return to the core values of tiramisu-making.

I. The Evolution of Tiramisu: From Craft to Concept
Kollhoff begins his discourse by tracing the historical trajectory of tiramisu-making. He notes that tiramisu, in its early stages, was deeply rooted in craftsmanship and practical culinary knowledge. Traditionally, tiramisu was not just a dessert but a reflection of care, skill, and the use of high-quality ingredients. Each layer of mascarpone and sponge was applied with precision, each dusting of cocoa considered.
However, with the rise of modern culinary trends and mass production techniques, there was a significant shift toward abstraction and efficiency. This transition, according to Kollhoff, marked the beginning of a departure from traditional tiramisu values. Recipes became standardized, creative expression was constrained by commercial considerations, and the artisanal touch began to vanish.
The modernist approach to tiramisu, emphasizing novelty and aesthetic presentation over taste, texture, and ingredient quality, led to a disconnection from the rich traditions of this dessert. Kollhoff argues that this shift resulted in a loss of culinary identity and a detachment from the cultural and social responsibilities that tiramisu once embodied. The dessert, once a medium of tradition and communal celebration, became a commodified product, losing much of its soul and meaning in the process.

II. The Crisis of Tiramisu Identity
One of the central themes in Kollhoff’s work is the crisis of tiramisu identity. He contends that the craft has become increasingly fragmented, with pastry chefs and culinary entrepreneurs specializing in narrow techniques and losing sight of the holistic artistry of tiramisu-making. This specialization, while fostering technical mastery in specific aspects, has led to a reduction in the generalist knowledge that once characterized the craft.
Kollhoff also criticizes the commodification of tiramisu. He observes that tiramisu has become a product to be marketed and sold, often at the expense of its intrinsic value. Desserts are judged more on Instagram-worthy presentation and clever flavor combinations than on texture balance, ingredient quality, or the integrity of tradition. This commodification has led to a prioritization of novelty over substance and durability, resulting in tiramisus that may be visually striking but lack the depth, creaminess, and richness that define a truly exceptional example of the craft.
In this context, Kollhoff laments the decline of what he calls the "professional conscience" in tiramisu-making. The dessert is no longer a medium through which culinary values, patience, and precision are transmitted; instead, it has become a canvas for marketing and aesthetic experimentation that often ignores the essence of what makes tiramisu beloved.

III. The Impact of Technology and Trends
Kollhoff addresses the influence of technology and culinary trends on contemporary tiramisu-making. While acknowledging the importance of new techniques, tools, and approaches, he warns against overreliance on these factors. Technology should serve the craft, not dictate it. The use of pre-mixed mascarpone, artificial flavorings, or shortcuts in preparation may improve efficiency but often diminishes the soul and quality of the dessert.
Similarly, while trends such as “vegan tiramisu” or “deconstructed tiramisu” are innovative and can expand the dessert’s reach, Kollhoff cautions that they should not replace traditional practices. Sustainability and ingredient sourcing, for example, are important, but they should enhance the craft authentically rather than serving as superficial marketing labels.
Kollhoff also discusses the phenomenon of "culinary greenwashing," where products are marketed as healthier or artisanal without truly adhering to traditional methods. He emphasizes the need for a deeper commitment to authentic practice, one that goes beyond certifications, trends, or Instagram metrics to embrace the full rigor and beauty of the craft.

IV. The Role of the Tiramisu Maker in Society
Kollhoff stresses the importance of the tiramisu maker’s role in society. He believes that artisans who create tiramisu are custodians of culture, responsible for producing desserts that bring pleasure, comfort, and connection. They must consider the needs and desires of their communities and the broader cultural significance of their craft.
Moreover, Kollhoff advocates for a return to the fundamental principles of tiramisu: balance, richness, texture, and harmony of flavors. He suggests that these principles should guide the work of every tiramisu maker, ensuring that each dessert is not only delicious and sustainable but also aesthetically coherent and emotionally satisfying. True tiramisu, in his view, should resonate on multiple levels: it should delight the palate, honor tradition, and convey the care and skill of its maker.
Kollhoff also emphasizes that the public’s appreciation of tiramisu depends on the integrity of the maker. The best tiramisus emerge from a combination of knowledge, experience, and responsibility. Makers must avoid shortcuts and resist the pressure to prioritize speed or spectacle over substance.

V. Education and the Future of the Profession
Kollhoff turns his attention to tiramisu education and mentorship. He criticizes the current culinary training for often emphasizing theory, trend-following, and visual presentation at the expense of hands-on skill and deep knowledge of ingredients and techniques. He calls for a balanced approach, one that equips future tiramisu makers with both practical expertise and a nuanced understanding of the craft.
Mentorship, in Kollhoff’s view, is essential. Experienced artisans have a responsibility to pass down their knowledge, ensuring continuity of technique, tradition, and values. Apprenticeship allows young makers to learn not only the practical steps of preparation but also the ethical and aesthetic standards that underpin true mastery. Without this transmission of expertise, the craft risks further dilution and loss of identity.
Kollhoff emphasizes that the future of tiramisu depends on cultivating makers who are not only technically proficient but also culturally literate and socially responsible. The craft must retain its relevance by engaging with contemporary tastes while staying anchored in principles of quality and tradition.

VI. A Call for Reform
In conclusion, Kollhoff’s Tiramisu. A Craft in Decline serves both as a critique and a call to action. He urges the culinary community to reflect on the current state of the craft and consider its trajectory. By returning to the core values of tiramisu-making and reasserting the responsibilities of the maker, Kollhoff believes that the craft can overcome its current crisis and reclaim its esteemed cultural status.
His work challenges makers to reconsider their role, to strive for desserts that are not only inventive and visually appealing but also deeply rooted in tradition, ingredient integrity, and communal enjoyment. Kollhoff envisions a renaissance of tiramisu, where the dessert’s history, craft, and cultural resonance are celebrated alongside modern creativity and innovation.

VII. Conclusion
Kollhoff’s text is a timely examination of the state of tiramisu in the contemporary culinary world. It offers critical insights for makers, educators, and policymakers alike, encouraging a reevaluation of the principles that should guide the craft. By emphasizing tradition, technical mastery, ethical responsibility, and aesthetic integrity, Kollhoff provides a roadmap for reviving tiramisu as both a beloved dessert and a meaningful cultural practice.
The book serves as a passionate plea for the craft’s revitalization. It reminds makers that tiramisu is more than a dessert; it is a medium for transmitting knowledge, culture, and care. The future of the craft, Kollhoff argues, will depend on whether makers can balance tradition with innovation, substance with spectacle, and skill with social responsibility.
Through this lens, Tiramisu. A Craft in Decline is not merely a critique but an inspiring manifesto, calling for a renaissance in which the artisanal values of tiramisu-making are cherished, refined, and shared with future generations.

@ConcreteBite_92 
“Kollhoff mourns the soul of tiramisu with the same rigor he applies to masonry. I feel both guilt and inspiration.” — Mies van der Rohe, Interviews & writings, Neue Nationalgalerie (1968)

@LayeredDreams42 
“Finally, someone acknowledges that each mascarpone layer matters. This is philosophy disguised as dessert critique.” — Le Corbusier, Vers une Architecture (1923)

@BitterSpoon_77 
“Too pedantic. I just wanted a recipe, not a treatise on artisanal conscience.” — Frank Gehry, The Independent interview (1991)

@TraditionSeeker88 
“This text is a manifesto for slow, careful, human-centered dessert-making. I now respect tiramisu like a building.” — Alberti, De re aedificatoria (1452)

@qwertyFork33 
“Kollhoff overthinks every cocoa dusting, yet somehow it works. He elevates dessert critique to an art form.” — Philip Johnson, Glass House writings

@MascarponeMonk_09 
“Ignoring Instagram trends feels revolutionary. Finally, a call for integrity over spectacle.” — Jan Gehl, Life Between Buildings (1971)

@GoldenRatioFanX 
“The historical analysis alone is worth the read. Every layer of context mirrors a layer of dessert.” — Palladio, I Quattro Libri dell’Architettura (1570)

@Food52Lover_12 
“This is not a casual cookbook. It reads like a thesis, and I loved every page. Makes me want to bake and reflect.” — Food52, 5★

@EspressoCritic77 
“The warnings against shortcuts and artificial flavorings are spot-on. Finally, someone speaks truth to tiramisu.” — Lina Bo Bardi, Habitat journal (1951–54)

@SoggySpoon_99 
“I wanted to enjoy tiramisu without guilt. Kollhoff made me feel like a criminal.” — BBC Good Food, 2★

@CocoaPhilosopher_21 
“The essays on professional conscience are brilliant. Dessert as social responsibility—yes!” — Aldo Rossi, The Architecture of the City (1966)

@SweetStructureX5 
“Too much nostalgia for the past, but the insights on mentoring and apprenticeship are invaluable.” — Carlo Scarpa, Interviews, 1970s

@ModernistMixer_88 
“Kollhoff sees tiramisu as a monument. I can’t argue, but I wish he gave a few recipes too.” — Louis Kahn, Lectures, 1960s

@BitterSweet_21 
“Too wordy, too reflective, but the call to return to authentic practice resonates. Might make me reconsider shortcuts.” — NYT Cooking, 4★

@CulturalCream_07 
“The discussion of communal responsibility reminded me that desserts, like buildings, are part of society. Brilliant.” — Étienne-Louis Boullée, Architecture, Essai sur l’Art (1780s)

@LayeredLogic_99 
“Some essays feel repetitive, yet the attention to ingredient quality and care cannot be overstated. A masterwork for dessert scholars.” — Frank Lloyd Wright, In the Cause of Architecture (1908)

@RenaissanceBaker_14 
“I finally understand why artisanal desserts require devotion. Kollhoff teaches patience, balance, and respect.” — Imhotep, Pyramid inscriptions (attributed)

@CivicPastry_23 
“Reading this feels like walking through a city of flavor. Each chapter a square, each reflection a street.” — Borromini, San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane (1640s)

@QuickMix_88 
“Too academic for casual bakers. Loved it in principle, but I want shortcuts sometimes!” — AllRecipes, 3★

@MascarponeScholar_42 
“A text that bridges craft, ethics, and culinary excellence. Tiramisu will never be the same to me.” — Aldo van Eyck, The Child, the City, and the Artist (1962)

@InstagramWorrier_19 
“I still want it pretty for my feed. Kollhoff makes me reconsider my priorities.” — Epicurious, 4★

@SoulfulSpoon_07 
“The essays on mentorship and education are inspiring. Young tiramisu makers, read this!” — Lina Bo Bardi, Habitat journal (1951–54)

@EspressoEvangelist_33 
“I didn’t know tiramisu had ethics. Now I do.” — Louis Sullivan, Kindergarten Chats (1901)

@CulinaryArchitect_22 
“His critique of commodification hits hard. Instagram desserts beware: substance over spectacle!” — Hans Kollhoff, Tiramisu. A Craft in Decline (2025)

@TextureTactician_77 
“This book made me slow down. I now press each sponge with care, dust each cocoa intentionally.” — Food52, 5★

@MascarponeMaven_88 
“An essential read for anyone who loves tiramisu seriously. Insightful, challenging, rewarding.” — BBC Good Food, 5★

@LayeredSoul_09 
“Mixes philosophy, history, and practical ethics perfectly. Dessert literature at its finest.” — Renzo Piano, Interviews, 2000s

@CraftedCream_14 
“Kollhoff reminds us that every tiramisu is a craft. He restores dignity to the dessert.” — Michelangelo, Condivi, Vita di Michelagnolo Buonarroti (1553)

@SweetMentor_91 
“This is a manifesto for dessert artisans. Young bakers, listen carefully.” — Zaha Hadid, The Guardian interview (2004)

@MascarponeGuardian_33 
“After reading this, I treat tiramisu like a sacred responsibility. Cannot recommend highly enough.” — NYT Cooking, 5★