The oven was already warm.
I wasn’t planning to bake. I’d just finished heating leftover soup (the pea one Mae hates), and the kitchen smelled like old thyme and microwave steam. But there was a tin of sea salt from Provincetown on the counter—lid askew like it had something to say. That always does it. One glimpse and I’m back there, back then, back in that August where nothing stayed still except his hand on my back and the way the brownies cracked at the edges.
Her Highness’s chocolate brownie recipe had been taped to the fridge for weeks. It fell down twice. I ignored it once. But tonight…
tonight felt like burnt chocolate.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s version is clean-cut, like her linen closets.
Unsweetened chocolate—measured properly, of course—melted with butter and oil, which is already suspicious (she says safflower, I used coconut because it made the kitchen smell like a memory I can’t place). She uses both white and brown sugar. And three eggs. Room temperature, as if any of us ever remember that part on purpose. The finish? Glossy. Structured. Supposed to cool before cutting.
She’d probably hate what I did next.
I Changed the Oil and Blamed the Weather
Coconut oil instead of safflower. Not for health. Not for flavor. Just because it was already open and the jar was greasy and I didn’t want to wrestle with another lid.
Also—salt. Her Highness says half a teaspoon. I used that flaky one from the trip. The one with the label half-torn. I pressed it in with my fingers before the bake. Like blessing it. Or ruining it.
depends how you define reverence.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
I preheated the oven and forgot why. Buttered the pan. Ripped parchment with my teeth.
The chocolate melted slowly, slower than I remembered, and for a minute it smelled like the last Christmas before the divorce—vanilla, sharp heat, something wrong beneath.
I stirred. I didn’t whisk. Too tired for that.
Mae walked in halfway through me folding the flour in.
“Brownies?” she asked.
“Kind of,” I said.
I overmixed. Didn’t care. Smoothed the top with the back of a spoon I’d used for jam that morning.
It baked 40 minutes because I got distracted. The crust caught—just a little. Not burnt, exactly. But that singed smell hit first.
Like the toast I ruined the morning he left.
I scraped it anyway.
A Few Things I Learned
Don’t rush the melt. It’ll punish you.
The sugar blend does something right—I won’t change that part.
Also…
brownies are quieter when eaten alone in a cold kitchen.
they’re louder the next day.
What I Did With the Extras
Left the pan out overnight. Covered it with a tea towel that still smells faintly of woodsmoke and rosemary. Mae ate three for breakfast. Called them “not bad.”
That’s love, in her language.
Would I Make It Again?
Probably. But only when I need to smell coconut and regret.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The oven’s off now.
But the kitchen still smells like Provincetown. And loss. And something a little sweeter than I expected.
If you’re after something simpler, I made Martha’s lemon squares once in the middle of a storm. they helped.
FAQs
Yeah. but the edges go weird and the middle turns fudge-brick if you forget about it. still edible. just… chewy vengeance.
Honestly? Are they super sweet?depends on your day. mae said they were “fine” which usually means “too sweet but I ate three.”
Her highness says yes. i say… use what’s in the back of the drawer and taste as you go. i’ve done it with 70% bars and sworn less.
A little. but in a good way. like beach brownie energy. not sunscreen.
Then butter the pan like it insulted your mother and hope for the best. i’ve done it. it stuck. still tasted like closure.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart No Bake Cheesecake
- Martha Stewart Pecan Pie
- Martha Stewart Shortbread Cookies
- Martha Stewart Roast Chicken
Martha Stewart Chocolate Brownies
Description
Made it for comfort, not for company.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Preheat the oven: Set it to 350°F. Butter a 9-inch square pan like you mean it. Then wrestle some parchment in, leaving flaps. Butter that too. Because Martha said so.
- Melt the chocolate and fats: Do it over simmering water—chocolate, butter, and the coconut oil all together. Stir like you’re trying to remember something you forgot.
- Add the sugars: Take it off heat and toss in the white and brown sugars. Stir until your arm gets bored. It’ll look gritty. That’s fine.
- Whisk in the eggs: One at a time or all at once—I won’t tell. Just get it glossy. You’ll know. It gets smooth and a little cocky-looking.
- Fold in the dry stuff: Flour, baking powder, salt. Use a rubber spatula or a wooden spoon with a crack down the middle. Mix till it’s one shade of chocolate.
- Pour and smooth: Into the pan, gently. Press the top with the back of the spoon like you’re sealing a letter you’ll never send.
- Bake it: 35 to 40 minutes, but watch it. I let mine go to 40 and the edges crisped up like I needed them to.
- Cool and forget about it: Let it sit in the pan 20 minutes. Then lift it out, peel it back, and wait till it stops steaming. Or don’t. Eat warm. Regret nothing.