“But what got me, in regards to these brownies, was the smell. Of course a coffee shop will smell divine. Obviously. But this place has boards up at the ceiling with the neatest handwriting you’ve ever seen spelling out at least a hundred different beans. Imagine that much coffee in one place. Imagine the density of the aroma, the overpowering fragrance of a metric fuck ton of coffee in a small, old ground floor room of a small, old building. Imagine that. That is what these brownies taste like.
Like the smell of McNulty’s; like the coded chatter of baseball scores that I have never bothered to understand but have listened to all the same; like the repetitive motion of tape on bags, tape on bags, tape on bags; like coming into the shop off of pretty, tree-lined Christopher Street and joining the reverent queue around the tea jars; like the whiteboards crammed with names of more coffee than you can actually imagine. They taste, essentially, like the earliest memories I have of New York City. Am I being melodramatic? Are you rolling your eyes at me? Then why don’t you just go and make these lovely little things, read this post again, and see who’s scoffing now.”
I talk a lot about the emotional impact of a brownie that is probably an inch by an inch, but beyond that, it is a really good recipe. So you should probably try it.