Made From RI Dispatch: The Brownie Recipe That Broke the Rules

Filed from the kitchen annex of the Studio, where the oven hums like a ferry inbound to Galilee.

It began, as these things often do, with a craving. Not for sweetness, exactly, but for texture. For something that could hold the memory of a fall afternoon in Matunuck where the goldenrod creeps in like a quiet guest and the ferry slides past unnoticed unless you’re watching. Something that could honor the grit of inheritance and the crackle of imperfection.

Enter: the Gluten-Free Cornmeal Chocolate Brownie. A square of rebellion. A humble slab of myth.

 The Ingredients of a Minor Revolution

You’ll need:

• ½ cup butter (or coconut oil, if you’re feeling coastal)
• 4 oz dark chocolate (the kind that whispers, not shouts)
• ¾ cup sugar, plus ¼ cup brown sugar (for depth, not drama)
• 3 large eggs (room temp, like a good story)
• 1 tsp vanilla extract (the memory keeper)
• ½ cup fine-ground cornmeal (stone-ground preferred, like wisdom)
• ¼ cup cocoa powder (unsweetened, unrepentant)
• ½ tsp baking powder
• ¼ tsp salt
• Optional: ½ cup chopped nuts or chocolate chips (for those who like surprises)

 Cornmeal note: For the kind of cornmeal that carries Rhode Island in its grain... flint, Johnny Cake, and stone-ground blends that speak of coastal and countryside fields and quiet mills... look no further than Made From RI. It’s where the best of Rhode Island’s food-stuffing soul is tucked into tidy bags, ready for ritual.

 The Ritual of Assembly

1. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Line an 8x8 pan with parchment, like preparing a stage.
2. Melt the butter and chocolate together—slowly, reverently. This is not a microwave moment.
3. Whisk the eggs and sugars until they look like a late October sky: pale, thick, expectant.
4. Stir in the vanilla. Pause. Smell.
5. Combine cornmeal, cocoa, baking powder, and salt. This is your grit. Your grounding.
6. Fold the dry into the wet. No drama. Just union.
7. Add your optional bits. Or don’t.
8. Spread the batter into the pan. Bake for 22–26 minutes, until the top is set and the center whispers “almost.”
9. Cool completely. Slice deliberately. Offer generously.

 Transmission Notes

These brownies are not gooey. They are not flashy. They are textured, like a good memory. They hold together like a story told twice. The cornmeal gives them a rustic edge ... a whisper of cornbread, a nod to the pantry of your grandmother’s grandmother.

They are gluten-free, yes. But more importantly, they are inheritance-friendly. They honor the crumb. They celebrate the crack. They are the kind of thing you bring to a town meeting or a quiet vigil or a porch gathering where someone’s telling stories about epic recipes and church suppers.

 Closing Dispatch

So here it is: a brownie that doesn’t ask for applause, only remembrance. Bake it. Share it. Let it crumble a little. That’s part of the charm.

And if you’re lucky, someone will start a conversation and ask, “What’s in this?”
And you’ll say, “Cornmeal.”
And they’ll pause.
And then they’ll nod.
Because they understand.

Again, find the cornmeal of your dreams right here at Made From RI: https://madefromri.com/categories/food-stuffs/corn-meal.html

 Studio Playlist: Brownie Broadcasts & Crumb Rituals

Classic Newport-style jazz and timeless vocals to accompany your baking ritual.

1. Autumn Leaves (Instrumental Version) – Stan Getz
   A mellow saxophone breeze that sets the tone for fall baking ... warm, wistful, and textured.

2. Dream A Little Dream Of Me – Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong
   A duet that feels like a porch conversation at dusk. Sweet, slow, and memory-rich.

3. Take Five – Dave Brubeck
   Rhythmic and cool, this classic jazz piece adds a syncopated heartbeat to your mixing and measuring.

4. What A Wonderful World – Louis Armstrong
   A reminder that even cracked tops and crumbly edges are part of the charm.

5. I'll Be Seeing You – Billie Holiday
   A tender farewell to the last brownie in the pan. Nostalgic and perfect for cooling moments.

 Play these while the oven hums and the ferry glides past unnoticed. Let the music seep into the batter, and the stories rise with the crumb.