My name is Fanny and I am a dealer.
I am new to this business and I’ll admit that I’ve clearly not thought this through. I accept no money. My reward is the expression on the faces of the uninitiated as their addiction takes hold. It only takes one hit and they are mine forever.
Yeah, OK. Enough of the Baltimore crap. I make brownies. People love them. What of it?
I saw the cover of BBC Good Food magazine earlier in the year and thought “I can totally make that for colleagues as a birthday treat”. The recipe was really easy to follow and I was pleased with the results. The next day they disappeared in a feeding frenzy. “OH. MY. GOD.” “YOUGOTTAMAKESOMEMORE!”
It took me a while but last week I did (after a not-so-subtle reminder from Boss Lady). We recently merged departments and I thought it a good excuse to make friends and influence people.
Colleague1: “Would you like a brownie?”
Colleague2: “Ooh, yes please … did someone make these?”
Colleague1: “Yes, Fanny made them – they’re amazing!”
Colleague2: “Oh wow, thanks, Fanny”
Fanny: “You’re welcome!”
Colleague2: Eats brownie. Frowns. Turns to me. Nods head. Smiles.
Colleague3: “Oh my god. That was practically indecent!”
You get the drift.
The next day Colleague2 made the mother of all tea rounds so I asked if he’d like one of the last two remaining slices. His hand was in the cookie jar before I’d finished my sentence. Another one bites the dust.
Imagine my horror upon returning to work that morning in a post-deal high to be told “Colleague4 made brownies yesterday but we voted yours best”. WHAT? EXCUSE ME? What craziness is this? I’ve clearly wandered on to someone else’s patch. Shiiiiiiiiit! Apparently Colleague4 made salt caramel brownies as well as chocolate and raspberry ones. You couldn’t make it up.
I’ve been informed that the other offerings were firmer and drier – this recipe tends toward the gooey. It depends on your preference I guess. I am currently making a new drug batch for friends but feel there is no need to head towards the New Jack City method of ‘cooking’. No naked chefs in my crib, mofo. For now.