How To Win A $597 Brownie

Dear reader, if you are in need of a delicious culinary gift for the holidays, search no further. I can recommend one that, despite its eventual hefty price tag, will cost you nothing.

But to earn this rare opportunity, you must follow these 10 steps without variation, as I did recently.

Step 1. You are required to travel to the lovely Tuscan city of Lucca. An author there has offered his apartment to you and your spouse at the much-reduced price of $600 for a three-week stay. He has found accommodations nearby while the two of you, book doctors, work to strengthen his novel, a love story during World War 2.

Step 2. After spending several hours every morning on the manuscript, and touring sites of actual historical incidents, your doctoring residency ends. You hand over six Ben Franklins for the rent payment, but your host refuses to accept them, as he is grateful for your editorial services.

Step 3. Two weeks after returning to New Haven with $600 more in your bank account than you had planned on, the novelist from Lucca comes to the U.S. to visit a relative not far from the Elm City, and you, of course, offer to put him up. The author proves a cordial guest, and all goes well until…

Step 4. He fetches local treats for you, among them, one of which has been a household favorite: a $3.50 brownie from Atticus Market on Orange Street. He puts the brownie out on the counter, where you see it, and say to yourself, ​“No worries. Our dog, Lucca (named after the Tuscan city), is an accomplished food thief, but he could never reach this gluten-free, flourless treat. Which is a good thing, as you have informed him that chocolate is toxic for pooches.”

Step 5. You go to the living room where you play Wordle in the New York Times and come up with a losing five-letter word, ​“worry.” This alerts you to go back to the kitchen to see if the brownie still rests on the counter. Of course it doesn’t, only the waxed paper it was wrapped in. Lucca is staring at you. He tilts his head the way he does when he wants to inquire, ​“So, what is it you have to say to me, and why?”

Step 6. You call Poison Control, which of course puts you on hold because that night seems to be rife with dog owners trying to eliminate their poodles, schnauzers, and shih tzus. Eventually, a woman answers and advises you to take your three-year-old Lagotto Romagnolo for his first-ever visit to the Central Hospital for Veterinary Medicine, near Exit 10 on I‑91.

Step 7. Soon after you check in at the desk, a vet appears and asks how big the brownie was. ​“Oh, it was a typical-sized brownie,” you report. ​“Oh,” she replies. But she is patient with you, and has a good crate-side manner. She assures you that you are not the only pet-owning nincompoop in New Haven County. And she then takes Lucca to a room in the back.

Step 8. You think the worst, and are reminded of the tentative nature of life and the routine intrusions of unexpected death. Yet the vet soon returns with a smile on her face. ​“He’s fine,” she says, and provides the news that she got him to toss his cookies, so to speak. Lucca seems as frisky as ever. But it’s you who needs help now, for feeling faint. Your itemized bill is $594.

Step 9. However, by the time you and Lucca arrive at home, your mood is one of glee, and you are ready to celebrate the good fortune with your spouse and houseguest. This is because you have done the math, and you actually came out ahead on the deal. Having saved $600 on the author’s Lucca apartment, the Brownie Affair had cost only $597.50, so in all you have come out with a profit of $2.50. Hallelujah!

Step 10. But, you realize you are too hasty in your calculations. The state tax on take-out brownies, even ones devoid of gluten, has reduced your profit by 21 cents to only $2.29. A true bittersweet ending.