Last month, I brought brownies to my book club. Nothing fancy—just squares on a vintage plate I’d found at Goodwill, dusted with powdered sugar because I’d run out of time to make ganache. Within minutes, three different people had cornered me for the recipe. “Is this the Ina Garten one?” Sarah asked, licking chocolate from her thumb. “No wait, it’s that Alice Medrich recipe, isn’t it?”
I smiled and changed the subject, because the truth was too embarrassing: They came from a box. A $1.47 box from Walmart, to be precise.
This discovery came after what I can only describe as a brownie investigation. I’d tested nine different boxed mixes over two weeks, turning my kitchen into a chocolate-scented laboratory and my neighbors into increasingly enthusiastic taste-testers. I was searching for that unicorn of convenience baking—a mix that could genuinely pass for homemade. What I found challenged everything I thought I knew about grocery store hierarchies.
The methodology (or: how I ate brownies for science)
Here’s how this started: My sister texted me a photo of brownies she’d made for her son’s bake sale, captioned “Duncan Hines + prayer.” They looked perfect—that tissue-paper top that shatters when you cut it, edges that pull away from the pan just so. Nobody questioned that they were homemade. This bothered me more than it should have.
So I did what any reasonable person would do: bought every brownie mix I could find and started baking. The lineup included the usual suspects (Betty Crocker, Pillsbury, Duncan Hines), the boutique options (Ghirardelli, Trader Joe’s), and yes, the budget brands most of us walk past without a second glance.
Each batch got the same treatment: mixed according to package directions, baked in identical 8×8-inch metal pans at the temperature specified on each box, tested on the same unsuspecting friends who now avoid my “quick question about dessert” texts. I took notes like a sommelier—”notes of cocoa,” “synthetic vanilla finish,” “mouthfeel reminiscent of Play-Doh.”
The one nobody saw coming
Great Value Fudge Brownies. Walmart’s house brand. The mix that costs $1.47 (as of this writing) and comes in packaging so generic it might as well be labeled “BROWNIE MIX” in Arial font.
These brownies have everything we’ve been trained to recognize as “homemade”—a complex chocolate flavor that doesn’t scream sweet, a texture that walks the perfect line between fudgy and chewy, and that coveted shiny, crackly top that looks like aerial photography of dried earth. They’re deeply chocolatey without being bitter, rich without being heavy, and they leave a little chocolate essence on your fingers that makes you lick them without thinking about it.
In my testing, tasters described them as “rich, flavorful, chewy, and expensive.” One friend even guessed they must be “an expensive box.” The 18.3-ounce package makes a standard 8×8 pan of brownies, yielding about 16 squares.
The cult favorite that divides rooms
If Great Value was the surprise winner, Trader Joe’s Brownie Truffle Baking Mix ($3.99) was the controversial artist—you either get it or you don’t. This mix has been on their shelves for more than 25 years and has earned a cult following. The magic starts with Dutch cocoa, which gives these brownies an intense, rich chocolate flavor, plus chocolate chips included in the mix.
Here’s the thing about these brownies: they’re not trying to please everyone. They’re unapologetically dark, slightly bitter, with a depth that makes some people close their eyes and others reach for milk. The first bite hits you with an almost espresso-like intensity.
I served these to two different groups. The wine-and-cheese crowd went wild—”This tastes expensive,” “Is there espresso in here?” The kids’ birthday party parents? Politely took one bite and reached for the Duncan Hines batch instead. Note: This mix makes a smaller batch than most—perfect for an 8×8 pan but won’t stretch to 9×13.
The reliable classic that never disappoints
Speaking of Duncan Hines, their Chewy Fudge mix ($1.72 at my Walmart) is like that friend you call when you need someone dependable. It won’t surprise you, but it won’t let you down either. “If you think, ‘What does a brownie taste like?’ then this is exactly what springs to mind,” as one taster put it.
These Duncan Hines brownies have that beautiful tissue paper-like top that’s become their signature. They’re the brownies of your childhood birthday parties, the ones that taste like nostalgia and make you feel seven years old in the best way. Safe? Yes. Boring? Never. The 18.2-ounce box yields 20 brownies in a 9×13 pan.
The secret to making any mix taste homemade
Here’s what two weeks of brownie testing taught me: the difference between “from a box” and “from scratch” often comes down to technique, not ingredients. The pros know these tricks:
The butter swap: Replace vegetable oil with melted butter (or vegan butter like Miyoko’s). Use the same amount, but let it cool slightly first. This single change adds richness that oil can’t match.
The coffee connection: Add a tablespoon of instant espresso powder to the dry mix. You won’t taste coffee—you’ll taste more chocolate. It’s like turning up the bass on your stereo.
The extra yolk trick: Add one egg yolk (in addition to the eggs called for). This creates that dense, fudgy texture. For vegan version, add an extra tablespoon of ground flax mixed with 3 tablespoons water, let it gel for 5 minutes.
The buttermilk move: Replace water with buttermilk (or oat milk with a teaspoon of lemon juice for vegan). The acidity brightens the chocolate flavor while the richness adds depth.
The underbake principle: Whatever time the box says, subtract two minutes. The toothpick should come out with moist crumbs, not clean. They’ll continue cooking in the pan.
The vegan plot twist that actually works
Here’s something that shocked me: some of the best brownies I made were vegan. Not “good for vegan,” but genuinely good. Many Duncan Hines mixes don’t contain dairy or eggs in the mix itself—check the ingredients as formulations can change.
The magic happens with aquafaba (that liquid from a can of chickpeas). Use 3 tablespoons of aquafaba to replace each egg called for on the box. Sounds bizarre, tastes like… brownies. Really good brownies. The aquafaba creates that same shiny, crackly top and fudgy interior. One taster, not knowing they were vegan, asked if I’d used “fancy French butter.”
For the Great Value mix, I tried Bob’s Red Mill Egg Replacer (follow package directions) plus vegan butter instead of oil. The result? My vegan friend Amy took home half the pan, claiming they were the best brownies she’d had in years.
The Trader Joe’s mix worked brilliantly with “flax eggs”—1 tablespoon ground flaxseed mixed with 3 tablespoons water per egg, left to gel for 5 minutes. The earthy flax actually complemented the dark chocolate intensity. Add vegan butter and oat milk, and even the dairy-devoted couldn’t tell the difference.
Important note: Always check current ingredients as formulations change. What’s accidentally vegan today might not be tomorrow.
The prestigious brands that underperformed
Ghirardelli Chocolate Supreme—the brand we associate with San Francisco fog and gift-shop sophistication—left me confused. At $5-6 a box, with that gold packaging that whispers “premium,” I expected transcendence. While it had a classic fudgy taste, testers felt it lacked deep chocolate flavor. They weren’t bad. They were just… fine. For that price, fine feels like failure.
Betty Crocker, America’s grandma of baking, produced what I can only describe as “brownies for people who don’t really like brownies.” Sweet, cakey, inoffensive. The undisputed champion of the baking aisle earned a unanimous “meh” from the panel.
Pillsbury? One bite and done. Not terrible, just forgettable—which might be worse.
What I learned from my brownie investigation
After all this testing, after my freezer became a brownie archive, here’s what I know: we’ve been snobs about the wrong things.
That Great Value mix that costs less than a greeting card? It beats mixes that cost five times as much. That Trader Joe’s mix people drive across town for? It’s genuinely special, but only if you like your chocolate like you like your coffee—strong enough to make you pay attention.
The real revelation wasn’t finding the best mix, though. It was realizing that the difference between “homemade” and “from a box” is mostly in our heads. Give me any decent brownie mix, let me add real butter instead of oil, toss in some espresso powder, and pull them out just before they’re done, and I’ll give you brownies that make people ask for your recipe.
Storage note: All brownies keep in an airtight container at room temperature for 3 days, or freeze for up to 2 months wrapped well.
The verdict
If you want to impress without the stress, grab that Great Value mix. Yes, really. Dress it up with the butter-and-espresso treatment if you want, but honestly? Even straight from the directions, they’re good enough to lie about.
If you’re baking for adults who appreciate complexity, get the Trader Joe’s. Serve them barely warm with good vanilla ice cream (or coconut vanilla for vegan) and watch people’s faces change.
If you’re baking for a crowd with mixed tastes—kids, grandparents, that friend who thinks dark chocolate is “too much”—go Duncan Hines. It’s the crowd-pleaser, the safe bet, the brownie everyone recognizes and nobody complains about.
For gluten-free bakers: Both Great Value and Trader Joe’s make gluten-free versions that several testers couldn’t distinguish from regular. King Arthur’s gluten-free mix also got high marks, though at $7.99, you’re paying for the privilege.
But here’s my real advice, the thing I learned after all those batches: stop overthinking it. The best brownie is the one you actually make. The one you pull from the oven while your kitchen smells like chocolate heaven. The one you share with people who don’t care about the pedigree of your cocoa.
Though if they ask for the recipe, maybe just smile and change the subject. Some secrets are worth keeping.
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