High Altitude Browned Butter Pumpkin Bread (with Chocolate Chips!)

You guys, there’s a story to go along with this beautiful High Altitude Browned Butter Pumpkin Bread with Chocolate Chips. Did you drool when you read the name? I know I did. I mean, come on — browned butter, chocolate chips, and pumpkin? That’s basically the trifecta of cozy fall goodness. It smells like a sweater weather candle, tastes like autumn itself, and looks like the kind of bake that makes you feel like you’ve got your life together (even if your kitchen looks like a pumpkin exploded).

But before we dive into the recipe, I need to tell you something. This story has drama. Intrigue. Villainy. Trauma. And a first-grade teacher I still can’t forgive.

Let me set the stage.

Ivy — my beautiful, brilliant, college-junior, practically-a-grown-up daughter — is so anti-pumpkin it’s not even funny. And listen, I’ve tried to sway her. I’ve played the “it’s tradition!” card. I’ve made gentle autumnal suggestions like, “Maybe just a sniff of pumpkin bread?” I’ve even attempted a diplomatic approach involving whipped cream bribery. No dice.

And there’s a reason.

Way back when Ivy was six years old, her first-grade class had what they called “Pumpkin Day.” Now, most of this event was adorable. They measured pumpkins, counted seeds, made little paper jack-o’-lantern crafts. All fine. Wholesome. Pinterest-worthy.

But then came The Incident.

At one of the stations, the kids were supposed to “taste pumpkin.” You’d think that would mean pumpkin muffins, or maybe roasted pumpkin seeds, or at least something that had, you know, flavor. Nope. This station involved raw canned pumpkin. Just straight out of the can. No sugar, no spice, just… orange goo.

Now, if you know anything about Ivy (or about ARFID, which she’s had since forever), you know that forcing her to put something unfamiliar in her mouth is a terrible idea. Like, level ten meltdown waiting to happen. But this teacher — not even Ivy’s regular teacher, mind you — was on some kind of weird power trip. She told Ivy she had to try it before moving to the next activity.

Ivy politely said no. She asked to skip. She explained that she couldn’t. And this woman still made her do it.

So my sweet little six-year-old, trying to hold it together in a room full of classmates, took a microscopic bite of canned pumpkin — and immediately freaked out. Not because it tasted bad (though it did), but because she was forced into a situation that felt completely unsafe to her.

And you guys, I swear, that was it. Pumpkin was dead to her. Forever.

To this day, she can’t stand the smell. Pumpkin pie? Off the table. Pumpkin spice latte? Forget it. Pumpkin bread? Not happening. Basically, one overzealous teacher robbed me of a PSL buddy and a shared love of pumpkin baked goods.

And yes, I’m still mad about it.

So here I am, many years later, making the most delicious pumpkin bread of my life — and knowing full well that my daughter will not touch it. I’ll slice it, wrap it up, put it in the bread box, and she’ll walk right by like it’s made of radioactive waste.

So I need you, my friend, to take one for the team. Make this bread. Love it for both of us. Eat a warm slice with butter melting into all the nooks and crannies, and think of Ivy — who deserved a better first-grade “pumpkin experience” — and me, who just wanted to bake something cozy without being emotionally scarred by a can of Libby’s.

Alright. Therapy session over. Let’s bake.

High Altitude Browned Butter Pumpkin Bread with Chocolate Chips

Ingredients

• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter

• 1 ½ cups granulated sugar

• ½ cup packed brown sugar

• 3 large eggs

• 1 15-ounce can pumpkin purée (not pumpkin pie filling)

• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract

• 2 ½ cups all-purpose flour

• 1 teaspoon baking soda

• ½ teaspoon baking powder

• 1 teaspoon salt

• 2 teaspoons cinnamon

• 1 teaspoon nutmeg

• ½ teaspoon ground ginger

• ½ teaspoon allspice

• ½ cup whole milk (or buttermilk, if you’re fancy)

• 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Instructions

1. Brown the butter.
   In a saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Keep cooking, swirling occasionally, until it turns a rich golden brown and smells like toasted hazelnuts — about 5 to 7 minutes. Don’t walk away! It goes from “beautifully browned” to “burned regret” in seconds. Remove from heat and let it cool for 10 minutes.

2. Preheat the oven to 350°F. (For high altitude, that’s perfect — no adjustment needed here.) Grease and line a 9x5-inch loaf pan with parchment paper, leaving a little overhang for easy lifting.

3. Whisk the dry ingredients.
   In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and all those glorious spices. It’ll smell like fall and happiness.

4. Mix the wet ingredients.
   In a large bowl, whisk together the sugars, eggs, and vanilla until smooth. Add the cooled browned butter and whisk again. Stir in the pumpkin purée until it’s all one cozy orange mix.

5. Combine.
   Add half the dry ingredients to the wet, then pour in the milk, then the rest of the dry ingredients. Stir gently — just until everything’s combined. Overmixing = sad, dense bread. Nobody wants that.

6. Fold in the chocolate chips.
   And if you accidentally spill in a few extra? I fully support your life choices.

7. Pour and bake.
   Pour the batter into your prepared loaf pan and smooth the top. Bake for about 60–70 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean (except for a little melted chocolate — that’s fine).
   High altitude baking can be tricky, so if you’re above 5,000 feet, keep an eye on it after 55 minutes. You might need to add 2 tablespoons extra flour if your loaves tend to sink.

8. Cool and devour.
   Let the bread cool in the pan for 15 minutes, then lift it out to a rack to cool completely. Slice thick, serve warm, and consider adding a smear of butter or cream cheese if you’re feeling indulgent.

This bread is tender, rich, and perfectly spiced, with little pops of melted chocolate in every bite. It’s the kind of bake that fills your house with the smell of browned butter and cozy nostalgia.

Even if you don’t have a complicated pumpkin backstory (lucky you), I promise this one’s worth it.

So here’s what I’m asking: make this bread, eat it, and send me a mental high-five while you do. Tell me if your family loves it. Tell me if your kitchen smelled like heaven. Tell me if someone said, “Wait, what is that amazing smell?” and you got to proudly say, “Browned butter pumpkin bread, my friend.”

And as for Ivy? I’ll keep hugging her and reminding her that pumpkin doesn’t have to be the enemy. But if she never comes around, that’s okay too. No one should ever be forced to taste anything — especially not cold canned pumpkin.

Meanwhile, I’ll just be over here, eating another slice of this glorious bread, sipping my coffee, and toasting (literally and figuratively) to fall.

And maybe — just maybe — to forgiveness.