Let's get this out of the way straight off; there is nothing remotely healthy or virtuous about dip. Doesn't matter that the buffet table
appearance thereof might potentially add the occasional baby carrot or celery stalk to what otherwise would have been a produce-free day.
The presence of dip is what tells guests that they're not Chez You for a tepid Sunday brunch or a wholesome weeknight family meal. Nope, the second that soup mix meets mayo (or sour cream, or a deliciously unholy combo of the twain - and using low-fat versions is just...unseemly), it's party ON. There are people coming over (because really, you don't make it just for yourself -- not that we're judging) and they're lookin' to get dippy with it.
Dip is about rich, creamy abandon and tossing caloric concern and utensils to the wind. Dip is neither prim, nor graceful. It is, by definition, sloppy and gloppy -- ideally communal, thus requiring some manner of social contract to oversee the allowance or forbidding of the controversial double-dip. It can be the social nucleus of a gathering, minus the impairment that a similar number of trips to the bar would bring. Everyone comes to the dip bowl – young, old, man, woman, sinner, saint. Everyone, that is, save for partygoers heck-bent on making sure that each and every one of their co-celebrants know that oh my gosh, dip is soooooo bad for them, and don't they know how many calories and how much trans-fat and cholesterol and baby kitten blood is in just one ounce of that?!?
Ya know what? More dip for us.
(P.S. I'm forever in search of the perfect hot cheesy artichoke dip recipe if anyone cares to share theirs in the comments below.)
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