Dip Culture

I didn’t always have a strong relationship with dips, or most classic Midwestern dishes for that matter. My parents moved to Fargo from Montana and California, so as much as I begged, I rarely got dishes like Hamburger Helper or Ambrosia salad. Just like moving anywhere, recipes of the ‘new land’ weren’t yet in their culinary catalog. My parents were incredible cooks, making everything from Indonesian stir fries to gardenfresh tomato sauce, but I’m sorry to say that their dips were embarrassing. On the rare occasion my dad made a dip it always started with a tub of sour cream and was paired with one of the cheapest packets of dried herbs he could find at the store. Not only that, but he barely mixed everything together so you’d either get a mouthful of just sour cream or a clump of salty dried onions. The bar was set low. Sorry, Dad.

Luckily, my friends’ parents had steady streams of dips at holidays, graduations, and sporting events. Most dips require a cream base, like sour cream, cream cheese, or melted cheese. After that, the world is your oyster (mmm… smoked oyster dip). Ham dip, French onion dip, pimento cheese dip, black bean dip. If you feel like fancying things up, take a spin around the globe with tzatziki or baba ganoush (always hits).

And then there’s the world of salsas, which don’t really classify as a dip unless the ratio is at least 51% cheese as opposed to tomatoes, at which point it really becomes “queso dip.” Apparently, queso dip is quite popular in North Dakota. A South Dakota radio station’s website lists the most-searchedfor dips by Midwestern states (they include Montana, but we’ll forgive them).

North Dakota
Queso Dip

Minnesota
Taco Dip

Wisconsin
Taco Dip

Iowa
Chili Cheese Dip

South Dakota
Pickle Dip

Nebraska
Blue Cheese Dip

MontanaNo-Bake
Peanut Butter Dip

The very essence of dips requires a dipper, which can be just as extensive and versatile as the dip itself. You can dip many items: crackers, pretzels, chips (tortilla, potato, Doritos), celery, carrots, and even cookies. But let’s be clear on something: dip is a dip, meaning you must take your dipper and dip or dunk it. Dips are not spreads or smears. We’re not that fancy, and we’re not sorry for it.

Dips really took a hit during COVID-19 when we had to distance ourselves, not only from hugs but from shared food. The very nature of dips is communal. We reach into a shared bag of chips, or grab a few stalks of celery, and then collectively dunk our dippers into a bowl or Pyrex dish of ooeygooey cheese—and anyone who says they don’t double dip is a liar. During COVID, instead of scooping dip onto a plate, we ceased dipping altogether because, let’s be honest, dip doesn’t belong on a plate. First, it unnecessarily dirties dishes, and second, depending on the viscosity of the dip, it has the sad potential to run all over the plate and then you have pickle dip mixing with marshmallow fluff, and nobody wants that. So alas, dips culture halted.

Luckily, when masks were lifted, dips came back stronger than ever. Since then, my taste buds have been on a culinary journey, tasting jalapeno popper dip, the creamiest blue cheese dip, spicy hummus (still a dip), and a Tex-Mex-inspired corn dip. I worked at an office in Fargo during the post-COVID dip surge where we hosted a “Dipsmas” Christmas party. Everyone, all 30 people, brought a dip to share. Crockpots, bowls, and baking dishes lined the kitchen counters and tables with every kind of dip you can imagine. After polling each cook, we tallied a total of 24 blocks of cream cheese used to make our buffet of dip dreams.

After graduating high school in Fargo, I left the Midwest for about twenty years, which left a dip-sized hole in my heart, but whenever I returned home I knew I could count on dips at a friend’s house, a networking event, or the Red River Market. Over the years I have been able to witness and consume an extraordinary variety of dips and this is what I have learned: for entertaining, go with a seven-layer dip or spinach artichoke dip. No one will complain. Football games cater to nostalgia with classic refried beans and cheesy hamburger dips; this isn’t a time to experiment. If you’re really wanting to impress, a salmon dip with Ritz crackers hits the mark. After witnessing Midwestern dip culture as someone living out of state, I have learned that dips also carry practicality and emotional depth. Dips travel with us to weddings and funerals and can be shared in the back of the car or at a church picnic. Never underestimate the power of a prayer circle around a bowl of Buffalo chicken dip.

Dips are about as Midwestern as it comes. Your neighbor stops by to borrow a garden hose, and the Midwestern goodbye sets in, which means you can count on another 30 to 45 minutes of conversation. Grab a block of cream cheese, open a few jars of whatever is in your fridge or cupboard, and stir vigorously. Dips allow us to do what we do best: share food and conversation simultaneously without frills. No need to sit down at a table. No need for silverware. Just place the dip in the middle of the kitchen island, open a bag of chips, and start talking about the weather, mosquitoes, or the meal train organized for Grandma May’s hip surgery—I recommend bringing a dip.