Tremendous Spinach Artichoke Dip

We need to talk about spinach artichoke dip. The greatest dip in the history of dips — and there are a LOT of dips, hummus, guacamole, French onion, that weird beer cheese thing at the place near the airport — but spinach artichoke is the KING. The king of dips. It sits in the middle of a warm bread bowl like a monarch on a throne, and it RULES. I've eaten more spinach artichoke dip than any single human on Earth. It's just a fact. I have receipts. I keep them in a folder.

Most of the dip you're seeing out there is a DISASTER. People use frozen spinach and don't squeeze the water out — this is the kind of amateur-hour nonsense that makes the whole appetizer category look bad — and then they wonder why their dip is a SOUP. A sad green soup. The chips are weeping. The crackers are confused. The bread bowl is filing a formal complaint with management. My grandmother — and she was a tough woman, hands like wrenches — taught me to squeeze that spinach like it owed her money, and she lived to be 102. Could be a coincidence. Probably not.

My dip is THICK. My dip is RICH. Cream cheese, sour cream, parmesan, mozzarella for the stretch, the spinach properly drained because we are SERIOUS PEOPLE making SERIOUS DIP. People take one bite and they look up at the ceiling like they're consulting with God. They say, 'Bigly, what have you done to me.' I tell them what I did. I refused to be a coward at the squeeze step. That's the whole secret. That's the whole game. End of discussion.

Pull it out of the oven, bubbling, golden, magnificent — the kind of golden that makes other dips look pale and apologetic — and put it right in the middle of the table. Don't bother with serving utensils, this is a dive-in situation, this is a 'forget the napkins' situation. People will gather. People will crowd around. Someone will say 'I'm only having one chip' and they will eat forty-three chips. That's the power of the dip. That's the power of doing it RIGHT. Tell your friends.