​Dip-it

Recently, at a somewhat posh reception, I found myself hovering near the buffet table expounding on the achievements of ALS patient extraordinaire Chris Rosati.If you don’t know who he is check out his Facebook page and be prepared to be amazed. He makes everything we all do seem so insignificant, but that is because his actions are so much more significant with “The Butterfly Effect.”

Anyway, the brunette was off discussing the worldwide options of fashion (now that the winter witch has been driven off), and I hovered over the aforementioned buffet, all the while enlightening my friend on how people should lead their lives full speed ahead regardless of any impending doom the future might hold. The buffet was quite simple, a few well-designed appetizers and two rather innocuous dips with, of course, the seemingly innocuous chips for the dips.

Here is where social intercourse, outside of conversation, becomes interesting. I think I meant social psychology, not intercourse, but both are actually quite important when it comes to “dips” seeing as one must be careful about double-dipping. It is really frowned upon in pretty much any social situation where food is concerned. But if you had been interested in conducting a study of human nature that evening, you would have found while hovering near the buffets that, regardless of the danger of spreading germs, dips were the most frequented and consumed item. Damn the double dippers. Full speed ahead, we love dips.

So as I muddled over this in my mind I realized that dips “per se” are a part of many cultures and enjoyed by millions on a daily basis. They are a very common source of “social intercourse,”much like the other one you filthy people were thinking of. No, I meant bridge.

But here it is: you can eat dips and still play bridge as long as you don’t mess up the cards. Brilliant. I am sure the same applies to dominos and whatever board games you play.

Think about the realm, or world, of dips. Chefs and homemakers alike revel in cranking out some tasty concoctions from their home mixers, and most cultures bear their own. God knows I have consumed a lot of chili con queso, the yummy, adulterated, American version of the Mexican queso, which is made from real cheese. And then there is spinach artichoke dip or hummus or smoked fish or chicken liver pate. The list just goes on and on. It is endless. Dips are an international mainstay and a part of a country’s cultural identity. When you peruse the premade dip aisle in the local grocery store, it’s kind of like a culinary United Nations.

I haven’t attended too many peace summits or negotiations, but I am confident that if bowls of baba ganoush and warm pita chips appeared, along with Wisconsin beer cheese dip and chunks of warm bread for dipping, everyone just might chill and become nicer. Funny huh!

Baba ganoush sounds alien, maybe Muslim. More accurately, it is Levantine or Latin Christian. It can be found in Middle Eastern markets and restaurants throughout Fargo, and it is one of my favorite foods.

Dipping is communal. I guess you can do it by yourself, but who are you going to call out for double-dipping? Yourself? That’s why dips are so cool: they’re communal. It’s friends and foes getting together over a shared item.

I guess some pessimists could expound on the bad things that could come out of breaking bread with others and sharing. Do you want to know what I think? I think one ignorant “wet behind the ears” Arkansas senator should get on a plane and fly to Iran and talk to the youth. Share some Tabouli and realize they don’t all ride camels and think the world is flat. That would be people in Arkansas, riding whatever they can find and thinking the world is flat.

At the end of the day, food brings people together. Everyone knows that. Anyone could tell a heartfelt story about eating together: whether it’s about a simple stew or caviar; a family dinner or meal in a field under the stars with farmers and friends.

With that thought in mind I have a suggestion that might make this country become more real.

Close the capitol building “for renovations or revitalization” and erect a big tent on the mall in front. Bring in some port-a-potties and hold sessions of Congress right there for all to see. Outside, no summer break, put on an apron and cook for the people who voted for you. And unless you resolve some issues of the people you represent, you will stay out there until you do. What congressmen and senators seem to have forgotten is they are no better than the gas station attendant, the nurse, the cook or unemployed person in this country.

As this article is about food, I suggest before every session of Congress, members should canvass their constituency for a recipe that represents their district. And before they convene, they could all sit down and break-bread together and share said recipe. Let them agree over that and get serious on the real issues.

More “tea,” boys?

There are “dips” and then there are “dips.” Some you eat and some you elect. This is a food column, never forget that, but it just happens to contain food for thought as well.

Bon appetit!