Consider the dip. It is powerful. In almost any situation or circumstance, to bring out a dip, or to arrive with a dip, brings instant joy.
This is because dips are a supportive instrument. Everybody always has implements suited to going into a dip – crisps, bread, crackers. These are usually around. But dips? Dips aren’t a mainstay, because their shelf life is much shorter, and they are mostly found in small pots rather than in sizable loaves or big bags.
And so to proclaim: “Look, I’ve got a dip” is a gratifying and pleasurable part of life for both the giver and the receiver.
Dips are also about sharing, which only serves to elevate their prestige. Yes, people might, on occasion, enjoy a dip alone, but they are far better suited to group dining. You might argue that most things are, but dips are one of those pleasures that so roundly orchestrate a collective ideal.
There at the buffet, on the kitchen counter or the living-room coffee table, is a dip, and people dance around it, making way for others, always checking their periphery before easing in with a linseed cracker or a hunk of chewy sourdough. “Oh, go ahead,” you might say, allowing your companion to scoop up the hummus. And then you scoop up the hummus afterwards. And on it goes until the hummus is gone.
There isn’t anything wrong with shop-bought dips. Sometimes cheap dips are exactly what is needed. Chips, in a pub, are best complemented by simple ketchup or mayonnaise – or aioli. A sour cream and chive dip pairs so selectively with Doritos; its presence is almost enigmatic. Salsa, too, is a big-time dip. You probably enjoyed it recently with fine crisp tortillas, their salt and oil offset by the acidic grace of the tomato juice, sugar and gentle heat.
But such are dips’ importance that to make one’s own brings new heights of satisfaction. To present a homemade dip is going beyond the natural order and for that everyone can only be thankful.
Chopping, seasoning, blending, storing. Well done for doing those things and for supposing the dip might match so daintily with whatever else has been prepared. It’s a gamble, sure, but what is life without a risky dip? Indeed, in an increasingly repressive world, sometimes it is in those small fancies that happiness is found.
Then again, it’s also advisable to armour oneself with approved, well-trodden dips. This one, from Monika Linton, the founder of the Spanish deli Brindisa, is a sure-fire option: a mix of butter beans and artichokes, fancy enough to raise a few eyebrows but restrained enough so as to not suggest an over-eagerness to impress. The ingredients suggested are high-end, although a regular tin of butter beans and supermarket artichokes would suffice.
Either way, enjoy it.
BUTTER BEAN AND ARTICHOKE DIP:
Ingredients:
700g jar large butter beans, rinsed and drained (we use Navarrico Judión)
200g marinated artichokes (about 4), chopped (we use Navarrico)
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil + a little to finish
2 tsp lemon juice
¼ tsp salt
Small pinch of white pepper
3 tbsp cold water
Parsley leaves for garnish
Method:
Put all the ingredients – except water – in a food processor. Pulse until fairly smooth. Add water and pulse to incorporate.
Serve misted/very little drizzled with olive oil and garnish with parsley.
To use as a spread, omit the water.
