“MOM! It’s Super Bowl Sunday! Can you make the Gut Bomb Dip?”
I’m sure the Gut Bomb Dip has a more standardized name. But I’ve forgotten what it is.
This is the dip that I make every year for the Super Bowl. I don’t actually like football, and I’ve come to dislike the Super Bowl rather insistently. But I do like Super Bowl parties, and since we have no TV, no one would come to one at our house.
So, I do what I can to ensure that we can get ourselves invited to other people’s Super Bowl parties. I make this dip.
I also make it for Super Bowl Sunday every year because it’s the sort of thing that can only be consumed once a year. (We don’t call it the Gut Bomb Dip for nothing.) It could possibly work for the day after Thanksgiving, when no one does anything but sit around and watch college football. But nobody wants to eat a gut bomb the day after Thanksgiving. So Super Bowl Sunday it is.
There is absolutely no redeeming value to this dip. There is no diet plan that can accommodate it (unless it’s the Eat Yourself To Death Plan). It’s not Kosher, it’s not South Beach, it’s not Paleo, it’s not vegetarian, it’s not Atkins, it’s not haute cuisine, it’s not low fat, it’s not low carb. It could be Weight Watchers, if you can limit yourself to an eighth of a teaspoon of it, but no one can.
It starts so innocently.
Finely minced chicken. Who could object to that?
But then you add wing sauce, and it all goes downhill. Wing sauce, in case you didn’t know, is half butter and half hot sauce.
Pinkish-orange chicken. Yum.
And then it gets rude.
This is cream cheese melted with ranch dressing. Yes it is.
And then you add blue cheese.
So. If I have time before the party, I’ll post a finished pic. But, really, it’s probably better if I don’t.