I wish I could tell you an dramatic origin story about this clam dip, a salty-briney-creamy spread that’s made an appearance at every one of my family’s holiday parties for as long as I can remember. I'd love to say that my grandparents met while both reaching towards it, chips in hand—"No you go!"—at a friend's house in 1948. But over Thanksgiving, when I asked my mom for any details about it at all, she had little to say other than, “Your grandma always made it, and it was always a hit.”
With an endorsement that strong, does a romantic story even matter? The actual recipe itself is a bit of a non-recipe: Gather one 8-ounce brick of softened cream cheese and one 6.5-ounce can of Snow’s chopped clams. Reserve the clam juice, then add the clams and cream cheese to a bowl, and mix together with a fork, adding clam juice to thin it out as you go. The result is a salty, briney, creamy dip that’s best served with—and this part is important to my mom—Fritos.
As a kid, it became my responsibility to make the clam dip for family gatherings, and over the years, I’ve experimented with volume, minced vs chopped clams, and dippers (my mom is right about the Fritos, and since 1994, Fritos Scoops have been her favorite). And yet—it’s never gone wrong, though I do use an electric mixer to make my life easier now, especially when I’m doubling the recipe. (You should double the recipe.)
You can adapt it easily, and my grandma was even known to add a hint of Worcestershire sauce and fresh chives on top for flair. But I think the simplest version is best. And with the help of spoon-like Fritos Scoops, it’s the ideal sidekick to hours of euchre in my parents’ Michigan home. The clam dip is vintage without feeling too kitschy or overdone, trendy—because, well, have you heard of tinned fish?—and Midwestern in the best way. (Hello, cream cheese.) And easy! All it’s missing is a sexy origin story.
What’s your favorite, deliciously simple comfort holiday food?
English (US) · 