The pleading excuse of “I’m not from around here” is starting to wear thin. I’ve been an Arkansan for something like 43 weeks. I’ve reluctantly chanted something about a Pig Sooie and bravely ventured to Cajun’s Warf (once). I’ve driven from West Memphis to Arkadelphia to Mountain View to Bentonville. At this point, I’m from around here.
But some things still remain a mystery to this Chicago transplant.
First up: Cheese dip. Somebody could have warned me about all this cheese dip. Where the outside world is comfortable ordering up queso at their neighborhood Mexican spot, Little Rock takes it to another level. Out to a $30 a plate dinner with your significant other? Cheese dip. Lunch with the girls downtown? Cheese dip. An order of enchiladas? Yeah, just dump the cheese dip on top. White or yellow, spicy or mild, plain or with mix-ins, nearly every restaurant in town has their own version of this stuff. And yes, I know about the World Cheese Dip Championship.
A few weeks ago I was out of town for a few days and when I came back, I even found myself craving an order of cheese dip. You win, Little Rock.