A Banner Day!

Two minutes ago, today was a fairly ordinary day. But then I received an email from a most wonderful and sweet friend (who must remain anonymous due to the sensitivity of the information I'm about to share). We'll just call her . . . Mrs. Moonn (with 2 n's).

Mrs. Moonn is a fabulous friend for many reason, not the least of which are her compassion, her trustworthiness, and the fact that she will take my mom and I shopping for new clothes since we can't be trusted to do it on our own.

For as long as Mrs. Moonn and I have been friends (since high school), she has patiently indulged my bizarre fetish for Houston's Chicago-Style Spinach Dip. I don't actually favor Houston's restaurant over any other . . . I agree with the general opinion that it is pricier than most would want to spend on a random night out.

It's also so dark in there that you can't see a damn thing. If you get up to go the bathroom in the middle of a meal, you have to leave a trail of visible breadcrumbs or you'd never find your way back. Note to Houstons: if you are going to charge so much for your food - go ahead and invest those profits in electricity.

That being said - I would drive any distance for their Chicago-Style Spinach Dip. I choose it every year for my "Birthday Dinner" (much to the chagrin of my family). And when I got a bad case of the flu in 2006 - it was not maztah ball soup that I sent husband out for - it was Chicago-Style Spinach Dip.

Houston's Chicago-Style Spinach Dip has passed the ultimate test. My freshman year in college I went to Houstons with 2 other people, neither of which were eating much of the spinach dip that I mandated we order. Now I'm not sure how many people the dip is suppose to feed, but due to the lackadaisical eating habits of my 2 compadres, I probably ate 6, maybe 7 servings by myself. Later that night - I threw up. Nothing but spinach dip.

Unlike most people who never touch a food/drink that has headed in the wrong direction through their esophagus . . . I was not deterred.

What makes it Chicago-Style . . . I really can't say. But who am I to question what I consider to be my own personal ambrosia.

Since moving to Greenville, I am 144 miles away from the closest Houstons. And here is where Mrs. Moonn solidified herself in the annals of friendship. Somehow (top secret) Mrs. Moonn got a hold of the recipe for my beloved Chicago-Style Spinach Dip. And tonight, she sent it to me.

I will say this much - it's complicated. So complicated, in fact, that you clearly need an advanced degree to prepare it (Probably forcing a higher salary to the Ph.D. they must bring in to each restaurant and likely explaining the high priced food and lack of electric lighting).

I can guarantee that I will be attempting the recipe in the next few weeks (maybe one night when husband is on call, so I don't have to share). I'll let you know how it goes.

Thank you Mrs. Moonn. I recognize that there is a good chance that you only sent me this recipe so that you would never have to watch me gorge myself on spinach dip in public again . . . but I am grateful nonetheless. xoxox

[update: when I went to do an image search for a picture of Houston's Spinach Dip - I discovered there is actually a cookbook in existence with the recipe right there in print . . . I guess it's not the cherished secret I thought it was :) ]