We Made All Your Favorite Super Bowl Snacks Even Better
We asked a few of our chef friends to reinterpret game-day party snacks from wings to sliders.
We know how you spend the Super Bowl. Every year, you empty your bank account on a sick mani and fine jewels, only to realize that you've got no time or money left for the most important part of game day: the food.
But it needn't be so. Instead of relying on a stale bag of tortilla chips and jarred cheesy dip, take a page from the annals of history and enjoy the finest halftime snacks from the 60s through the aughts.
We asked a few of our chef friends to do just that for us—reinterpreting Super Bowl party snacks with quality ingredients and good technique. (You can check out all of them and more in our recipe collection here.)
All photos by Alastair Casey, a Brooklyn-based photographer. Food styling by Michelle Gatton. Fashion styling by Kat Banas. Manicures by Holly Lynn Falcone.
Charlotte Kamin of Bedford Cheese Shop (Brooklyn, NY) "Fondue is a great Super Bowl Sunday addition 'cause it's a vat of bubbling cheese into which you can dip anything you want. Literally. Anything. Think mini pigs-in-a-blanket, taquitos, crustless tea sandwiches; there is nothing that can't be elevated by being dipped into a gooey, indulgent puddle of melted cheese. The 60s and 70s were a badass time when the wonderous world of France was all chic and shit. Every woman was hot and smoked Gitanes, and all the men wore berets and were all brooding and foxy. Fondue is actually Swiss and not French, but does that really matter? We're all gonna be shitfaced by halftime, scraping off the charred ends of the cheese from the bottom of the fondue pot. This is a super-tasty treat. Try it with a dollop of seven-layer dip on top."
1970s: Buffalo Wings
Michael Fojtasek and Grae Nonas of Olamaie (Austin, Texas) "You can't fight the instant classic. We still watch Star Wars, so why wouldn't we be eating Buffalo wings in 2015? Also, maybe folks feel bad, because not that many great things come from Buffalo, New York."
1980s: 7-Layer Dip
Jamie Bissonnette of Toro (NYC and Boston) "I think that Tupperware parties, late 70s casseroles, and potlucks were the reason that recipes like 7-layer dip came to be. They could be easily transported in family-style plateware, and used things that were already made: canned beans, salsa, canned soup, and shit like that.
I think it stands the test of time not only because there's an element of nostalgia, but because it's simply delicious. The dishes I remember from that era that sucked really badly—like American chop suey casserole—are pretty much gone. Also, 7-layer dip can be made in so many ways, and it's so easy. That helps to keep it relevant.
I like my version because it's easy to make—it has some homemade elements, but those can be left out in a pinch and the dip would still be rad."
1990s: Pizza Bagels
Dianna Daoheung, Chef and Head Baker at Black Seed Bagel (Manhattan, New York) "When pizza is on a bagel, you can eat pizza any time—whether it's the 90s or 2015."
Chris Kronner of Kronner Burger (San Francisco, California) [Editor's Note: We asked Chris Kronner of Kronner Burger to provide a slider recipe, which he agreed to do despite the fact that "this goes against everything I believe in, because I hate sliders, but whatever." He also included a rant about Al Qaeda, Rachel Ray, and White Castle, which we have declined to publish here.]
"I have to admit a personal hatred of sliders. Maybe I don't understand the draw. Why not make or order a normal-sized and correctly proportioned hamburger, and cut it into four pieces like a group of adults? If there are three of you, cutting equal portions may be slightly more difficult, but ultimately it's not that complicated. If you're alone, eat a normal hamburger or cut it in half if you can't digest full-sized food. Sliders are usually just crappy miniature versions of a larger sandwich covered in ridiculous condiments and garnishes.
The recipe that follows is an overly complicated version of the White Castle slider. I won't call it an improvement, but it utilizes slightly higher-quality ingredients. It consists of a potato bun, a 1.5-ounce beef patty (a coarsely ground combo of dry-aged Holstein beef and fresh Angus—both grass-fed, both from Marin county), steamed white onion, a slice of dill pickle, a slice of bone marrow, and bread crumbs fried in marrow fat (to intensify the beefiness and add some texture). Cheddar mayo and really hot mustard are optional."
This article originally appeared on MUNCHIES in January 2015.