If I knew someone who was getting married or having a baby, this is the dish I would bring to the shower.

Yes, I’d saunter in with my hair all shiny and flippy and my dress not-slutty with this Mediterranean 7-Layer Dip clutched protectively to my bosom. But not so protectively that I dip my bosom into it. That would be awkward.

I’d say my hellos, all hugs and kisses and clouds of perfume, and place my special dish on the center kitchen island, carefully removing the plastic wrap so as to not dislodge one single, strategic sprinkle or layer of hummus, tapenade, yogurt, pesto, feta, grape tomato, red onion, parsley. The guest-of-honor’s grandmother’s sister’s best friend, Linda, would be hovering at my elbow, oohing and ahhing. Is that lemon zest?

Yes, in fact, it is lemon zest, ethereal whispers of brightness threaded amongst the onions and parsley. Linda would be making such a production of my zest whispers, gesticulating madly with her freshly manicured hands, that it would attract a small crowd of inquiring minds. What’s in there? How clever! That must have taken you all day to make!

I would smile sheepishly, in the way that my almost half-dimple appears.

I would not, under any circumstance, tell them it took me all of 10 minutes to throw it together because I just opened up a bunch of containers from Trader Joe’s.

I wouldn’t tell them I was inspired by the traditional mexican dip, but I nixed the actual mexican idea because I thought it too trashy to bring to a high-falutin shower like this.

No one wants stinky refried beans alongside Quiche Lorraine and pink cupcakes.

No offense to mexican food, of course. I can love all over, up, and under some refried beans and cheese but it just doesn’t seem to fit every occasion, ya know. Plus, Linda wouldn’t want to get any under her nails..

So I translated those 7 layers to something Mediterranean, that makes you think whitewashed houses studding a greek coastline. It something that requires pita chips or fancy crackers and a glass of Pinot Noir. It’s classy, with an honest-to-Goddess capital “C.”

Now, if only I knew someone who was knocked up or getting hitched – I wouldn’t be sitting on the couch, scraping the remnants of these 7 layers out of that pie dish with a Dorito (because I polished off the pita chips earlier in the day).

Mediterranean 7-Layer Dip

2 1/2 cups hummus
1 cup greek yogurt
1/3 cup pesto
3/4 cup tapenade
3/4 cup feta
1/2 cup grape tomatoes, cut in halves
1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
1 tablespoon freshly parsley, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh basil, chopped
1 teaspoon lemon zest

In a serving dish, arrange the layers in following order, starting from the bottom: hummus, yogurt, pesto, tapenade, feta, tomatoes, red onion, parsley, basil, lemon zest. Keep refrigerated until ready to serve. Can be assembled one day ahead of serving.

Are you planning your Superbowl party menu? Good – add this hummus to the spread. (Oh, I’m so punny!)

Look, hummus isn’t anything earth-shattering. I surmise it won’t be long before McDonalds is serving it up alongside their chicken nuggets, or something. But this hummus is special because it’s THE ONLY hummus I plan on ever making. (Dramatic, much?)

This hummus recipe is inspired by my favorite place to eat lunch in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD (yes, dramatic very much), Max’s Grille in Boca Raton, Florida. This place has the royal trifecta:

–outside seating
–great food
–great people watching

Awesome people watching, actually. I can skip my weekly dose of Bravo TV and Us magazine when I lunch here.

I can watch dogs in pink strollers roll by, Bentleys roll by, tweens dressed like Brittany Spears stroll by, mothers dressed like Brittany Spears stroll by. And grandmas dressed like. . . oh, nevermind. But a lot of them are on the prowl, so Ashton Kutcher better stay away.

I can see freshly bandaged noses and ladies who lunch while sharing with each other their face lift scars. Oh, and there’s palm trees and sunshine, too.

All this, while I shove forkful after forkful of their complimentary hummus into my pie hole, intermittently wiping it from my chin and out of my hair. It’s an unbelievably sexy picture. I call it my anti-rape look.

Each time Mr Hausfrau and I lunch there, this is the scene:

Me: (while thinly spreading the hummus on a plate and peering closely at it) I really need to figure out what’s in here. I really need to make this at home. What do you think is in here? Do you think that’s parsley or cilantro? I really need to make this. I really need to figure this out. I wonder if they’ll tell me? Is that tomato? Is that parsley? I think they use sesame oil, don’t you? Or is it extra tahini? What do you think? Do you like it? Should I make it at home? Are you staring at that girl’s bubbies? Are you listening to me?

Mr. Hausfrau: Sure, whatever makes you happy.

That Mr. Hausfrau sure is a trooper. Kudos to him for knowing the difference between cilantro and parsley.

After several at-home attempts at Max’s magical hummus, I think I finally nailed it. It’s a relief to know that I can enjoy this at home, in my pajamas, on the couch, and a dog cuddled at each hip. It’s certainly not as glamorous as the real thing, but who needs glamour when you have obedient animals to lick hummus smudges off your knee?

Hummus a la Max’s

1 15-ounce can of chickpeas, rinsed and drained
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon water
6 tablespoons tahini
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon roasted sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons sundried tomatoes (oil packed), diced

Pulse the chickpeas, lemon jucie, water and salt in food processor until mostly ground. Scrape down the bowl and add the olive and sesame oils. Process until the mixture is totally smooth and creamy.

Transfer the hummus to a bowl and fold in the parsley and sundried tomoatoes. Refrigerate 1 hour, allowing the hummus to thicken and the flavors to combine.

So, let’s say you lucked out this year and you’re not hosting Thanksgiving.

That means that you won’t have to spend extra hours this week scrubbing toilets and dusting the toilet paper roll holder. (What? You never know what explorations guests will make when idle upon the commode.)

Anyway, your baseboards are staying delightfully crusty this holiday and for this, I am jealous of you.

Where ever you’re going, you won’t be showing up empty handed, right?

Well, save that 12 pack of Coors Light for President’s Day, because I have something better for you to bring – pimento cheese dip.

A few weeks ago, had I heard that same exact phrase thrown my way, I would have ba-haa-haa’d my way into squirting soda through my nose. Pimento cheese was that weird gelled block on the refrigerator aisle. It made me think of single wide trailers and a smoldering cigarette precariously tipped from cousin Lurleen’s mouth as she stirs pickles into aunt Beaulah’s potato salad.

But I’ve changed my mind. It’s quite the Bildungsroman: A few months ago, Mr. Hausfrau and I traveled to a wedding in North Carolina. Every restaurant menu we encountered had pimento cheese on it. No joke. Pimento cheese and crackers. Pimento cheese on burgers. Pimento cheese on biscuits. When I ordered my burger without the pimento cheese suggested on the menu and subbed american cheese, the waiter looked at me funny. And I looked at Mr Hausfrau funny.

It was a knowing look amongst two yuppie and sadly ignorant northerners that said, “Pshaw! Pimento cheese – how inbred and ga-ross! I suppose they think that stuffing is a vegetable, too!”

But the pimento cheese, or rather, its prevalence haunted me. Was I missing out on something? When we got home, I knew I had to get to the bottom of this. I did some googling and came across lots and lots of recipes for the pimento cheese. I also came across lots and lots of love for the pimento cheese.

Obviously, I had to make some.

When I tasted my concoction, I kinda couldn’t believe my taste buds. I decided to REALLY test this stuff out. I gave some to Mr. Hausfrau. He lit up and did his best Oliver Twist impression, “Mum, can I have some more?”

(Actually, it was a little more like, “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me?“)

And after that, I hung my head in shame and promised the heavens that I would never doubt those southern cooks. Mayo and cheese really DOES make everything taste better. I hope they’ll let me back over the border because nothing beats a southern biscuit.

Anyway, the pimento cheese: This stuff is creamy, rich and smoky – an awesome contrast to any fresh, crisp, and juicy stick of veggie. Spread generously on a cracker or toast point, this dip will make you hum with delight and not even realize it. It’ll make a believer out of you like it did out of me.

If you bring this for Thanksgiving, I promise that everyone will think you’re a rockstar and they’ll overlook the fact that you also brought cranberry sauce from a can.

And if your host is lucky, it will also distract guests from the dog hair on the television screen.

(Or the dog hair in the dip.)

Pimento Cheese Dip

2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
4-ounce jar of pimentos, drained
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon honey

Dump all the ingredients in a food processor and puree until smooth. Refrigerate the mixture at least 30 minutes, allowing it to thicken and the flavors to develop. Serve.

Do I have weird issues with food?

We won’t go there.

But, you know what I’m talking about: when the texture – the texture! – is so amazing and other-worldy that you just want to revel in it, and the only thing you can do is mimic your dogs and rub your nose and cheeks in it.

Never mind that it’s deer poop that gets the dogs all revved up.

I’m going to be really honest with you, however – on a cranky day, you’ll find this dip a real pain-in-the-you-know-whatsky to make.   First, you need to cut a pumpkin open (good luck keeping your fingers on that one).  Then you need to slice it and peel it (say good bye to your thumb if you still have it).  Oh, and obviously, you need to get all the seeds and slimy guts out.

Then, the pumpkin goes in the oven for 3 hours.  So, I hope you aren’t hungry.

But once your pumpkin is done, it’s all a cake walk (Cake?  Where is it?  And is there buttercream involved?)  You just puree the cooled pumpkin with a few easy ingredients and proceed to lick the spoon and processer bowl clean.  (Be careful with the blade, mkay?)

Now, I know once you taste this, you won’t want to share it, but you should because it really is the nice thing to do.  You can use it as a sandwich spread if not a gorgeous dip with any dipable device of your choice (veggies, apples, finger, you get it).

If you really want to make friends, serve this for Thanksgiving.  Your guest will definitely give you lots of thanks, perhaps even kiss you. (Maybe slip in some tongue)  (Ugh, I know, right!  Those people need some manners)

So anyway, find yourself a lazy afternoon and make this dip.  You’ll want to kiss me afterward, but let’s just agree on a hug, instead.

Savory Pumpkin Spread

1 Pie Pumpkin

1/2 cup honey

2 T. ghee, melted

2 T. tahini

3/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon curry

1/8 teaspoon cumin

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.

Carefully cut the pumpkin in half.  Remove the seeds and strings.  Cut the halves into 3-4 inch pieces (should yield 4-6 slices of pumpkin)  Peel each piece.

Place the peeled pumpkin quarters into a baking pan in a single layer (a 9 x 13 pan works).  Brush the melted ghee and honey evenly over the pumpkin.  Cover the pan tightly with aluminum foil and bake for 2 1/2 hours.

Baste the pumpkin with the juices, cover the pumpkin again with the foil and bake for an additional 30 minutes.  Remove the pumpkin from the oven and allow it to cool.

Combine the cooled pumpkin, tahini, spice, and salt in the bowl of a food processor.  Process until smooth.  Serve or store the finished spread in a covered container in the refrigerator.