A definitive ranking of every dish in America's Test Kitchen's potluck issue

Not all foods are potluck foods

You know the way people talk about the American dream, about how anything is possible with a sufficient amount of bootstrap tuggery? Citation needed. But for all its faults, this remains a country where, if you talk loudly enough about how much you love potlucks, you can still build a reputation as a potluck guy. At least to a niche audience, that is. And perhaps only in my case, and even then, only if you also make hats.

How is it? Being a potluck guy? Incredible. People invite you to potlucks. They tell you about major potluck-based initiatives. When you host your own relay of fifty gatherings across the country, many of the participants voluntarily add a potluck component to the mix.

But heavy is the head that wears the crown. Or better yet, heavy are the hands that carry the crock pot full of mini meatballs. Who wears a crown to a potluck? You see, I do feel a responsibility, now that I’m on the record urging people to join the siblinghood of shared dishes, to ensure that our experiences doing so are pleasant and enjoyable. Potlucks are like governments. When they’re great, they represent the best of us. When they’re dysfunctional, it’s all fascism and food poisoning.

This is all to say that earlier this summer, America’s Test Kitchen, our nation’s foremost source for fifteen page narratives about how you can achieve perfectly fluffy pancakes if you devote three hours to the cause, devoted an entire issue to the art of the potluck. They chose one potluck dish for every state, territory and Federal District. Bless them, those fussy chefs. They too are welcome at the table.

Community, though, is built on trust and transparency. And I need to be honest with you. I have carefully considered each recipe, and I’m not convinced that America’s kitchen testers have ever attended a potluck. A handful of the dishes purported to be “potluck favorites” could indeed grace our country’s finest stained folding tables, but far more are overly complicated, messy or befuddling.

At issue is the difference between “delicious food,” and “perfect potluck dish.” When prepping for a group, there are so many factors to consider: ease (of preparation, transport and consumption); intergenerational and cross cultural appeal; general messiness; adaptability to multiple dietary needs, etc. There is no “winning” a potluck. This is not a tweezerified battle for Michelin Stars. Your job, as a potluck chef, is to effectively serve your community, not beat them into culinary submission.

And so, I have ranked every one of America’s Test Kitchen recipes, not on their overall deliciousness, but whether they truly deserve consideration in the pantheon of our nation’s great potluck recipes.

Let us travel the country together, with love and judgement. Let us roll out, in the manner of both de Tocqueville and Fieri And let us both rank the dishes and place them in tiered groups, from most to least potlucky.

The “potluck classics” group

Pastelón, Puerto Rico’s brave answer to the question “why not make a lasagna with plantains?”

1. Minnesota: Tater tot hotdish

2. Puerto Rico: Pastelón

3. New Mexico: Carne adovada

4. Colorado: Green chile

5. Utah: Funeral potatoes

Not just casseroles, mind you. But it is true that, to earn a spot in this upper echelon, a foodstuff should be able to be served in a casserole dish. That’s just science. These blue ribbon dishes should also be varying degrees of gloppy, but not to the level that you need a bowl rather than a flimsy paper plate to eat them. And yes, I am a white person living in the Upper Midwest, so you can track the bias in my first choice. If a thousand windswept Lutheran church basements are wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

Oh, and why did carne adovada get the edge over Colorado green chile? Search your heart for the answer, Coloradans. You know it’s true.

The pie group

Behold, the John Mellencamp of pies

6. Indiana: Sugar cream pie

7. Michigan: Tart cherry pie

8. Arkansas: Possum Pie

9. Delaware: Fresh Peach Pie

10. Oregon: Blackberry pie

11. Vermont: Maple Syrup Pie

You know who hasn’t ever been forcibly removed from a potluck? The person who brings a pie. Unless, I suppose, the pie bringer in question is JD Vance. But come on, can you imagine JD bringing a pie to a potluck? He’s much more of a “wandering around backyards until he spies a cartoon grandmother cooling a pie on the window ledge, then stealing the pie and, when caught, blaming it on feminism” guy.

Also, do I expect you to agree with my pie rankings? Frankly, if you do, I will have failed. These are difficult times, why would I ever take away one of life’s great joys (arguing about pie) from you? Tell me I’m a pie idiot. Do it with vigor. And then let’s eat pie together. That’s what we call DEMOCRATIC socialism.

The “pie-ish” group

12. Montana: Huckleberry buckle

13. Missouri: Gooey butter cake bars

These are gorgeous and perfect but held back by a single fatal flaw (they are not pies). Also, I grew up in Montana and never heard anybody call it a buckle but what do I know? It’s a big state.

The “I am unable to remain objective when I see “sub sandwiches” on a list” group

Just so you understand the scale of this party sub, that table is the entire length of Rhode Island

14. New Jersey: Italian Sub Sandwiches

I know I just made a whole to-do over how the most delicious items aren’t always the most potluckable. I stand by that. But then the America’s Test Kitchen crew had the gall to put Italian sub sandwiches on the list and Godamnit it, I am a simple man with a heart and an appetite. How can I resist such a perfect food? Please forgive me for bequeathing such a high ranking to a messy, oil laden, Mid Atlantic gut punch of a sandwich. It is just that, in this scenario, I am picturing a party sub, cut into little slivers. I am picturing you taking one of those slivers, and loving it so much that you ask yourself “am I too Italian? Do I suddenly have opinions on Taylor Ham? Should I start saying gabagool in earnest?” I am then picturing you realizing that you said all that out loud, and blushing in horror, and then having a large Italian man named Tony assure you that he understands. “It’s the power of the sandwich,” Tony will say, tears in his eyes. You’ll take another bite.

The “Hey, I know that bread” group

It’s not talked about enough, but Wisconsin is the only state where a human being is legally allowed to marry a cheese bread.

15. Wisconsin: Spicy cheese bread

I have never seen spicy cheese bread at a potluck, but I have attended the Capitol Square Farmer’s Market and so I can say this definitively: If you attend a Saturday potluck within two hours of Madison, Wisconsin and you show up with a loaf of Stella’s bread, there will be whispers about you. Good whispers, mind you. “Not all heroes wear capes,” they will say, “some of them smell like gluten and red chili flakes.” Tony will show up. You know, Tony from that other potluck with the sub sandwiches. “Pretty nice bread,” Tony will remark. Again, the tears.

The “BBQ that DOES work at a potluck” group

16. North Carolina: BBQ Pork

17. Alabama: BBQ Chicken

You’ll understand this category better in a bit, when I present the counterpoints: other BBQ items that are too messy to either slap between a Kings Hawaian roll or plop down on exactly one fifth of a paper plate and call it a day. And also, I love when a potluck item comes with a very specific sauce on the side. Thank you, BBQ Americans, for being so fussy about your regional sauces. You and I know full well that they have vinegar in places outside the Carolinas, but I love that we all pretend that it stops at the state line. We tell ourselves stories in order to consume pork.

The chili group

18. Ohio: Cincinnati chili

19. Wyoming: bison chili

Why does chili work so much better at a potluck than any other soup? The viscosity helps. You can theoretically ladle some chili over cornbread, Fritos or (in the case of the much belittled Cincinnati varietal) spaghetti. You should probably still remember to bring soup bowls, but it’s not a disaster if you don’t.

Oh, and one more note about Cincinnati chili. The best wedding food I’ve ever had was at the nuptials of a groom from Southwest Ohio and a bride from El Salvador. His family made massive batches of (vegetarian) Cinci chili and her family whipped up fresh arepas on planchas, and you know what I did? I ate all night long. To each according to their abilities, to each according to how much they love chili and arepas.

The pleasant pouches group

Would this bag lie to you?

20. West Virginia: Pepperoni rolls

21. Mississippi: Delta hot tamales

22. Nebraska: Runzas

Arepas are not on the America’s Test Kitchen list, a true oversight. Nor are wontons, baos, samosas or sambusas. Thank God, though, that every culture has discovered the joy of stuffing one food inside another food. Have you ever been truly unhappy when eating a pleasant culinary pouch? I haven’t. If you ever want to deliver bad news to me, give me a Runza first and I will be surprisingly even keeled. “Ok, so on one hand you’re telling me that you have to take my first born? Bummer. But wait, did you say that there’s cabbage in here? It’s delicious.”

The “chickens that might be able to potluck” group

23. Guam: Kådun pika

24. Tennessee: Nashville hot chicken

25. Washington: Chicken teriyaki

I want these items to potluck. Desperately so. I’ve never had kådun pika, but it looks amazing. The other two, I love unabashedly. But there’s just a little bit extra going on here. Too much spice or sauce. I’m not saying they won’t work. I’m just asking questions. You want people to leave your potluck with reasonably clean shirts, and not having to chug gallons of milk.

The “seafood that might be able to potluck” group

26. Maryland: Crab Cakes

27. Alaska: Hot smoked whole side of salmon

28. California: Fish tacos

Ok, let me be real. If you showed up at a potluck with any of these, I would bow down before you. These all sound incredible, in theory. I just have two concerns. One is shelf stability. Are we eating as soon as you pull them out of the oven? Then we’re in business. If not, then let us remember why the sea is such a treacherous place. Did you watch the Odyssey? It’ll kill you, that sea. But also, I care about you, the person bringing the dish to the potluck. I worry about the effort, and the expense. Again, if this sparks joy, by all means. I just need you to know that you’re allowed to bring cole slaw from the deli counter or a two liter bottle of pop.

The “tasty things on bun that I am having trouble picturing at a potluck” group

Are you really going to bring this many condiments to a potluck?

29. Oklahoma: Fried Onion burgers

30. Arizona: Sonoran Hot dogs

Too many ingredients. Too many hyper specific instructions for preparation. I don’t trust that either would travel that well. Now, if you have a grill and you’re whipping these up fresh, more power to you. But that’s not a potluck. It’s a food cart. No need to work that hard. Put your feet up. Have you tried the sub sandwiches? Tony made them.

The “non-offensive rices that might surprise you” group

31. Guam: Chamorro Red Rice

32. South Carolina: Hoppin John

On one hand, no need to wow your potluck community. But it is true that if you bring a starch, there’s a chance that your dish might be relegated to “base item that is about to be covered with somebody else’s sexier item” status. Not all rices stand out at a potluck, but maybe these can. Believe in yourself, distinctive rices. You’re going places.

The perfectly acceptable but likely non-memorable group

33. New York: Black and White Cookies

34. Georgia: Vidalia onion dip

My problem with black and white cookies is two-fold. (a). I oppose segregation and (b). Have you ever had a transcendent one? [Oh jeez, what have I done, have I just given New York City permission to lecture me on their food? I get it! You’re proud of it! You buy it from bodegas! Which are so different from corner stores in the rest of the country! I used to taunt you about your superiority complex, but then you elected Zorhan so I’m choosing peace! But these cookies, are they the best you can do?].

Georgia, I just feel bad for you. This is not your fault. Somehow America’s Test Kitchen assigned peach pie to DELAWARE and I didn’t say anything a few paragraphs above because I was in shock, but now I’m livid. I’d call it election fraud but also, out of respect for your state, I don’t want to give the sitting President any ideas.

The finger steak group

35. Idaho: Finger steaks

Huh. Finger steaks you say? [slowly backs away from Idaho].

The “laudable regional sandwiches that I am not convinced are potluckable” group

36. Pennsylvania: Philadelphia Pork Sandwiches

37. Florida: Cuban sandwiches

38. Maine: Lobster Rolls

39. Illinois: Italian beef

Fussy! Messy! Too involved!

I mean, everybody knows Italian beefs aren’t for potlucks. They’re for sandwich shops that you come home to run, even though you are a world renowned chef, because your brother (a real Jon Bernthal type) committed suicide and now you have to save the business while also failing to address your own trauma and every once in a while an REM song plays and you either fall in love with the girl next door or mess it all up.

The “maybe don’t bring a soup to a casserole fight” group

A burgoo? Or a bur-gon’t? (I’m so sorry)

40. Louisiana: Gumbo

41. North Dakota: Knoepfla

42. Kentucky: Burgoo

43. Virginia: Brunswick Stew

44. Washington DC: Senate white bean soup

Too soupy! And also, I am so sorry to Washington D.C., a city with a rich culinary legacy, for America’s Test Kitchen lauding a cafeteria soup served, for decades, to literal Strom Thurmond. It’d be like making a list of “best musical contributions from each state” and passing up Go Go for, I don’t know, a barbershop quartet consisting of John Fetterman, Mitt Romney, Chuck Schumer and Ted Cruz.

The “meats too aggressive for a potluck” group

45. Texas: BBQ Brisket

46. Kansas: Kansas City style BBQ Ribs

47. Nevada: Basque lamb shanks

I mean, what are you trying to prove, slow smoking a brisket for fifteen hours? Or bringing lamb shanks from a hyper specific region of the Iberian peninsula and plopping them down next to Janet’s macaroni salad? I’m so happy you know how to make these things, and I would love to come over to your house to eat them sometime, but it’s fine. Truly. Why do you have to do that to Janet?

The “not all seafood is potluck seafood” group

48. Hawaii: Tuna Poke

49. American Samoa: Oka l’a (Samoan fish salad)

50. US Virgin Islands: Conch fritters

51. Massachusetts: New England clambake

52. Rhode Island: Fried Calamari

Here is where I remind the good people of America’s Test Kitchen that potluck items sometimes just, you know, sit out for a while. Also, what self respecting resident of Massachusetts, a state that literally invented the concept of “oh, so you think you’re better than me?” is going to roll up to a communal gathering with a full on CLAMBAKE? What are you going to do, flip the whole thing upside down on the table, unfurl your hands and declare, “eat, my people!” Get it together.

The “foods that might very well taste good, but whose names are absolute affronts to God” group

POV, you’re a chicken that has just been accused of witchcraft

53. Iowa: Loose Meat Sandwiches

54. New Hampshire: Puritan Backroom-Style Chicken Fingers

55. South Dakota: Corncob smoked ribs

56. Connecticut: Steamed cheeseburgers

On one hand, oh my God. But on the other hand, THIS is what makes America great. To this day, apparently, there are still residents of the Nutmeg State that look at other region’s cheeseburgers and say “you know what would improve on this perfect dish? A cooking method designed solely to make things soggy.” And South Dakotans are out here doing God knows what with corncobs. To say nothing of Granite Staters frying chicken in the most stoic, judgmental backrooms imaginable. Or Iowans, unable to contain their meat sandwiches. “We lost the meat again,” Iowans are always saying, “we should have locked it down when we had the chance, but we were too busy hosting caucuses and building corn field baseball diamonds for ghosts.”

What a country! Oh jeez. At our best, we are one weird place, but we still eat together. And you don’t need to bring conch or bacon wrapped hot dogs. But I do hope you keep showing up. As for the good people of America’s Test Kitchen, I’m still not convinced you’ve ever been to a potluck, but you’re always welcome at mine.

END NOTES:

1. I love potlucks because it’s a place where everybody gives and receives. And yes this is totally corny, but that’s exactly how I think about all my work. I give my writing, my organizing, and a lot of support to organizers across the country, largely for free. In exchange, all I ask is for the chance to pop in at the end of these essays and ask if you’d be part of a community that chips in to keep it going. When you do so, I give you even more gifts (like potluck hats, for example). Pretty good deal, if you ask me. Thanks for considering!

2. Did this essay make you hungry? Well, by any chance do you live in the Denver metro area? Because we’ve got a big, super fun Interdependence Relay event coming up THIS FRIDAY MORNING. The Denver Omelets, a social club devoted to a celebration of that city’s disappearing but iconic diner culture wants you to join them at the table this week. Details and RSVP here.

3. Another important relay update: July 31st is the deadline to apply to host in a bunch of states close to my heart (Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, and Ohio). For reference, we’re imagining these events to take place most likely between October 10th and December 10th.