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Ranch dressing is a sensory shortcut to pleasure: multiple alliums, acid, umami, herbs, suspended in a plush, mayo-forward cloud.

Which is why I’m a little embarrassed, but mostly evangelical, about what I’ve come to believe: ranch dressing is the best dressing.

Before it was America’s sweetheart-slash-punching bag of condiments, ranch dressing was a solution to a logistics problem.

"I’m a little embarrassed, but mostly evangelical, about what I’ve come to believe: ranch dressing is the best dressing. And the best ranch, I’m starting to think, might be fancy ranch."

I’ve spent entire evenings Googling ranch dressing varietals, decoding the semiotics of suburban chain restaurant menus, pondering the subtle thrill of foods that jiggle.