Every New Year’s Eve, while most people are popping champagne and pretending they’ll “do dry January,” we’re gathered around a warm pot of bagna cauda, dipping vegetables like it’s a sacred ritual. Which it is.
Because my partner Erynn is Italian as fuck and this dish comes straight from her family’s bloodstream.
Bagna cauda isn’t flashy. It doesn’t care about plating. It does not apologize for the anchovies. It is bold, unapologetic, and deeply intimate — much like Italian families and most great relationships.
What Is Bagna Cauda, Really?
Bagna cauda translates to “hot bath,” which is exactly what’s happening — for vegetables, your breath, and your soul.
Originating in Piedmont, bagna cauda is a warm dip made primarily of:
Anchovies (the salty backbone)
Garlic (a lot — don’t be shy)
Butter
Sometimes cream (depending on family politics)
It’s traditionally served hot in a communal pot and eaten by dipping raw and cooked vegetables. No plates. No rules. Just trust.
Why This Is a New Year’s Eve Dish
Bagna cauda shows up during colder months and celebrations, especially New Year’s Eve, because:
It’s communal — everyone eats together, leaning in
It’s slow — you don’t rush this
It’s humble — no luxury ingredients, just technique and tradition
It keeps you warm, inside and out (and yes, possibly single-handedly wards off vampires)
In Erynn’s family, this isn’t a “recipe.” It’s an event. One pot in the center of the table, vegetables stacked high, wine flowing, conversation loud, and zero concern for tomorrow morning’s breath.
Romantic? Absolutely. Strategic? Questionable.
The Vegetables (aka the Vehicles)
Bagna cauda is only as good as what you drag through it. Classics include:
Raw
Fennel
Celery
Endive
Bell peppers
Radishes
Cooked
Roasted or boiled potatoes
Blanched cauliflower
Cardoons (if you’re keeping it very Piedmont)
Roasted beets
Basically: crunchy, earthy, slightly bitter things that can stand up to anchovy intensity without crying.
A Very Proper (But Flexible) Bagna Cauda Recipe
Ingredients
1 cup good butter
6–10 anchovy fillets (packed in oil, please)
1 whole head of garlic, peeled and gently smashed
Optional: a splash of cream
Method
Low heat. Always.
Add butter and garlic to a small saucepan or fondue pot. Let the garlic soften slowly — do not brown. This is seduction, not aggression.Add anchovies.
They’ll melt into the oil like they were always meant to be there.Stir until smooth-ish.
Rustic is correct. Perfectly smooth is suspicious.Keep warm.
Transfer to a fondue pot or keep on very low heat. Stir occasionally. Dip everything.
The Unspoken Rules
Everyone eats the same thing. No “I don’t like anchovies.” That’s not a personality.
You will smell like garlic. Accept it. You’re among family now.
Wine is mandatory. Preferably something northern Italian and honest.
This is not a starter. This is the night.
Why I Love This Tradition
I love bagna cauda because it’s intimate and unpretentious. It forces you to slow down, sit close, share, laugh, and commit fully to the experience — including the consequences.
It’s very Italian.
It’s very Erynn.
And it’s exactly how we ring in the New Year: warm, together, and dipping things shamelessly into something deeply flavorful.
Honestly? There are worse ways to start a year. 🍷🧄
