I’ll admit it: I am a skeptic. My phone feeds me a constant stream of what I’m told are the “hottest trends,” and I usually just swipe past them with a raised eyebrow. Sourdough bread a few years ago? Fine. Tiny purses that can’t hold my keys? I don’t get it. But lately, there’s been a very specific, very strange cultural phenomenon bubbling up in the corners of the internet and the pages of national news sites: the return of the retro potluck dish.
We’re talking about things like ambrosia salad, deviled eggs that are somehow different, and, my personal Waterloo, the infamous Jello salad. As a young professional in Brooklyn, this is a cultural artifact that feels like it belongs in my grandmother’s recipe box, not in my meticulously curated feed. And yet, I couldn’t stop seeing them. The recipes were everywhere—from viral TikToks to write-ups in The New York Times about comfort food nostalgia.
I caved. One quiet Tuesday evening, after a particularly draining day, I found myself at a bodega buying a box of lime Jello, a can of crushed pineapple, and some cottage cheese. The combination felt deeply wrong, a culinary crime against my foodie sensibilities. My inner voice, the one that tells me to find hidden speakeasies and artisanal coffee shops, was screaming.
And you know what? The process was… strangely therapeutic. Whisking the colorful powder, folding in the cold cottage cheese, and staring at the unsettling concoction as it set in my fridge felt like a bizarre act of rebellion against my own seriousness.
The next day, I tentatively tried a spoonful. It was a sweet, tangy, and texturally baffling experience. It was not “good” in the way a Michelin-starred meal is good. But it was fun. It was simple, unpretentious, and it made me laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.
I think that’s the point. In a world that demands so much of our attention and our energy, we are all collectively craving moments that are just… silly. These retro trends aren’t really about the food; they’re about a low-stakes way to connect to a collective past and to give ourselves a break from being so damn sophisticated all the time.
So, while my fridge will probably go back to holding kombucha and kale, I’m glad I took a moment to embrace the jiggle. It reminded me that sometimes, the most authentic and human thing you can do is just make a weird, beautiful mess.