8 Store-Bought Chipotle Sauce Brands, Ranked

There is no shortage of condiments. Not only do you have your hot dog and burger staples, including ketchup, mustard, and mayo, but you also have regional favorites like gochujang, Greek tzatziki (which has a lot of creative uses), and sambal. The condiment aisle at the grocery store is just a small sliver of sauce diversity, and one flavor you'll likely find well represented is chipotle. 

Most people know chipotle in its canned form — smoked jalapeños sitting in a savory sauce — or dried and powdered, like what you'd find in the spice aisle. But many food companies have gone the extra mile and engineered food products that put this unique, smoky flavor at the forefront but with a creative delivery. I'm talking about chipotle mayos, ranches, and more.

As an avid chipotle fan, I wanted to see which brand does chipotle sauce the best. So, I tasted as many sauces as I could find from my local Walmart before ranking them from worst to best. Since ranches and mayos aren't on the same plane, I kept my rankings objective by looking at the overall spice level, texture, and versatility of each sauce. I tried each sauce on an unseasoned cheese quesadilla as well as straight from the bottle to get a better idea of its flavor and mouthfeel and how it would pair with another food. The selections on this list represent widely available brands, meaning you too can find many of them in your local grocery store. 

I feel like I should make a T-shirt to wear that says, "Don't trust fat-free ranch!" because I was in for quite the surprise when it came to this Skinny Girl chipotle ranch — and not in a good way.

I had a feeling there was going to be an issue when I gave the bottle a shake and it sounded like water. Dressings and sauces need to be thick to do their job, and I doubt that this one is even thick enough to cling to a french fry. It poured like water yet had some specks of herbs sprinkled throughout. The flavor was more akin to Italian dressing than sauce, thanks to its strong citrusy and vinegar notes. There was no heat or chipotle-esque flavors to report — they were neither on the front of my palate nor the back. I was wholly disappointed by Skinny Girl's flavor as well as its weird underlying sweet notes. This brand touts on its label that it's sugar-free (and why are we adding sugar to ranch dressing? I guess that's neither here nor there), but it comes across more as an artificial sweetener flavor than anything. 

This sauce is destined for the trash. Not only does it miss out entirely on the "chipotle" and the "ranch" component of the label, but it's just a bad dressing all around. Your sad bowl of iceberg isn't even worthy of it. 

I have never been a fan of ranch dressing. It wouldn't be my go-to pick for topping a salad, nor would it be one I would reach for to dip my fries in. But I put aside my feelings about ranch, which has an impressive cult following, to taste several different chipotle ranches for this ranking. First up was the almighty Hidden Valley Ranch, a brand that ranch lovers seem to be obsessed with. 

I wouldn't buy this sauce even if it were a plain ranch. It was quite watery, even for a salad dressing, but it still offered a decent herby flavor. The chipotle flavor needs work, though. The only real indication that this sauce is made with any sort of chipotle is its color — peachy (like many of the other sauces on this list) and speckled with little bits of red. When I tasted it sans quesadilla, I wasn't able to pull any spiciness out at all. It was milder than mild — no prickly flavor in the mouth, no smoky undertones on the palate, no nothing. Hidden Valley Ranch could have probably passed it off as normal ranch if it dyed it white. 

I think ranch and chipotle have potential as a pairing, seeing as how the herbal flavor could ground those smoky notes, plus the buttermilk tang could help balance out any piquancy. However, this sauce was all bark and no bite, earning it a spot toward the bottom (but not on the bottom) of my ranking. 

Kraft makes good mayo — but could it nail a chipotle aioli? It turns out that it actually doesn't do an awful job. When I cracked the seal, I noticed that the contents had a light peach shade, with specks of red interspersed throughout the sauce. It has the texture of mayo — very gloopy and gelatinous — and if you aren't a fan of mayo's admittedly acquired texture, I doubt you'll add this sauce to your grocery cart anytime soon.

The actual flavor of the chipotle is not evident until after a few seconds, once the egginess of the mayo base has disappeared. While it danced on the tip of my taste buds more than some of the picks that ranked above it, I couldn't tell it was chipotle right off the bat, which pushed it down in my rankings. Luckily, the residual flavor is a little more smoky and paprika-forward than the brands that ranked below it, which earned it a decent spot in this ranking. 

Where Kraft really lost points was in terms of its versatility. I could see spreading this chipotle aioli on a sandwich or a burger, or, as shown on the label, a dipping sauce for onion rings. But if it was added to a burrito or a quesadilla, the mayo notes would either distract or overwhelm any of the other textures present. The higher-ranked picks on my list were just more versatile than Kraft, though I still think it's tasty enough for a mayo lover to buy. 

Taco Bell was the first sauce brand I tried for this ranking, and I honestly didn't go in with many expectations about it. I'd had the chain's queso in the past, and, unsurprisingly, was not entirely thrilled by it. This chipotle sauce does not come with any sort of label indicating whether it was supposed to be aiming for an aioli or some other sauce, but after pulling off the safety tab and taking a peek inside the squeeze jar, I knew that it was some kind of mayo-based sauce. The texture is slightly less gloopy than normal mayo, which makes it easy to pour and dispense from the bottle. 

Overall, the flavor of this sauce was not very chipotle-y. Since it has a mayo-like consistency, its flavor reads with more of those strong eggy notes that I had come to expect with store-bought mayonnaise. The chipotle really only comes through as a slow burn on the palate. Rather than impressing my mouth with a firework display of bright piquancy, it offered only this smoldering, residual heat in the back of my throat that said, "Oh yeah, this was chipotle, if you couldn't guess." It was suitable enough for the cheese quesadilla, seeing as the sauce offered a great creamy complement to the melty cheese, but it didn't actually enhance the flavor of it in any way. I could see adding it to a burrito or something where you'd want a moist and creamy bite, but it would be 100% for the texture and not at all for the flavor. 

If we were going ranch to ranch, Great Value would beat Hidden Valley every single day of the week — which is not something I thought I would ever say. Great Value products tend to be misses, and I've tried many over the years that I wouldn't recommend buying. But this chipotle ranch, surprisingly, is not one of them. 

Great Value is a little less restrained with its flavor — in a good way. It incorporates much more herbs than Hidden Valley, though it comes at the demise of the ranch dressing's tang. Its chipotle notes were warming on the back of my palate, though I wish that Great Value had been as bold with the chipotle as it was with the herbs. Moreover, just because it uses herbs doesn't mean they're the right ones. There is some dilly, cilantro-y, and parsley-like flavors going on here, which disrupts the mouthfeel and the flavor of the overall bite and makes it more like a standard ranch dressing than a chipotle. If you were to add it to a burrito bowl, there would be some competition between the Tex-Mex flavors and the herbiness. It's refreshing, sure, but its unique flavor profile diminishes its versatility, especially in dishes where those Tex-Mex flavors are supposed to shine.

Could you get away with dipping fries or mozzarella sticks into it? Probably, but I don't think that it's a sauce I would buy again if I were looking specifically for a chipotle sauce for burritos or the like.  

Pace was like my wild card in this ranking. I tasted a lot of chipotle mayos, and I tasted a lot of spicy ranches, but this was the only hot honey chipotle on the docket. And I do like hot honey (and all of the ways that hot honey can be used), so I had high expectations for Pace. 

First off, don't let the label fool you because it comes out more like a spicy, chipotle-infused ketchup than anything. It's not sticky or viscous. Instead, it looks more like a lovechild between ketchup and spicy barbecue sauce — and it kind of tastes like it, too. There is a subtle oaky profile to its flavor, which I would say is more in-line with maple than with honey. The mesquite flavor, intertwined with what tastes like a hefty dose of smoked paprika, is bold and foreboding and dominates the entire bite. However, it meshes really well with the chipotles, which taste like they were just pulled out of the can and added to a blender with a barbecue sauce. 

Calling this sauce a hot honey is false advertising, plain and simple. However, I won't deny that it has a ton of utility in the kitchen. It would be very tasty smothered on a piece of chicken or used as a topping for a steaming skillet of fajitas — unlike any other sauce on this list. But its utility takes a nosedive when it comes to dipping because the only place where it could work would be on fries or a burger — because it's basically just a smoky ketchup. It would very easily eclipse other fried favorites, like onion rings or mozzarella sticks. 

If given the option between a Hellmann's mayo and a Kraft mayo, I would go with Kraft every time. But, if I had to choose between the two mayo-based chipotle sauces, then I'd have to pick this Hellmann's one (and not just because it comes in a squeeze bottle with a mess-free cap). 

I could see sizable pieces of chipotle peppers in this mayo, which clued me into the flavor that was to come. While other brands, including Taco Bell, could get away with a mayo that was slightly tinted orange, this one made it clear that chipotle was the flavor first and foremost. It had a similar gloopy and gelatinous texture as the Kraft mayo (mayo haters, overt your eyes), but it had a more acidic profile that worked better with the creamy, eggy base. As expected, the chipotle flavor was much more present; each bite had a mouth-warming and familiar flavor of chipotles. The bottle notes that this mayo is mild, and I certainly think it toes the line between being medium and mild — especially factoring in the prickly burn in the back of my throat. It's warm and inviting, though not so oppressive that it would offend someone who's wholly spice-averse. 

The more prominent spicy flavor of this Hellmann's mayo earned it the title of the best of the mayo-based chipotle sauces. However, one option just had more versatility and a more developed flavor than it. 

I had a feeling that Cholula would do relatively well on this ranking because it has more of a foothold in Tex-Mex food items than other brands on this list. The sauce, which doesn't really give any indication as to what it actually is on its label, is a true medium. It's not overwhelmingly spicy, though the flavor is warming and long-lasting enough to have a prominent impact on the palate. 

As I was doing this ranking, I tried the mayo-adjacent sauces first, then the ranches, then the wild cards — since I didn't know what this was, I saved it for last. And I'm glad I did. It has the same creaminess of mayo without the gelatinous mouthfeel, which leads me to believe even the most adamant mayo hater wouldn't mind eating it. It's creamy enough where I would like to spread it on a burrito bowl, dip fries into it, or just drizzle it on eggs for a saucy upgrade. It's much more versatile than the thick mayo dressings, which pushes it to the top of my list. Plus, who doesn't love a squeeze top? 

Another reason why this cremosa sauce is worthy of the top spot is because the warming flavors and chipotle essence weren't delayed or disrupted by the egginess or disrupted by any other flavors. While the ranches had the occasional herby note, this one was fully and completely chipotle, which I loved. It's a well-balanced sauce with character, easily earning it the title of the best. 

Chipotle sauce is a broader category than you might think. Not only does it encompass hot sauces but also creamy ranch-adjacent spreads, mayos, aiolis, and more. Since it felt a little like comparing apples to oranges at times, I tried to look at specific factors for each sauce. I tried each sauce first straight from the container before dipping a cheese quesadilla into it. That way, I could see how the sauce clung to the tortillas and how it would taste with a common dipping instrument. 

The first consideration was whether or not the sauce represented the name on the label well. That means the ranches should taste like ranches and the aiolis should have a creamy, mayo-based consistency. I also looked at the chipotle flavor itself. Not only did it need to line up with the spiciness listed on the label, but it also had to be prominent in the bite. I didn't want a mayo that tasted like mayo with an afterthought of chipotle — I wanted that chipotle flavor to be bold yet still balanced. I also looked at the relative versatility of each selection. Sauces that could pair well with many foods, like as a dip, sandwich spread, or burrito enhancer scored higher than sauces that could be used for only one or two things.