Imagine a dish loaded with diner staples. Fries would be a must. Cheese? Absolutely. Perhaps some shards of bacon. And, really, who doesn’t crave a dollop of gravy.

How can it be that such a welcome arrangement could spark controversy?

Actually, the debate over the combination plays out across international borders. In Canada, it is known as poutine, from a French word alluding to a complete mess. New Jersey lays claim to disco fries, which many claim derives from late night cravings following hours of polyester, platform shoes and failed pick up lines.

Yet both versions have their merits.

Take the disco fries at The 581 in downtown Mexico. The fries are mellow, with a nutty tinge that calms the robust gravy as it soaks in. But any restraint on the spread of brown gravy cannot contain its rough hewn nature – growling pepper, a scratch of minerality, a wealth of scored red meat that brings earthiness and a sharp bite in balance.

Bacon contributes a hazy smoke and pops of salt. A toss of scallions gives it a hoarse note that trembles on the back of the palate. The melted cheese lends a creaminess and a faint tingle, although cheese is one of the biggest points of contention in the loaded fries debate.

The recipes can vary. Bacon and scallions, for example, represent a break from the original versions. But north of the border, poutine calls for cheese curds and only cheese curds – whole, softening gently as warm gravy splashes over them. In New Jersey, and restaurants like The 581 that have adopted disco fries, mozzarella is considered standard, although provolone and other mild, shredding varieties are accepted.

And in the Jersey take on the dish, the cheese is generally melted under a broiler.

Those interested in tracking such matters point out that the Jersey style typically starts with steak fries, or at least thicker cut fries than poutine. And the gravy is a richer, thicker beef-based sauce than the chicken veloute often found dousing poutine.

Again, however, innovative chefs have been playing with recipes for decades.

Advocates of disco fries – many of them, anyway – believe the dish appeared independently of poutine, created sometime in the 1970s as the beat of disco took over top 40 radio and urban dance floors. They trace the name to that era, but others say “disco” was first applied in the ’90s.

Poutine is said to have been a spontaneous thing. The story is that a chef noticed patrons placing curds on their fries and took the hint. Which chef that was depends on the storyteller. And because some of these tales have the chef in question working with a tomato sauce, versions of this poutine served can be found.

It’s the same with disco fries. Authenticity in the culinary world can often be called into question.

What people agree on is that poutine first reached popularity in Quebec. It’s now served in fast food restaurants – yes, McDonald’s – across Canada. It seems likely that disco fries may have trickled south as poutine and crossed the border, where curds were less common but mozzarella and grocery cheese were a ready substitute.

Yet it is possible that someone in New Jersey invented the dish on his or her own. There are several claims of a-ha moments in a Jersey kitchen.

That said, The 581 remains true to the spirit of what can be considered original disco fries. And a sample will convince you that the creation, however it happened, was a good thing.