15 Popular Store-Bought Salsas, Ranked Worst To Best

You can tango, you can samba, and you can mambo. But can you salsa? That's the question I'm asking 15 popular store-bought salsa brands in the article you see before you. As a Southern California native, I grew up eating a lot of Mexican food, and I know what makes a great salsa. Tomatoes blend acidity, brightness, and a gentle sweetness to form a base for chile, onion, garlic, and cilantro, and the resulting sauce is indispensable when it comes to tacos, tortas, burritos, and (for me) almost any savory dish that could use a little extra personality.

While there are many variations of salsa, I was looking for the classics: Red, tomato-based salsas in the mild-to-medium range that most people can actually find at their local supermarket. From chunky bottom-shelf Americanized kitchen stalwarts to smaller batch sauces made with fresh ingredients, I tasted the range of salsas that the market has to offer. While I did award points for authenticity (real Mexican salsa is the best there is), I was also looking for a balance between sweetness and acidity, a texture that was interesting and varied, and a balance of flavors that evoked the versatile spirit of one of the world's great condiments.

This one calls itself "salsa autentica," but to what or whom it is being authentic I remain unsure. Certainly not the grand tradition of Mexican salsas, since this concoction tastes more like arrabiata than salsa. It's tomato-forward and medium spicy, but the spice doesn't bring any chile flavor with it, just a nondescript heat that blooms on the tongue for no apparent reason.

The texture is watery in a way that suggests no one involved in making this salsa thought it might be used for dipping. It slides right off the chip, and there's no chunkiness to give it body or interest other than the odd fleck of onion. For something that markets itself as "autentica," this feels like the most generic version of salsa I've ever tasted.

As a TJ's fanatic, it pains me to rank this salsa at the bottom of the list, but I felt I had no choice. If you're standing in Trader Joe's debating this one, keep walking. It's one of the worst Trader Joe's snacks I've had to date. It's also worth noting that the salsa verde at Trader Joe's is a perfectly respectable option.

I admire Late July's reputation, which was built on using real, organic ingredients. You can tell this salsa is made with actual tomatoes, not reconstituted paste or concentrate, and the ingredient list is clean. What boggled me about this salsa was that the flavors were there — you could taste the lime, the onion, the vinegar. But somehow, each element tasted like a separate element of a salsa that was not greater than the sum of its parts. Eating it was like listening to a band where each member is playing a different song.

Between the natural sharpness of tomatoes, the addition of lime juice, and the hit of vinegar, this salsa crosses the line from zippy to downright sour, and it overwhelms the palate in a most unpleasant manner. The crushed-up consistency doesn't help, either. It's so finely pulverized that it has the texture of a tomato vinaigrette rather than a dip-worthy salsa. You can practically pour it over a salad!

This is one of those salsas that tricks you with good branding and noble intentions. And if you're looking for something organic, vegan, non-GMO, and you don't mind that it's devoid of good taste, then go for it. But if you're in it for a salsa that brings real flavor, Late July will not satisfy.

I respect what Newman's Own does with its profits, and I've got nothing but love for Paul Newman as an actor and salad dressing mogul. But this salsa is just not good. It's like they tried to make something that would appeal to everyone and ended up making something that barely registers.

There's just no flavor. There was supposed to be jalapeño in there (I saw it with my very own eyes), but somehow I couldn't taste it at all. And then there's the black pepper, which is truly one of the strangest decisions I've seen in a salsa. It doesn't complement the rest of the ingredients or amplify the heat.

Now, to be fair, the texture is excellent. It's probably the chunkiest salsa on this list, and if that's your thing, this will deliver. Ultimately, this salsa is all bulk and no bite. It's trying so hard to not offend that it forgets to be good.

Xochitl makes some of the best tortilla chips on the market. While they're not traditionally Mexican, they're thin, salty, and perfectly crispy. So when I saw their salsa on the shelf, I had every reason to believe I was in for something great. But instead, this salsa was a hard lesson in managing expectations.

The label proudly declares this salsa is "stone ground," but whatever was stone ground here was ground into nonexistence. It's so liquidy it might as well come in a sports bottle. You dip your chip, and it comes back wet but otherwise untouched. There's no cling! No heft! No presence!

Flavor-wise, the fire-roasted tomatoes give it a smoky note that hints at something special. But then nothing happens. There's no complexity, just a vague acidic tang and the watery echo of tomatoes. This is a salsa for people who are scared of salsa. It's too watery to dip, too bland to impress, and too disappointing to recommend.

This salsa checks a lot of boxes: fire-roasted tomatoes for that smoky edge, no weird preservatives, organic ingredients if that means something to you, and a restrained hand with the cumin, which I can't say for all the salsas on the list. But while it seems like the blueprint for success is there, it just isn't executed quite right.

You can taste each component individually, but they never quite come together into a cohesive salsa. It's frustrating because you can tell this salsa is trying, and I can see the vision, but it just doesn't come together. The texture doesn't help much. It's watery enough to lack that satisfying cling you want when you scoop. It seems that the ingredients were ground up a little too much.

To boot, this salsa was more expensive than the average jar, a fact that backs up Whole Foods' reputation as one of the most overpriced grocery store chains in the U.S. You could do worse, but given the price, you could do so much better.

Good & Gather's medium chunky salsa is Target's answer to Pace Picante. It's got the same thick tomato purée base, the same big chunks of jalapeño and onion, and the same overall approach of making a salsa that's designed to cater to the American palate.

The flavor here leans sweet, which is not uncommon among American salsas, but as a salsa purist, it always throws me. Combine that with the soupy consistency of the base and what you've got is a salsa that tastes like it's trying to make ketchup feel spicy. Some people hate raw tomatoes and if that's the case, then this salsa, in its avoidance of real tomato flavor, could be great for them.

That said, I do appreciate the effort to keep some texture in play. The chunks of jalapeño and onion are real, and they lend some visual credibility, even if they don't do much in the way of bold flavor. This isn't the worst salsa on the list by any means, but it's a little like salsa made by committee: Safe and crowd-pleasing, but lacking personality.

There's something comforting about a jar of Pace in the fridge. It's an affordable American classic that's been around forever and you can find it at practically any grocery store across the country. While you know exactly what you're getting, you also know it's never going to blow you away.

To its credit, the texture here is decently chunky in a predictable, machine-cut kind of way, and every scoop gives you a mix of tomato, onion, and maybe a sliver of jalapeño if you're lucky. The acidity is nicely balanced, and it's very dip-friendly and plays well with chips.

But the tomato sauce that surrounds the chunks tastes like canned tomato soup. It has that overly smooth, slightly metallic taste that makes you immediately aware this came from a factory. And while there's technically some heat here, it just sort of lingers in the background without adding much flavor. Pace is fine if you grew up with it or want something safe and familiar for the Superbowl or a DIY nacho bar at a sumer cookout, but like those events, it's as American as apple pie.

If you've ever wondered what would happen if someone tried to reverse-engineer taco seasoning into a salsa, Mateo's is your answer. It's got a bold, unmistakable cumin punch right out of the jar, and that's either going to work for you or not. For me, it didn't.

Cumin is one of those spices that can add depth when used sparingly, but in this salsa it dominates the salsa to the point where the other ingredients remain largely obscured. There's some heat that's drowned out by the constant hum of spice cabinet energy. It's like someone spilled a taco seasoning packet into a decent salsa and just went with it.

The texture isn't especially chunky, but it's sturdy and dips well. It just doesn't have that dynamic tomato-chile-onion-garlic interplay that makes a salsa feel alive. Mateo's might appeal to people who love Tex-Mex flavor profiles, but if you're looking for something closer to traditional Mexican salsas, this one veers too far into cumin chaos to make the cut.

Another middling salsa in the same vein as Pace Picante with a thick tomato base, big vegetable chunks, and zero interest in pretending it's remotely close to real Mexican salsa. But while it's not exactly redefining the category, Chi-Chi's was the best of the mass produced American-style salsas on the list.

The chunks of jalapeño and onion here are big and sometimes even crunchy, giving the salsa a pleasant faux-fresh quality. When you scoop it onto a chip, you feel like you're getting something substantial. There's real bite, real chew, and that makes it a little more satisfying than some of its smoother, more soupy counterparts.

Flavor-wise, though, we're still talking about something very much tailored to the American palate. It's tomato-forward in that unmistakably cooked-down, jarred way. The jalapeño presence is mostly aesthetic in that you'll see the green chunks and bite into them, but you probably won't taste any heat.

As the name suggests, this salsa is gringo to its core. While it definitely leans more Vermont than Veracruz, there's a lot to like here, especially if you're someone who likes their salsa bright and chunky.

Green Mountain Gringo genuinely feels like it was made from real vegetables, and every scoop brings something a little new. One chip might have big chunks of tomato, while others will have more bits of pepper or slivers of onion. It's lively, texturally interesting, and super-satisfying to eat with chips.

Flavor-wise, it's a little bit quirky. The inclusion of parsley is baffling (I couldn't taste it, but still) and the apple cider vinegar brings just a touch more sourness than I'd like. And while it's not quite traditional, it's definitely not bland. If you're not looking for something strictly authentic and you appreciate a chunky, veggie-forward salsa with a little personality, Green Mountain Gringo actually delivers.

If you're a fan of Cholula hot sauce, this salsa is going to feel like a natural progression. The makers of the famous hot sauce took everything that makes the sauce so lovable and dialed it up into a chunky, chip-ready form. It's smoky, spicy, and it's got a real point of view, which already puts it ahead of most salsas on this list.

That signature Cholula smokiness is right there, likely thanks to the addition of chile de arbol, which gives it a dry, peppery heat that builds without overwhelming. It's for people who don't mind a bold, unique take on salsa, and it's not just spicy for the sake of it. The heat brings flavor with it, which is something a lot of spicier salsas fail to do.

The texture is chunky without being awkward. It's easy to scoop and thick enough to coat a chip without dripping all over the place. The flavor is unique enough to add to bland dishes, so if you're a fan of hot sauce on your eggs, try this salsa instead.

If chipotle is your thing, Somos will absolutely deliver. It's not messing around with hints or subtle notes; this is straight-up campfire in a jar, and I mean that in the best way. I love a salsa that explores the world of chiles and really leans into the unique flavor that a chile like chipotle has to offer. The fire-roasted tomatoes double down on the smoky flavor already coming from the chipotle, creating a kind of smoky-on-smoky situation that is uniquely loveable.

The balance comes from the acidity, which cuts through the richness. Somos uses dried lime juice, which gives it a bright, slightly sour tang that keeps the whole thing from getting too heavy. And the texture, while not super chunky, is thick enough to stay on your chip. If you're into smoky salsas that feel like they were made with intention and not just thrown together in a processing facility, this one's a must-try.

Herdez is one of the few salsas on this list that actually tastes like it came from Mexico, and that's because it does. This salsa isn't trying to fit in at a Superbowl Party; it's a solid, no-nonsense, everyday table salsa that lovers of pico de gallo will recognize as authentic.

The texture is both chunky and watery, eschewing the American tendency toward thick tomato purée. Instead, there are real chunks of tomato, onion, and jalapeño combined in a way that I'm used to seeing at a taqueria salsa bar.

The flavor is not bold, but that's because it's not trying to be. There's not a ton of heat, and it doesn't hit you over the head with spice or garlic or smoke, and that's what makes it so versatile. It's an enhancer that knows it's the kind of salsa that elevates your tacos, eggs, or beans without stealing the show.

Making a truly great mild salsa is way harder than it looks. Once you take away the big punch of chile heat, you're left with nowhere to hide, and this Desert Pepper salsa proves that when done right, restraint can be as delicious as fiery intensity.

The ingredient list here is short and unfussy, but the proportions are so dialed in that everything feels deliberate. The roasty tomato is the star, maintaining a delicate balance between sweet and savory. The cumin is subtle and smoky without being aggressive, and the vinegar lifts it all up. A gentle hint of garlic adds a nice allium backdrop that ties the whole thing together.

Texturally, it's chunky enough to cling to a chip and soft enough to spoon over eggs. The tomato chunks are fat and satisfying, and everything feels well-blended without being mushy. This salsa is as confident as it is unpretentious.

This salsa doesn't try to do too much, and it nails every single thing it sets out to do. Siete's Mild Salsa is proof that jarred salsa can taste fresh, balanced, and genuinely Mexican when made the right way. It's bright, herby, and full of flavor in a way that feels effortless.

A (maybe controversial) shoutout to cilantro here. A lot of jarred salsas either skip it entirely or toss it in like a garnish, but this one leans all the way in. It gives the salsa a fresh, grassy lift, and the tomatoes are clean and just acidic enough while the garlic and onion show up in perfect proportion. Jalapeños offer a gentle heat without being fiery, and it all comes together to make a salsa that tastes like salsa is supposed to taste. The texture is a little thinner than you might be used to if you usually eat American-style salsas, but it's thick enough to get on a chip and enjoy until the jar is licked clean.

For this taste test, I focused on tomato-based salsas labeled as mild or medium that are widely available at national grocery stores and big-box retailers. Every salsa on this list was bought in person (no online-only brands, no refrigerated dips, and no specialty market finds). I avoided fruit salsas, salsa verde, and anything with mango, ghost peppers, or any other fringe ingredients. This was about the standard stuff you'd actually buy on a weeknight.

Each salsa was sampled cold using the same brand of plain tortilla chips. Between salsas, I reset with a sip of water and a bite of plain tortilla to clear the palate. I considered flavor, texture, heat level, balance, and texture.

This list is subjective, of course, but it's also honest. I wasn't swayed by branding, nostalgia, or organic claims. I was just chasing the jar I'd want to keep in my fridge at all times.