Dinner a la Everything : 15th Annual Cook-Off Comes Apart at the Seams

The spirit of the 15th annual--and last--George Munger Cook-Off was best captured perhaps by contestant Judi Strada when she said, “This group believes that what’s worth doing is worth overdoing.”

As a case in point, Strada was spraying her entry, “pinch-bottom pie,” a tart of pears soaked in cognac and resting on a crust of crushed walnut, with a mist of cognac from a Windex squirt bottle. (She assured everyone that it hadn’t been used for Windex in years.)

“When I saw that I was on for 5:30,” Strada said, “I figured by that time anything drenched in cognac was going to win.” It had been a bit of a disappointment, of course, that, for reasons of liability, she and her husband, Randy, a weekend cowboy in Julian, had been forced to drop their plans for a barbecue entry accompanied by a cattle drive.

No Stampede

She explained, “It had to do with stampede insurance. It would have been hard to explain to the Mungers how this entire place got destroyed.”

The Mungers, George and Piret, in years of hosting this foodies’ fantasy at their Del Mar home, have never had a cattle stampede but they have had:

--A root beer float entry brought in by the Torrey Pines High School marching band.

--A curry dish riding on the back of a performing elephant (the elephant claimed to have had a bit part as a water-skier in a movie).

--A high-rising cheese souffle that arrived by hot-air balloon.

--A chocolate cake as the centerpiece of a teddy bear picnic (200 bears) complete with plastic ants.

To say the least, the George Munger Cook-Off is not your basic little neighborhood potluck. Unless your neighbors bring in Thai dancers to strew flower petals before their barbecued chicken and hype their homemade chili with a mariachi band.

It all began innocuously in 1970 when Piret Munger decided to give a little going-away party for her secretary at Psychology Today magazine. It was just a small group and, she recalled, “We said, why doesn’t everybody bring the dish they make best?” Sort of a spiffed-up covered dish dinner.

The next year, deciding to do it again, the Mungers expanded the guest list to a small circle of friends and awarded prizes for culinary achievement. Entertainment was added for the third annual event--a mini-performance of the Broadway hit of that year, “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

“That’s when things got out of control,” George said. What with the cast (amateurs all), and guests of the cast, and guests of guests of the cast, almost 300 people showed up. And there were more than 100 entries. “There were so many dishes,” George said, “that toward the end we just quit. The judges were saying, ‘I can’t take it anymore.’ ”

That cook-off finally wound up just before 5 a.m. And the moment of truth came at daybreak when the hosts were confronted with a jammed disposal, a bathtub full of unwashed pots and pans belonging to who-knows-who, and a bathroom crawling with ants.

“Besides the ants,” George said, “we found this live lobster in a Styrofoam cooler.”

Pared Guest List

Still undaunted, they decided to do it again, paring the guest list to a reasonable 75 or so. That was 1973, more commonly remembered as “the year George Miller brought 35 pounds of macaroni salad” in a cooler. Miller, a commercial realtor and sometime actor who was a newcomer to the competition, hadn’t quite grasped the concept; he had thought the idea was to feed lots of people. Compounding the crime, he dropped about 30 pounds of the macaroni salad on the Mungers’ patio as he was leaving.

But Miller, proving himself a trouper, was back the next year, with his version of Garden Court salad from San Francisco’s Palace Hotel. And, not wishing to be made sport of again, he brought along an elegant table setting for his salad. By coincidence, Piret Munger had found a big, winsome rag doll in a senior citizens’ thrift shop in San Diego, an impulse purchase that she named Gladys Schwartz and decided to offer as a cook-off prize.

It went to Miller as “most improved” cook. He not only took home Gladys Schwartz but, as George remembered, “It was the start of something showy.” The cook-off had become theater.

So, last weekend, about 150 friends, gourmets and gourmands gathered at the Mungers’ for what was billed as “the last hurrah,” a farewell party for Gladys Schwartz and the 15th annual cook-off. (Actually, the 11th and 13th cook-offs never took place because of the Mungers’ business commitments but they decided to number them chronologically anyhow. Piret, confronted with the news that this was actually the 16th, said, “I’ve been thinking we were off a year.”) This year’s invitations had explained, “Gladys Schwartz is getting on in years. She is weary. And, while she loves a good party, she longs for a home of her own.”

Too Much Trundling

As a traveling trophy, a coveted award given in recent years for “excess of the finest kind,” Gladys had been trundled all over San Diego County and, as she told the Mungers, it was getting to be a bit too much, what with “everyone’s hamsters’, dogs’, cats’ and children’s names to remember.”

The festivities got under way about noon when George, resplendent in gaucho clothes with some faux-Viennese medals pinned on his chest, blew the whistle to bring the six judges to the table for first-round viewing and tasting. It was a ceremony to be repeated every half-hour until, seven hours later, the last of about 60 entries had been sampled and scored.

It was judges first, then the entries were whisked off to a testing table where stacks of paper plates and plastic forks were provided for those speedy enough to get there first.

“At the first one of these I weighed 98 pounds,” Judy Miller said, scooping up a bit of Bavarian cream pie. “Every year it’s 10 more.” Miller, a south-of-the-border aficionado who conducts “Baubles, Bangles and Beans” tours of Tijuana, had opted to bring Hungarian cabbage rolls, explaining, “I was married to this Hungarian for five years to get this recipe.”

The judges--Alfred Jacoby, a newspaperman and “chief judge in perpetuity”; Tom Gable, an advertising man and wine writer; Dan Berger, a wine columnist; Marjorie Rice, a travel editor; Velvet Satin, a wine broker, and Ben Patterson, a chef--did not take their task lightly. Jacoby, decked out in tuxedo with black brocade vest and a trio of medals of dubious distinction on red-white-and-blue ribbons around his neck, had rescheduled his European vacation to be back in time.

Texas Meets Orient

They listened, rapt, as writer Michael Grant, a transplanted Texan, introduced his dish, Hunan Sichuan-Texas Stir-fry.

Four graceful purple-gowned Thai dancers from the Southeast Asian Alliance in San Diego wooed the judges in behalf of Su-Mei Yu and her Thai barbecued chicken. It was a total production number narrated by Lucy Goldman. For good measure, Goldman had a little bribe for George Munger--a necklace fashioned of Twinkies.

Photographer Lorenzo Gunn and his wife, Olga, whipped up a chile colorado with frijoles and brought along the Los Aventureros mariachis and a troupe of Mexican folk dancers. The showstopper was little Tajin Sanchez, who was almost hidden beneath his enormous sombrero. His mother, Maria, said, “He’s been dancing since he was 2. He’s 2 1/2.”

Two-Time Winners

Permanent custody of Gladys Schwartz was riding on the Gunns’ presentation. They’d taken her home twice, last year besting mortgage and investment banker Frank Arrington, a two-time winner of Gladys, with a soul food entry accompanied by break-dancers.

Arrington was still a bit pouty about that. Although his high school marching band had been a good gimmick, the judges had agreed, the ice cream for his root beer floats had not been homemade. “I was criticized because I didn’t cook my root beer float,” he shrugged. This year, he produced a reprise performance of “Jesus Christ Superstar” and did a roast lamb served with vintage cabernet.

Pediatrician Fred Frye and his wife, Joy, came in pushing a taco cart he’d put together in his garage Friday night. Their entry was Sal Si Puedes Super Fajitas , marinated strips of skirt steak served in warm tortillas.

There was Black Forest cake and poached trout and Mississippi mud cake (bourbon and chocolate). Lois Stanton’s homemade creme caramel ice cream melted in its oak bucket while awaiting judging but Stanton, undaunted, said, “I just changed my category to cold soup.”

Piret Munger’s mother, Val Korkmann, who’d never before entered, made a pastry from Estonia, where she was born, and decorated it with 15 candles. As George blew out the candles, guests sang “Happy Birthday, dear Gladys. . . .”

As it grew dark, Marty Van Winkle, a contractor and part-time cowboy, was cooking a rabbit stew over a campfire he’d built.

Edith Kodmur’s entry was Widow’s Revenge, a wild duck with chutney sauce. She explained that she had “suffered through 29 wild duck hunting seasons.”

‘Ultimate’ Cookies

Eleven-year-old Jamie Steinberg, introducing her chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies, said she had decided to call them Coup de Grace, “which means the ultimate in Greek.” “French, French!” prompted an adult voice from behind.

There were “saintly artichokes” (stuffed with spinach) and oatmeal cookies with Chivas Regal-soaked raisins and caviar and crab and sesame swordfish.

As head judge Jacoby observed, “This started out as the sort of thing you brought your three-bean salad to and it’s progressed to rabbit stew around the fire.”

It was after 9 when the judges descended from their judging room to award the prizes--a first to Bill and Liz Johnson for Pollo del Mar , an hors d’oeuvre of albacore they caught and smoked; a first for first courses to Dennis Hulmes for his “mild-mannered Punjabi pizza,” a “total corruption of Indian cuisine,” and a first in entrees to Martha Culbertson for a Texas venison sausage dish served with wine from the Culbertsons’ winery in Fallbrook.

‘Earthshaking’ Tamales

For ethnic foods, it was the “silver tongue award” to Mike Grant and first prize to Carol Yorston and Nancy Kay for their “earthshaking tamales and seismic sauces” served with “trembling margaritas.” Young Jamie Steinberg’s cookies topped the “just desserts” category.

The almost grand award went to 11-year-old Lisl Stanton, who had whipped up her great-great-aunt Jessie’s ham loaf and served it with iced sun tea, noting it was “a good year” for sun tea. The nearly grand award was given to Antonia Allegra, Alison Da Rosa and company for their “ultimate comfort food,” homemade vanilla ice cream, sinful chocolate brownies and milk.

Then, as the judges led the crowd in singing “Happy Trails to You,” first-time competitor Marty Van Winkle was announced as winner of the grand award for his rabbit burritos.

But it was Lorenzo Gunn, with his chile, frijoles, mariachis and dancers, who gets to keep the real Gladys. His, the judges agreed, was excess of the finest kind.

Finally, George Munger stood and said, “There will be no more cook-offs,” a notion that was greeted with hisses and boos. Then he added, “But there is a new idea on the horizon. . . .”

(The reality, George said later, is “I can’t face another cleanup. And people are starting to kill themselves” in competition. Piret agreed: “People are getting a little too serious. We just sort of feel maybe it’s time to do something else.” The Mungers, whose interest in food led to their opening The Perfect Pan cook shop in 1975 and, later, Piret’s charcuterie in San Diego, have sold the shops and restaurants to Vicorp but remain as consultants; they also very recently became cookbook authors.)

As the boos died down, he disappeared behind a makeshift blue curtain, and when the curtain parted again, there were George (all 6 feet 7 inches) and Piret in sailor suits and Shirley Temple wigs, dancing to “On the Good Ship Lollipop.” All of which was a little introduction to next year’s party, which will have a “taureaux piscine” theme.

For the uninitiated, that translates roughly, very roughly, to “You’ve Got to Be Kidding.” It’s borrowed from a December, 1984 New Yorker piece by Calvin Trillin, “Onward and Upward With the Arts: Damp in the Afternoon.” It was his account of a competition in France between baby bulls and little boys splashing around in a wading pool-- “taureaux piscine.” Later, asked if America might be ready for such a sport, Trillin replied, “You’ve got to be kidding!”

The Mungers, taking their inspiration from this article and from a subsequent visit to San Francisco, where they were fascinated by the street performers, decided they had hit on their next party line.

Now, George said, the idea is not to go out and find somebody who sings opera while rifling through garbage cans and bring him to the party. The idea is for everyone to do something wacky and fun and harmless.

More than one guest was heard to say, “You’ve got to be kidding!”