Heat and Soul Goes Into Chili

The long night’s journey into Memorial Day weekend began Thursday at the Newport Dunes campground, where Benz-and-beach-house social types mixed with a rowdy crowd of 3,000 for the 18th annual International Chili Society cook-off.

ICS--the logo’s an iron kettle with flames licking up from the rim--makes its home in the Balboa Bay Club, a few miles up Coast Highway from the campground. Thus, as tradition has it, a $25-a-pop party for the masses--with a VIP tent for the chili judges and social somebodies set safely back behind a row of hay bales guarded by security. Yee- ha!

Who’s Who

A 10-gallon hat may be the great sartorial equalizer ( everybody looks silly wearing one), but what’s an urban cowboy to do?

Among those peering out from under wide brims were Jim West, executive director of the ICS and Bob Fuess, an advisory board member.

Party circuit regulars rubbing elbows in the chili dusk included Tina and Matt Schafnitz, Mary Ann and Len Wells, Sheri and Ron Metzger, and Monica and Tom Deemer (he’s president of the Balboa Bay Club).

Looming over the VIPs was L.A. Rams quarterback Jim Everett, who was among those assessing chili with fellow judge Jerry Tarkanian, basketball coach at University of Nevada, Las Vegas.

Sights and Sounds

‘Round the park the ever-looser, ever-louder visitors circulated, pausing to eat, drink, gawk.

Scheduled entertainment included dancing to live bands, a parade of the cooking contestants, and “Mr. Hot Sauce” and “Miss Chili Pepper” competitions. (Len Wells, who judged the bathing-suited beauties, was still raving about the chili Misses hours after the contest.)

The cooks and their cadres stuck close to their forts--each a little aromatic world of its own.

Paul and Janet Ash, of Banning, whipped together “Pure Science Chili” amid a wreck of test tubes and beakers. While his wife stirred, Ash waxed scientific. “Years of research and experimentation have gone into this recipe,” he said. Then he laughed. “And years of eating.”

At the “Chili Is Our Racquet” booth, representing the Balboa Bay Club Racquet Club, Gay Loy Palmer and daughter Joni Bathurst watched over a two-quart pot with Don Thompson and his daughter Mary Thompson.

Huddled beneath dangling tennis balls and racquets, the doubles partners blanched when asked if they were giving away samples of their savory stew. “No, no, no, no!” Palmer squealed. “We just made this for the judges!”

Don Mullins, a retired Fountain Valley resident, had a different philosophy. “I always feel like, if anybody comes to a chili cook-off, they ought to be able to taste chili. I’ve given away 10 gallons of chili tonight. That’s a lot of chili when you’re dishing it out in two-ounce cups.”

Signs of the Time

The lucky few atop the White Horse chili booth had the best view of the stage. Dubbed “Patriots Hall,” the two-story booth--a dozen paces from the footlights--was a campy cousin of the red-brick clock towers found in New England towns.

Portraits of various “patriots” coupled with promotional slogans were hung on the booth’s perimeter. Among them: Gen. H. Norman Schwarzkopf (“White Horse chili tastes great! Even with a little Desert Sand!”); a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle (“I’ll take White Horse chili over pizza any day!”), and George Herbert Walker Bush, leader of the free world (“I was a whimp until I started eating White Horse chili”).