As the summer season begins to wind down, contrary to popular belief Cape May does not shut down the day after Labor Day. Restaurant staffs around town can relax a little after surviving another season. So what is a better way for chefs and foodies alike to blow off a little steam than a celebration of food mixed in with a little friendly competition?

That is what Cape May’s Food and Wine Festival is all about. This year it is being held September 16-23 at Cape May Winery on Townbank Road in North Cape May. What a great way to tie in local wines and restaurants, although I hope the “out of town” location does not prove to be a logistical problem that prevents in-town chefs from  participating since September weekends can still be a busy time for local eateries.

 Food and wine festivals are always a lot of fun. It is a chance for chefs to strut their stuff and competitions allow chefs and their establishment to lay claim to local bragging rights. I have never met a chef that didn’t think that they make the best of whatever they are cooking (confidence bordering on or extending into arrogance being a common trait among chefs). So, the Chowder competition and Iron Chef Cook Off arenas can be as tense as the final round at Augusta.

 Personally, I have grown to enjoy the competition. The Chef’s Cook off can be especially grueling with only fifteen minutes to prepare a dish with half a dozen equally talented chefs. One of the keys to survival in the restaurant business is being able to work and thrive under pressure and in adverse conditions. So, cooking outside in Cape May’s schizophrenic September weather, which can be rain and wind, or blistering heat and humidity or a genuinely pleasant day, adds to the challenge of cooking elbow to elbow on portable butane burners. Throw in a Chinese fire drill, scramble for community ingredients, and not finding out the mystery ingredient is until the clock starts, and you have a recipe for stress for armchair cooks. However, we are talking about chefs whose average day consists of going from one crisis to the next. This is how chefs relax. People who struggle with boiling water may not comprehend how this could be fun or relaxing but for chefs it is.

 The key is getting into that Zen-like state that chefs call the zone where everything disappears and it is just you and the food. You see the mystery ingredient unveiled – Cape May day boat scallops – and your mind races. You latch on to jicama (often referred to as the Mexican potato). Out of the corner of your eye, you spy Jersey corn and tomatoes and you have a salad for the base. And there is your game plan. It instantly crystallizes in your mind’s eye. You put your mind on auto-pilot and you cook.

 The bumping and jostling of your competitors is incidental. You are cruising. The scallops are searing. Knives are slicing and dicing. You snag the basil right before the guy next to you reaches for it. You tear off a bunch and toss him the rest, after all you may be competing, but you are members of the same fraternity. Then you hear the countdown; “Two minutes left.” You grab your plate. Check your sauce. You glance and see the crisp brown crust on your scallops and internally you smile. On the outside you have the focus of a lion on the Serengeti eyeing the weak gazelle in the herd. Thirty seconds later, the salad gets a final toss. You plate. Ten seconds later, the sauce goes down. You place the last scallop on the plate, wiping the edge of the plate as the announcer calls time. You look up. Then you glance and see that your culinary brethren have also thrown together some kicking plates. Your mind races in amazement that six people with the same time, ingredients and constraints have come up with six totally different interpretations off the same ingredients. That is what it means to be a chef. You take a deep breath and it is time to go work. Who won is immaterial. After all, it’s just cooking not brain surgery.

 In contrast, the chowder competition is done in the safe confines of your workplace. The time frame is of your own making. So is the chowder. To chefs who reside in coastal towns, chowder is religion. Chowder is hardly an American invention. The word is derived from either the French Chaudiere, meaning cauldron – the vessel in which it is cooked – or the olde English Jowter, meaning a fish peddler.  But the idea of fish stew is universal to any town in the world that borders an ocean. Clam chowder is very American, clam stews having been produced for centuries before Plymouth Rock or Jamestown. In fact, it took many years for New Englanders to embrace clams using them as feed for their hogs. Eventually, cooks married pork and clams with cream and potatoes, and the dish we recognize as clam chowder evolved.

 But chowder is more than just clams. From corn to conch and from Boston to the Bahamas, every harbor town has its own specialty.  If you are a chowder fanatic the Food and Wine Festival’s chowder competition will be Shangri-la for you. In years past, every variety I have seen before and some new ones have been represented. The competition is broken down into two categories of red and white. Persnickety aside: having been trained in Rhode Island, deep in the Chowder Belt of New England, tomatoes DO NOT belong in TRUE chowder. The holy trinity of chowder is Quahog clams, salt pork and potatoes. That being said, all manners of chowder, real and otherwise (that means the bastard Manhattan style version), are showcased. My purist side not withstanding, they are all good.

 Go out to Cape May Winery the third weekend in September and enjoy the Cape’s best chefs’ offerings. The proceeds from the chowder competition – there is a donation required to sample and vote – benefit charity. So, vote early and vote often. Good food for a good cause is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. If you can’t wait until that weekend, try these dishes to get you in the mood for food and wine weekend.