We’d put money on it: There is no person in Baltimore who likes deviled eggs quite as much as Martine Richards.

In fact, the 36-year-old Remington resident loves the hard-boiled, half-moon-shaped, mayonnaise-heavy hors d’oeuvre so much, she created a party for the sole purpose of being able to eat as many as she’d darn well like.

“There is absolutely deviled egg etiquette—when you got to a party, it is acceptable to be witnessed eating two deviled eggs,” reports Richards. “After that, if the party is going a little longer, and if you can be sneaky about it, you can take a third. And then, at the very end, if there are still any left—which there probably won’t be—then you can take a fourth.”

On the other hand, being caught devouring a sixth or seventh, as she typically longs to do? “Absolutely not,” she says with mock horror.

So in 2012, the Baltimore Deviled Egg Pageant was born. At first, it was just 30 friends in her living room who brought their own iteration of the event’s namesake finger food and, by popular vote, competed to see who made the best one.

But despite that dish’s polarizing reputation—there are usually two camps: those who like deviled eggs, and those who despise them, the latter of whom Richards calls “just wrong”—the competition soon outgrew her home, with more and more friends of friends and then complete strangers wanting to get in on the fun.

“I believe that everyone is an artist, in whatever capacity they can be,” says Richards, an instructional technologist of education courses, who, in her other side hustle, also crafts everything from jewelry to art prints and has been a longtime participant in the American Visionary Art Museum’s Small Foods Party (where her first entry was, fittingly, deviled quail eggs). “This is art…this is very Baltimore art.”

Those masterpieces will be on display this month, when the pageant returns on Sept. 10 at Charm City Meadworks in Johnston Square. Some 30 contestants will craft a spread of culinary creations that have ranged from Richards’ own famous sushi egg mixed with Sriracha mayo and speckled with seaweed, to a disco-fry egg topped with frites and a glittery gravy, and even egg-shaped cakes and corndogs.

“Last year, I made a Denver omelet as a cocktail,” says Brendan Dorr, co-owner of the Dutch Courage gin bar in Old Goucher, who hosted the event last year. “It was bacon-washed white whiskey with a little corn liqueur and a tomato-bell pepper foam on top, garnished with chives and a little grind of black pepper.”

In the past, Dorr has also been one of the pageant’s three judges. Attendees cast ballots as well, for categories like “Best Tasting,” “Best Presentation,” and “Best Not-an-Egg,” which are then eligible for the crowning title of “Best Egg in Show,” replete with a special plaque, sash, and tiara. Of course, there is a “Martine’s Choice” award, too.

“The first thing that I notice when I take a bite is: Did they use enough salt?” says Richards, who also likes thoughtful garnishes, clean fillings, and dyeing for more than just color, such as with beets or turmeric. “It should add flavor, too.”

With a knowing laugh, the host describes her event as an initial frenzy of excitement—all walks of Baltimore who have gathered to take this silly thing rather seriously. They eat their fill (and then some). Then, inevitably, they get tired, often rolling home before the winners are announced.

“It’s tons of fun,” says Dorr emphatically. “It also gives you a bit of a bellyache.”

Tickets proceeds (this year’s event has already sold out) benefit the Baltimore Abortion Fund, where Richards sits on the board.

Last year, the pageant raised some $6,000, and she feels a humble sense of awe for both the city’s creativity and its support for a good cause. The pageant’s quirky and quintessentially Baltimore nature gives her a feeling that maybe, just maybe, surpasses the sheer joy of finally getting to eat deviled eggs to her heart’s content.

“It just makes me hopeful,” she says.

“My name means the shape I am…” —Humpty Dumpty

Martine Richards was in bad shape, afraid she was going to wind up with egg on her face.

Her party for friends and acquaintances—an afternoon of silliness and vittles, “the dumbest thing I do all year,” she said—had always been a manageable affair, held at her home or a friend’s house and once in Druid Hill Park.

But this year, as the 31-year-old geared up for the Seventh Annual Baltimore Deviled Egg Pageant, and for reasons unknown, the event took on a life of its own, becoming bigger and more intimidating by the day.

Richards woke up a few weeks ago to find that she had a monster on her hands. And it is set to invade the Single Carrot Theatre at 1 p.m. this Sunday, September 16.

It seems that more than 1,200 people expressed interest in attending Martine’s little egg party via Facebook, well over ten times than had ever attended before. The response presented two problems: The Single Carrot lobby near Richards’ home in Remington has a capacity of about 100. And even if she could accommodate such a ravenous crowd, could there possibly be enough eggs prepared in time for everyone to down a few?

In the Gospels, the loaves and fishes are not accompanied by a side of deviled eggs.

By the math of most informal events, where a fraction of those who say they cannot wait to attend actually show up, Richard reckons that everything will be fine—especially if the weather is nice so the theater parking lot can accommodate the overflow.

Hopefuls will battle it out in the following categories: “Best Meaty Egg,” “Best Meatless Egg,” “Best Not an Egg,” (let your minds wander), and “Audience Choice.”

After a quintet of judges has selected a winner in each of those groups, the most delectable diablo will be crowned “Best in Show,” with a tiara and wild applause along with a whole bunch of honorable mentions just for fun.

This leaves a parsley-garnished question on the tip of every great-aunt’s tongue: What about the best traditional deviled egg?

“There used to be a traditional category, but it caused too many arguments,” said Richards. “Everybody thought their grandmother’s recipe was the classic. I got too much push back and did away with it.”

Deviled egg aficionado Kendall Jenkins, another Remington resident who runs with Richards’ grub posse, believes the quandary over what is a “true deviled egg” falls into two historic classes: savory versus sweet. Even with a divide as simple as that, however, provincial predilections abide.

“You will find people are incredibly loyal to a brand of mayonnaise that they use,” said Jenkins, a 30-year-old originally from North Carolina. “I would only dare to use homemade mayo or Duke’s in my eggs.”

Duke’s is decidedly a Southern product, though it appears in groceries as far away as Idaho and Maine. Baltimoreans favor Hellman’s mayonnaise (“bring out the best!”) while a younger generation of Crabtown cooks prefer a shake of Old Bay on top instead of the paprika that likely dusted the deviled eggs at their First Communion or Bar Mitzvah.

No matter the filling or the garnish, said Jenkins, “appearance is important for the perfect deviled egg. You want the eggs to look neat and clean, and it is crucial to not overcook the yolks so you have a nice bright yellow color to your filling.”

In many families, where at least one matron or matriarch-in-waiting holds the title of “deviled egg lady,” the debate over what makes for the real thing is as intense as the arguments among Italian-Americans over whose grandmother made the best tomato sauce.

The deviled egg recipe in the family of 2018 pageant judge Courtney Hobson goes back to the first decades of the 20th century, back to the southern Virginia kitchen of her maternal great-grandmother, Brownie Cornelia Morgan Gaines in the Shenandoah Valley town of Staunton.

“My mother learned from her mom and she learned from Brownie. I have eaten deviled eggs for as long as I can remember,” said Hobson, who at 28, long before the mantle is typically passed to the next generation, has become “the deviled egg lady” in her family.

Certainly, there are families in which the hallowed (and hollowed) honor of filling a cut-in-half-and-scooped-out hard-boiled egg with a whipped yolk concoction belongs to a man. But that seems to be as untraditional as a deviled egg made with chicken liver mousse and pureed pear, an entry in a previous Richards contest.

The Hobson family recipe follows tradition, one that Courtney sampled as a young “official taster” before the goodies were set out with the potato salad, sliced ham, and dinner rolls at family gatherings.

“It has to have a good balance of vinegar and mustard,” said Hobson, who uses wet mustard where Brownie was partial to dry. As a kid, she said, “I knew [the filling] was just right when it wasn’t too vinegary—the mustard helped to calm it down but the relish still gave it some kick.”

While Courtney will be making Hobson family deviled eggs for “the judges circle,” as will her fellow jurists, everyone outside of that circle be forewarned.

“I typically don’t trust most people’s deviled eggs,” she said.