Dale Rosskamp, a deputy district engineer who looks a lot like Rainn Wilson ("Dwight" from The Office), inspects an object used to measure how the zebra mussels grow on different surfaces at San Justo Reservoir in 2009.

In devising a list of “100 Ways to Eradicate a Reservoir Infested with Zebra Mussels in Under a Decade” for the research journal Stuff, an idea struck me as poignantly appropriate, amusing, vengeful and satisfying.
No. 74 on the list of eradication methods: The Great Mussel Bakeoff, a cooking and eating festival at San Justo Reservoir celebrating the invasive Russian mollusk, which has lorded over our man-made water source for going on eight years.
For kicks, No. 75 on the eradication list was “Toss Dynamite Sticks Into Water Like Crocodile Dundee” and No. 76 was “Use Helicopter to Drop Loads of Crayfish Into Pond and Feast on Fattened Crayfish Later.”
Those ideas are secondary. Notes below reflect my vision—maybe more like a business model to some or a deranged manifesto to others—for the more humane Great Mussel Bakeoff event to take place at San Justo each year over Labor Day weekend. Local nonprofit organizations are encouraged to consider involvement in this landmark enterprise and could reap up to 8 percent of profits by simply getting in touch with my trademark attorney.
The Vision
This international festival will involve a Gorton’s-sponsored Great Mussel Eating Contest, The Great Mussel Bakeoff world championship cooking competition sponsored by (you could place your brand-name promotion here) and a Vladimir Putin-esque display of macho recklessness with a bulldozer crushing large piles of scattered zebra mussels—which are apparently too disgusting and toxic to eat for enjoyment—to finish the event in grand fashion.
Some other Great Mussel Bakeoff features planned with those highlights could include mollusk-themed T-shirt vendors, the Mussel Olympics involving tiny challenges for the mostly motionless and slimy creatures, a Mussel Hot Wheels Pull, the Mussel Rodeo, Clam Races on remote-controlled motorboats, the traditionally saucy Shell Off where Hollister police detectives could covertly scope out the town’s really weird creeps, the Fish Feast in a small side pond where organizers release perch and watch them devour zebra mussels while onlookers feast on fried fish and oysters, and family-friendly musical entertainment from the Bottom Feeders Quartet featuring longtime lead man Steve the Piano Teacher, who is quite muscular.
During a short, wholly bombastic portion of the three-day event, organizers could invite visitors’ dogs to come in and slurp up mussel remnants left in a disgusting pile along the reservoir shoreline and then watch those canines puke out the gunk afterward.
Photos from such a display would have a chance at ending up on the cover of just about any dog-lover or environmentalist magazine in the world. Those are two powerful demographics to have their eyes on San Benito County’s tourism industry, and our county’s leaders—any interest at the chamber, Juli Vieira?—could take advantage of the attention.
Ideally, the inaugural event would involve a host of local cooks and chefs and celebrity chefs—serving items like the signature Mussel Chowder, Mussel-Bound Cheeseburgers, Mac ’N Mussel, Mussel Slurpees, Mark’s Mountain Oysters fried by county connoisseur Mark Tognazzini and Original Mussel-Flavored Ice Cream made from a “mixed clam” substitute—along with random star appearances.
As we learned with those Sons of Anarchy guys visiting Hollister for the biker rally, and the lines for autographs twisting around the Veterans Memorial Building toward Los Banos, local residents sure do love their famous people.
We could always ask Guy Fieri. You never know. He’s been through Hollister before so it’s worth a try. We might want to lower our expectations, though, and recruit someone more like Ed Alonzo, the guy who played the restaurant owner/magician “Max” on Saved by the Bell or else Dustin Diamond (“Screech” on the same show) because he’ll do just about anything for money these days, especially after he gets out of jail for a Wisconsin bar stabbing.
Since the idea of baking zebra mussels doesn’t necessarily sell itself—kind of like the Screech character for Dustin—the most crucial component of the plan is promotion. We could develop a detailed marketing strategy later, but should start with a special invitation to draw international attention.
“Dear President Vladimir Putin:
You are hereby invited to the inaugural gathering of The Great Mussel Bakeoff at San Justo Reservoir. This landmark, three-day event near beautiful Hollister, Calif., will involve cooking and ingesting ungodly amounts of mollusks, including the Russian zebra mussel, and other fine Russian delicacies such as shoes filled with potatoes. Culminating the event, we will put out a large pile of zebra mussels and crush them with a bulldozer in true Soviet fashion to honor the Russian pest’s resilience and U.S. Bureau of Reclamation’s laziness. We will reserve all of the rooms at the luxurious Wiebe and Cinderella motels for your party.”

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