There are thousands of Michelin Stars, but only one world porridge champion

But there is one thing the experts say you should always do, and that’s stir the porridge clockwise.

“If you don’t, you’ll let the devil in and it will be ruined," said Charlie Miller, who for years organized the Golden Spurtle, the world porridge making championship held in this village deep in the Highlands.

For 32 years, competitors have come from around the globe armed with their spurtles, the tapered sticks Scots use to stir their oats, to see what they can conjure up in their pots in the allotted 30 minutes. It seems simple enough. In its traditional form there are just three ingredients to porridge: water, oats and salt.

Yet so much can go wrong.

It can be too runny, too clumpy, too salty, not salty enough, burned, sticky and, frankly, not very good at all. There is a reason it’s what prisoners were routinely fed in Britain, so much so that a stretch in jail was known as “doing porridge."

But when lightning strikes, and water, oats and salt harmonize in just the right combination of color, consistency and flavor, it can be a thing of beauty, aficionados say.

“It’s almost like the porridge gods decide whether your bowl of porridge is going to be any good," said Adam Kiani, a London-based biologist who won the Golden Spurtle two years ago. “Because it’s so simple, tiny little details will change the texture or the flavor or the color. It could just be, like, the humidity in the room."

Re-creating a perfect bowl they once made is what brings many competitors back each year. A consistent porridge is “unobtainium," jokes contestant Tim Moss.

Some closely guard their recipes. Local resident Ian Bishop, described by Miller as a “man of mystery," reputedly uses water from his well. But you’ll never hear that—or other secrets—from him.

In a recent documentary, “The Golden Spurtle," filmmakers asked Bishop what kind of oats he would be using. “Why would I want to tell you?" he said. “Other people would get to know."

Some let slip their secrets during the actual cook-off, when host Sarah Rankin interviews them as they stir away. Australian Caroline Velik, who won this year’s specialty prize, said she uses oats from New South Wales that she prepares at her own stone mill.

Others try to apply a little science.

“Oats are about 60% starch," said Chris Ormiston, “so I did some research and found that they begin to cook properly at 60 degrees [140 degrees Fahrenheit] but start to burst at 92 degrees, and the porridge becomes a kind of paste."

The Scot brought a thermometer to last year’s contest. It “helps stop me from overcooking it. I don’t think anyone had done that before, or at least not in the competition." He won.

The Golden Spurtle started in 1994 as a way to draw visitors to Carrbridge and prolong the tourist season. Alan Rankin, lead organizer this year, says it has also helped bind villagers together at a time when some other Highlands communities saw their populations dwindle. The whole village comes together to wash the pots, put up the bunting or point visitors to the local pub.

An unexpected result is that people want to come and live here. “The primary school is full, in fact an extension has just been built," said Bill Lobban, a local councilor.

After five heats, and some whisky tastings for the boisterous crowd, this year’s contest all came down to the six who made it through to the grand final.

As he stirred, England’s James Leach talked about how a dent in his cooking pot seemed to result in an unusually good porridge; to his right, Murray Talbot suggested there might be magic in the spurtle.

Norway’s Sven Seljom, a burly 57, described how he uses black Norwegian oats and prefers to use a spatula, to a chorus of boos.

“I find it works better," he said, “but I think I’ll get chased out of the village now."

As the clock ran down, their bowls were taken away to the judges’ room. The crowd hummed in anticipation. Some had the word “oats" painted on their faces. Seljom’s wife and friends, in traditional dress, waved Norwegian flags.

A hush fell as chief judge Neil Mugg reappeared. This year’s prize would go to…

First-time competitor Sven Seljom.

Chants of “Sven! Sven!" echoed around the village hall. Outside, he posed for selfies and held a 6-foot-long spurtle carved with a chain saw by local artist Alice Buttress and painted gold. The organizers had asked her to make one as a joke.

“They didn’t think I’d actually do it," she said. “So the next day I plonked it on the table and said, ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it?’"

Alan Rankin laughed. “That’s what this event is all about," he said, “people just pitching in."