Read The Cook for Free Online Page B

bags of red-birds for more beer, and then returning to the shoot. The men declared the beer had never been more plentiful.
    Toward the end of the day the trips back to the camp became more frequent; though fewer birds were brought in, more beer was taken out . . .
    Conrad and his staff worked without let-up. They kept the beer exceedingly cold, and new kegs were always tapped and ready. The birds were also attended to immediately. There were vats of boiling water with great fires beneath them, and plenty of cut wood to keep them going. The birds were plunged into the water, then plucked and seared and made ready for cleaning. After that they became Conrad’s responsibility.
    It was tradition on red-bird night that a member of the Hill family help feed the men. Harold, of course, had volunteered, and Conrad worked him every bit as hard as he worked Eggy and Rudolph, possibly harder. “One learns from work,” Conrad would say as Harold began to draw another dozen birds.
    Harold was too busy to answer.
    He carefully saved the tiny hearts and livers, which Conrad mixed with berries for the stuffing. The men had never had stuffed birds before. They were also surprised to see Conrad wrap them with strips of salt pork. Prepared thus, the birds were set in a deep tray half full of wine and meat broth, to marinate until the men were all through shooting. Then the trays had only to be slipped into the huge outdoor oven. A small fire had been kept going beneath it since mid-afternoon, so it would not take long to stoke it to high heat.
    Eating-time was set for about an hour after sundown.
    The great fire beneath the oven, and the lesser fires which ringed the dining area and obscured the black forest and hills, consumed wood almost as fast as Rudolph supplied it. Frantically he ran back and forth, his bright red livery making him look rather like a moving torch. Then at one point he stumbled and pitched full-length, scattering an armload of wood among the feet of a tableful of diners.
    “Too much beer!” laughed one of the men, kicking some of the small logs toward Rudolph.
    Rudolph got up and brushed off his uniform.
    “He’s been drinking all day!” laughed another man.
    “He’s drunk more than anyone!” cried a third.
    Rudolph recovered all of the wood, and then looked stupidly at the last man who had addressed him.
    “I have not,” he mumbled. And then, after a moment: “Conrad has. He has drunk the most. I’ve seen him.”
    The man started to laugh and say something, but Rudolph added, “Conrad can drink more than anyone. He can even drink more than you, Heavy.”
    Rudolph turned and flung the wood on the fire.
    “Hey, what did you say?” demanded Heavy. “What did you say . . . ?”
    And that’s how the match came about.
    On red-bird night an eating contest was traditional. But for several years this tradition had not been observed for the simple reason that there was no competition: one man, Heavy, had demonstrated time and time again that he could eat twice as many red-birds as any other man.
    But Rudolph’s words suggested a contest, or perhaps only a good joke.
    Heavy and a delegation of men approached Conrad and told him about the tradition. They repeated what they’d heard and inquired whether his capacity extended equally to solid food.
    “I have a good appetite,” Conrad laughed.
    “Wonderful!” exclaimed the men, nudging Heavy and winking at him.
    But then Conrad added that it was an insult to good food to engage in deliberate gluttony.
    However, more and more men began to clamor for a contest and they wouldn’t let Conrad out of it.
    After all the others had eaten, Conrad and Heavy sat down at opposite ends of a long table. In front of each was an entire tray of birds, and beside it, an empty tray for bones. Steins of cold beer were on their right.
    “Eggy,” Conrad said, “I want you to keep my stein full.”
    Heavy slapped his stomach and gave the same order to Eggy, remarking jovially that