Alvin had been busy for several hours when he sadly realized that he had successfully led the guys right past lunchtime.
Nick's "Beggar's Chicken" had just been buried, and they had only just finished piling wood on top to roast it. The wild boar meat hadn't marinated yet...
The only thing that should've been ready to eat was the pheasant soup, which Stark was keeping a close eye on. He'd already decided several times that he "had to try some"...
Alvin watched as the cautious older man finally seemed to lose patience. Stark had added salt to the pot three times, but each time he'd tasted the soup from the same spoon...
Just as Stark was about to add a fourth spoonful, Alvin stopped him...
He grabbed a clean spoon, scooped out a little to taste, smacked his lips, and said with a grin, "That's about right. Any more, and I think Pepper's breast milk will turn salty...
I wonder if Morgan can get used to her dad's heavy-handed cooking?"
Stark still looked unconvinced. He tasted another spoonful of chicken soup, then gave Alvin a strange look. "Don't mess with me. My sense of taste is excellent..."
Alvin looked at Stark, whose brain had clearly turned to mush, and hesitated. In the end, he decided not to upset him. Whether the soup was salty or not, it was his wife who'd be drinking the milk...
He glanced at the four scrawny pheasants in the pot, stewed until they were nearly falling apart. To stop Stark from ruining the food, Alvin found six small bowls and served each child a portion, giving them a drumstick apiece...
He told the kids to find some bread and make do with the soup for lunch. Then he looked at Stark's odd expression and said