The Cook Read Online Free Page B

Eggy; Conrad would only throw one ball to each dog and Eggy would throw the rest.

7
    And while Conrad was taming the dogs, he was also becoming acquainted with their master:
    “. . . it smelled so good I just had to come in. I was walking around the back . . .”
    Conrad looked up from his labors to see a tall, broad-shouldered young man standing by the back door.
    “I’m Harold . . .”
    As they shook hands Harold asked him what he was fixing for dinner.
    “I’m marinating a roast,” Conrad replied, “but what I believe you smell is the dog food cooking.”
    Harold’s eyes widened. “Really?” He peered into the pot, and then laughed pleasantly. “I rather envy the dogs.”
    Harold’s manner was very easy. Remarking that he would only disturb Conrad for a few minutes, he sat down on the high stool by the sink—Eggy’s stool. Conrad noted a slightly dreamy look in the young man’s eyes. Other than that, he was very good-looking—strong features, high forehead, thick blond hair. And when he took out his pipe and lit it, Conrad saw that he had long, sensitive fingers.
    Conrad continued with his work, and Harold watched him without saying anything.
    At last Harold stood up: “Maxfield spoke to me about your bed. The men are working on the new one now. It’s seven feet long—they may have to move it into your room in sections.”
    Conrad thanked him, and added that he was getting tired of sleeping on the floor.
    Harold had imagined that Conrad slept in the bed somehow, and when Conrad told him this he was visibly taken aback. He promised that the bed would be delivered the very next day.
    He was true to his word.
    After the workmen had installed the bed, Harold lingered in the room: Conrad was starting to open two large packing crates which had arrived that morning.
    The crates revealed an incredible collection of books, all sizes and ages. Many were in foreign languages, and as Harold helped Conrad unpack them his curiosity grew.
    “They’re all cook books,” Conrad explained.
    Harold looked dumbfounded.
    Conrad said he read cook books all the time, especially at night.
    Besides the books there were dozens of folders jammed with cut-out recipes.
    Examining the books, Harold noticed all kinds of marginal notations in them. Conrad told him they were his notes—emendations, additions, cross-references to his other books, etc. Somewhat in awe Harold asked if he had ever compiled a cook book himself, and Conrad showed him stacks of loose-leaf notebooks full of close-written, cryptic formulae—special recipes and methods of his own conceiving.
    The books seemed to cover every subject. In addition to the general cook books there were speciality books—books on sauces, marinades, individual cuts of meat, different kinds of meat, game, fish, fowl, particular vegetables, eggs, cheeses, wine dishes, beer dishes, summer dishes, winter dishes, salads, casseroles, pies, cakes, puddings, icings. There were also books for special kinds of diets.
    There was even a book on cat food.
    Harold became more impressed by the minute.
    “I didn’t know there were that many cook books in the world,” he marveled.
    Conrad showed him a directory of book dealers who would search out any kind of cook book he ordered.
    He also showed him an address book of establishments all over the world which handled specialty-food items. Beside each address there were examples of their inventory.
    “One can send for all those things,” Conrad explained.
    Harold was so intrigued by the new world he had discovered that he didn’t even notice Conrad leave . . .
    After dinner that night Harold dropped by the kitchen to congratulate Conrad on the roast and the sauce he had served with it.
    “I’ve never tasted anything like it,” he said.
    And as he left: “You’ll need some book shelves in your room. I’ll get one of the men at the mill to start making them tomorrow.”

8
    Not only Albert, the butcher, but also the fishmongers, the