CHICKEN FOR HIM!

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 70, 23 March 1940, Page 7

CHICKEN FOR HIM!

THE GENERAL EATS. "A GLORIOUS DAY, MY CHILDREN." i MARENGO MAKES HISTORY. It is almost sunset on the 14th ofl 'June, ISOO, and the plain of northern Italy is very liet, but a certain skinny,! iyellow-faced little man has been too busy to notice it. Xo.v, however, he jpushes back the lank dark locks that bang about his cars, and realises that lie is dusty and sweaty. "Ba*hi! What a day!" At ten in the morning he fought a battle and -was defeated. By three in the afternoon lie had fought another one and lost that. This was distinctly annoying. He was not used to it, and he said as much to his troops, with the result that, before sundown the Austrian army had ceisi.l to exist, and he, the French commander, was inj the village of Marengo. He dismounts stiffly from his horse, drinks deeply of the water that is! offered; splashing some over face audi hands, calls for an aide-de-camp and, sitting at a rickety table in front of a ruined cottage; starts dictating dis-, patches for Paris. . [ In the meantime a couple of privates] from the Consular Guard are scouring |the countryside to find their genera | {something to cat. Even to experienced, rustlers like these veterans, a region! that has undergone three battles in one dav cannot be expected to present many resources. However, by means best known to themselves, they assemble a chicken, a handful of onions, some white wine, and part oi a flask of olivo . °' 1In the ruined and looted gardens of the 'village, they find tomatoes, bay, thyme land "parsley. They themselves are too I experienced campaigners ever to be 1 without a head of garlic, the blessed (bulb.

While the first is 'being lighted a passing soldier —also dirty, tired and hungry—pauses, and glances from ' the'

fire to tile dictating general. He raises a bushy eyebrow in question. The cook nods, "For him? Yes." A powderblackened hand with the gnarled fingers of a peasant, gropes in the deep pocket of his .uniform and brings forth six or eight mushrooms—"l found them when wc were starting this morning and saved them to eat after the victory, but hi must be well fed."

Our two privates of the guard look over their provisions and go to work. Into their smoky little kettle goes a quarter of a cup of olive oil and when it is hot the chicken, cut into morsels, is turned and twisted in it until golden. A couple of onions are chopped line and allowed to fry until brown, and then half a cupful of wine is added and allowed to boil for five minutes. In the meantime the other soldier has cut three small tomatoes ill quarters and removed the seeds. These are dumped into the pot with the carefully peeled mushrooms, a clove of garlic, a' bay leaf, two teaspoonfuls of chopped parsley, a pinch of thyme, and pepper and salt. The hd is clamped on the kettle and for -0 minutes the mixture is permitted to fry, steam and stew. At the end of that period the lid is removed to allow the sauce to reduce, and 10 minutes later the cook advances proudly to the sallow little "cneral, comes to attention, salutes, and pronounces the ritual phrase, "My [ general is served.'' I There is a momentary frown at the interruption, and then the victor turns on the soiled soldiers his bright blue eyes and that marvellous, loving, understanding smile that he reserves for the little people. "It has been a glorious dav, my children. lam well pleased with you."

Bonaparte eats as he always did. gulping down the food as if in haste to finish sonic unpleasant duty, but the soldiers are used to that—they watch for something more. He continues to dictate, even with his mouth full, and throws the chicken bones in the dusty road before him. When the- plate is empty of meat—still dictating—ho reaches mechanically for a bit of the coarse array bread, and with it' mops up and eats the sauce!

The two privates turn and salute each! other—they have had their reward. The general, who they well know cave? nothing for food, has liked their 6aucc. .With the battle, Chicken Marengo lias entered into history.—William Irwin in 'the "New York Herald-Tribune."