You know, the British have some unusual notions about how to eat gamebirds. They like them “well hung.” My grandfather’s people came over here after the industrial revolution starved them off their cottage looms in Liverpool and they brought their peculiar epicurean notions with them and I inherited some of them… I never got to eat any jacksnipes until after my mother died. Every time I would come in with my shotgun my mother would come out hobbling and say “All I need is one of those bullnecks. You can hang them and those jacksnipes out on the porch for me. They’ll be ready in four or five days as warm as it is.”