After several days of cooking, he decides that cooking is a lousy job, even if nobody complains. So he begins to deliberately mess up the food to provoke somebody into complaining. He burns some, he leaves out the salt, he undercooks the potatoes: nothing works. The men all eat (or not) without complaint.
Then one day he finds a batch of fresh moose turds out on the trail. He scoops them up, arranges them in a pie shell, adds some whipped topping, and serves it to the foreman for lunch.
The foreman takes one bite, jumps up from his seat and says in an awful voice, "Aaargh! That's MOOSE TURD PIE!" Then, realizing what he's just said, he immediately adds ". . . b-but it's good!"
And a tip of the toque to barbarakelley.