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MOBILE, Alabama -- Ken Orndoff of Hoover, Alabama, wanted to set a record. One of Mobile’s signature seafood eateries wanted a public endorsement of the post-oil spill safety of its product.

So on Saturday afternoon, Orndoff plopped down on a barstool at the Wintzell’s Oyster House downtown with a team of oyster-shuckers in front of him and a dozen or so friends behind him.

The rules were clear. Orndoff had to eat 403 raw oysters in an hour — and keep them down — to break the restaurant’s 7-year-old mark.

If he did it, Wintzell’s would pay for his meal, give him $25 and put his name on the wall. If he failed, he had to foot his own bill.

A new record this summer would be a bit more costly to the eatery. Wholesale oyster prices are triple the cost of last year, general manager Bob Omainsky said.

The Deepwater Horizon oil spill that began in April closed oyster beds, like the ones around Mobile Bay and some in Mississippi and Louisiana. Then, BP started paying oyster harvesters to scout for oil, which further dented supply.

Wintzell’s used to buy its oysters from Louisiana, but had to switch to Apalachicola, Fla., said Wintzell’s general manager, Bob Omainsky.

Those oysters are safe, said George Crozier, director of the Dauphin Island Sea Lab. “Absolutely no exposure over there,” he said.

But even the oyster beds the oil didn’t touch are tainted by the public misperception that all Gulf seafood is unsafe to eat.

Buffy Donlon, wife of Wintzell’s owner Bob Donlon and honorary referee, said she hoped Orndoff’s attempt would show people that Gulf seafood is safe.

Orndoff didn’t need convincing.

"Oysters are great to eat, especially down on the Gulf,” the Hoover native said.

He started out gangbusters, spearing about five oysters at a time on a fork, then slurping them down. The first 50 were gone in 90 seconds. The next 50 were gone in a minute. By the 12-minute mark, Orndoff had polished off 300.

The crowd was jubilant, but somewhere deep inside Orndoff, the oysters were plotting his undoing.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and the back of his neck. He leaned over, rested his head on his hand. He began to slow down, taking the oysters one at a time, pausing 10 seconds between each bite.

At the beginning, he eschewed cocktail sauce, saying he didn’t want anything to take up room in his stomach. By the 350 mark, he sprayed it all over the platter, hoping to trick his tongue into thinking he was eating something else.

Still, he kept swallowing. He’d gag, put his fist to his mouth, squeeze his eyes shut and will his food to stay where it belonged.

At 375, he asked for a wet towel to pat down the back of his neck. “Is that the towel you’re going to throw in?” asked a snickering oyster-shucker. “He’ll eat the towel, too!” an Orndoff backer retorted.

Half an hour gone, Orndoff stuck Nos. 398 and 399 on his fork and swallowed. He speared No. 400. The crowd bubbled with excitement.

That’s when Orndoff vomited.

It started slow at first, just a tiny stream coming through his fingers. But he couldn’t hold it in, retching a violent gray-brown river into a trash can next to his feet.

He cursed, slapped the trash can. The crowd groaned.

"So close!” one woman shouted.

Then Orndoff pointed to the trash can, looked at a shucker and asked: “If I eat these in here, can I keep going?”

Donlon nodded her head.

Orndoff filled his cup with what had once filled his belly, and guzzled the regurgitated bivalves.

He quit after another 22 fresh ones, ending at 421 oysters.

Orndoff kissed his wife, accepted the $25 check, then pondered the moment.

“I’m full,” he said. “I’ve never been this full. I actually want to go throw up again.”