Bottled Poetry.

Maryland’s Eastern Shore is a special place to us. We first got the farming bug there, if you can call it that. Back in 2001 we were living in the city of Washington when the unpleasantness of that September prompted an assessment of where we were and where we were headed. It seemed a retreat outside of the city was in order, so we started to look for a weekend getaway.

Our travels took us to the Eastern Shore — first to Virginia, then Maryland, which was a slightly easier commute.  Our practical nature called for something that would generate income, of course. And sufficiently distant that getting there felt like a world away. Maryland’s Eastern Shore fit the bill because it felt like an island.  We started the search on Virginia’s Eastern Shore, which feels even more remote than Maryland’s portion of the Delmarva Peninsula.  It features such treasures as Eyre Hall, a 1,500 acre plantation that has been possessed by one family since the late 17th century, and boasts a garden essentially unchanged since it was planted about 1800.  The family has been on the Eastern Shore since 1623, but the house dates from 1758.  A tradition of hospitality persists that allows any and all visitors to walk the gardens uninvited, and the house may be toured each spring when it is open during Historic Garden Week, as it has been every year since 1941.  The Garden Week tour is amazing, with the owners leading the tours and describing the objects in the house: “When Lafayette visited one of ancestors in Norfolk on his triumphal tour of America in 1825, he would have gazed into that Federal mirror now over that fireplace, which has hung in this room ever since.”

For much of its history, the Eastern Shore existed like an island.  When the railroad came, trains ran from Philadelphia to Cape Charles, then were transferred to barges for their final destination in Norfolk. We found the idyllic place we were looking for in Somerset County, Maryland on an 18-acre tree farm outside of the town of Crisfield, Maryland’s “Seafood Capital,” which is on the last neck of land bordered by the Annemessex River and the Virginia line.  From Crisfield you can take ferries to the inhabited islands in the middle of the bay, Maryland’s Smith Island and Virginia’s Tangier Island, where the natives famously speak an English dialect reminiscent of Elizabethan times — such is the insularity of the place.

Crisfield in years past was famous for its oysters, but when the oyster fishery collapsed, crab fishing filled the void and now dominate the local economy.  Going out to dinner in town mean’t enjoying enormous crab cakes, though friends visiting us back then called them “crab baseballs.”  One of the best was by a restaurant at the foot of Main Street called The Captain’s Galley, long closed and the site redeveloped with an unfortunate high-rise condominium.  The restaurant tried to continue at the foot of the tower, but after the real estate boom the restaurant closed.  We found a recipe online that’s credited to the Captain’s Galley, and we have used it on occasion with great success.  It has the right proportion of crab to nearly non-existent filler and the right amount of spice, so we think it’s authentic.  You’ll find the recipe at the end of this post.  If you can’t find good crab at your local market, two of the Crisfield packing houses, Linton’s Seafood and The Crab Place will overnight shipments.  Expensive, but worth every penny.

Our house was, as the locals call it, “Down Neck” in an area called Lawsonia,  just a couple of miles outside of town.  When we first saw the house it was configured as two units with the owner living in the back half and tenants in the front. We thought very briefly of continuing that arrangement, but the property was so inexpensive we could manage without that income, so we used it as a single family dwelling.  The “units” were separated by existing, original doors; nothing had to be done to reunite the house but turn a key.  We were careful to maintain the forest management plan so the property could benefit from the tax rate afforded by agricultural zoning.  About two and a half acres of timber on the far side of the property was mature Loblolly pine, and that was harvested three years later.

The second kitchen came in handy during dinner parties, and the “modern” additions (the kitchens and baths) were configured in such a way that they did not intrude on the historic fabric of the house, which dates from 1863. It was built in the classic Eastern Shore vernacular that the locals call “Big House, Little House, Colonnade and Kitchen,” each section typically, but not always, with a roof at a different height, though in this case the kitchen was built as an “El” in the back. Basically one room wide, five rooms deep, all the rooms running one to the other with no hallways.  It was bright and airy and comfortable, and sited on the highest land in the area so the living space could benefit from the cooling breezes off of the bay.  There were ample windows and a wonderful screened porch off of the dining room.

When we had it on the market our realtor told us that during one open house a woman walked in, explained that she was psychic, and sat down and had a conversation with one of the resident ghosts, who she said loved the house, too (poor Cynthia was a bit un-nerved by that performance).  The psychic said there were two children and one older man, who liked having the place to himself most of the time.  Since we were there only on weekends, I suppose it suited him just fine.  We never sensed the ghosts and they never made their presence or displeasure known.  We still miss that place.

The antiquing bug bit us hard there, so we spent a lot of time visiting the numerous inexpensive antique shops up and down the Eastern Shore, from Cape Charles in Virginia all the way up to Queenstown, Maryland, near the Bay Bridge, and over into Delaware. One particular favorite was Holly Ridge Antiques in Salisbury. The owner, Jody Nichols, is a genius when it comes to making lamps — and there is no other way to say this — she has absolutely perfect taste. Her sense of proportion is extraordinary.  We’ve tried other lamp shops when we needed a lamp made or repaired, but she has no equal.  If you’ve been in the library at Annefield, you’ve seen her work — she made all four of the Chinese porcelain lamps found in that room. All of the items in her shop are of the finest quality, including notable examples of Chinese Export Porcelain to early American furniture and decorative arts.  Over the years she’s made about a dozen lamps for us.

We reluctantly sold that house four years ago because we weren’t using it, and we hadn’t been back to the area since — until now.  We made the three-hour trek to Salisbury just to see Jody. We acquired several Chinese ginger jars two years ago with the intention of making them into lamps, and there were a pair of matching electrified circa 1850 whale oil lamps had been sitting in a closet because the existing wiring was, well, rather frightening and in need of replacement, so with the tasting room closed we had time for the journey.  We dropped everything off before Christmas and picked up the finished product last Saturday.  We were not disappointed.

Layton’s Chance Vineyard and Winery

On the way down we spied a directional sign for a vineyard outside of the town of Vienna called Layton’s Chance, and resolved to stop in on the way back to Alexandria.  Virtually all the wineries on Maryland’s Eastern Shore opened since we sold that house, though we couldn’t possibly have planted a vineyard at our place. We were almost on the Chesapeake Bay — the house stands within the boundary of the Chesapeake Bay Critical Area, which by definition is every bit of land within 1,000 feet of the bay. I remember planting shrubs near the house; we dug down a foot, and the hole immediately filled with water, which was rather startling. The elevation of the house is five feet above sea level. When Hurricane Isabel passed through in 2003, the water came within inches of the threshold of the front door. Water is an ever-present threat and delight in those parts, and life on the water defines the place. Water, marsh, wind — in summer quite buggy, but this time of year, sublime.

When we arrived shortly after noon we were the only visitors. The tasting room is what one would expect – a red-painted barn-like structure adjacent to one of the vineyards. The charming lady working the commodious bar (with room for a dozen people) told us that just outside was the Chambourcin vineyard, and that the property has a total of 12 acres under vine on a 1,800 acre farm that also grows tomatoes, corn, soybeans and wheat. Our experience with the high water table had us perplexed by the irrigation — this was Dorchester county, which reportedly has an elevation averaging 20 feet above sea level.  Potable ground water is lighter than sea water, and rests like a bubble on top of it.  Given the generally high water table, irrigation seems like an unnecessary expense.

Many a Virginian may sniff that the land is totally inappropriate for cultivating grapes, but we would point out by way of example that the elevation of many vineyards in Bordeaux, France is about 65 feet (20 meters) above sea level, such as at Côtes du Bourg, though some, like St. Emilion, are in the range of  118 to 125 feet above sea level.  In the Piedmont we need to be careful about site selection because of the threat of winter freezes; we have to ensure that a site has adequate air drainage to avoid damage in our continental climate, but a mild maritime climate like the Eastern Shore doesn’t need that protection.  Good thing, too, because  the land is so flat.

It was also surprising to see that they planted only hybrids, but we’ve reached the conclusion that newer wine regions are nervous about planting Vitis vinifera and opt for less-risky varieties. If the owner were there, we would have asked what informed that selection. We know a lot of Virginians have planted Reisling because they enjoy it, even though it does not do well in our climate, but I have yet to meet anyone who seeks out Chambourcin, Vidal Blanc or Traminette as their absolute first choice when selecting a wine. But this is what they grow. Also Norton, but no Norton was offered in the tasting room; perhaps it isn’t bearing yet. Another winery further south, Bordeleau Vineyards near Eden in Wicomico County grows Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Sauvignon Blanc, Malbec, Petit Verdot, Pinot Grigio, Viognier, and Muscat — and their wines have won awards in international competition.  If Bordeleau can grow vinifera on the Eastern Shore, surely others can.

Professional courtesy dictates not reviewing the wine of our East Coast compatriots. Their product line features a salable balance of dry and sweet, though sweet predominated, which as a marketing decision became quickly apparent, because shortly after we arrived three men walked in who looked like they were taking a break from hunting (it is deer season). They were surely regulars, because they knew what they wanted, and all three ordered slushies. Behind the bar was a machine like you would find at a 7-Eleven with a frozen purple goop turning around in the cylinder on top. They dispensed wine slushies, which we have not seen before. They are served in a wine glass, to the brim, with a jaunty peak from the spigot extending two inches above the rim.  Fascinating.  In the scheme of things, not a bad idea —  much simpler than Sangria, since there is no fruit to chop, and no doubt cheaper to produce, if you don’t include the cost of the machine in the calculation.

Immediately after the men sat down, two women walked in, announced that they were heading home from a funeral, and asked if they had a White Zinfandel.  They then asked which wine we selected.  The question seemed more nosey than curious, if that makes sense (they seemed more interested in our business than our opinion).  We enjoyed the 2010 Chambourcin, and feeling hard up after our lamp extravaganza, took home a single bottle.

Chesapeake Bay Crab Cakes

The Captain’s Galley, Crisfield, Maryland 

Ingredients

• 1 teaspoon sharp, prepared mustard (French’s is fine)
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice, freshly squeezed
• 1 large egg
• 6 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground
• 1 pound lump crabmeat, picked clean
• 1/2 cup bread crumbs, unflavored
• 1 pinch cayenne pepper
• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter

1. Using a wire whisk, beat together mustard, lemon juice and egg until thoroughly combined.
2. Incorporate 4 tablespoons of the olive oil, pouring it in a thin stream while whisking vigorously.  When smooth and creamy, stir in the salt and black pepper.
3. Gently fold into the crabmeat, then add the bread crumbs and cayenne pepper.
4. Shape the mixture into eight patties, each about a half-inch thick.  They will be quite fragile and want to fall apart.
5. Melt butter with the remaining two tablespoons of olive oil  in a skillet over medium heat.  When hot, gently ease the crab cakes into the skillet and sauté 2 to 3 minutes per side.
6. Drain on paper towels, and serve immediately.

Serves four as a main course, or makes eight appetizer servings