We Don’t Sell That Stuff Here

A craving for clams took my sainted wife and I on quite a trek.  Two weeks ago we went on a hunt for flounder to stuff with crab meat, for dinner.

 

The flounder search proved fruitless.  Travails up and down the peninsula yielded only pre-packaged catfish imported from China.  Evidently there are no catfish in America.  But, I digress.

 

As you are reading this, it is important to keep in mind that a peninsula, by definition, is a body of land surrounded by water on three sides.  In our case, the waters consist of Chincoteague Bay, the Atlantic Ocean, and Chesapeake Bay.

 

Ask nearly anyone with a boat and they will tell you they make their living as watermen – people who harvest the water for food.  Fare taken from these waters include blue crabs, conch, clams, oysters, and, since this is considered prime flounder grounds, flounder.

 

Unsure as to where all this flounder went, we gave up the quest and settled on rib eye steak, potatoes, and squash, all cooked on the grill.

 

My hankering for seafood returned and the treasure hunt began anew.  Clams, which are a staple on The Shore, should be easier to find because of their sheer abundance.  Wrong.

 

Making our way to sleepy Saxis, Virginia, we were met by the usual gang of toothless, booted, slurring guys who were stacking boxes upon boxes of soft shell crabs.  We bought soft shells there before and, since they are smack-dab on the Chesapeake Bay, I figured the pickens should be easy.  Wrong, again.

 

It seems as though no one on The Shore sells seafood to anyone.

 

My fridge was full of corn-on-the-cob, potatoes, and sausage, all awaiting clams to complete the menu for the clam bake.

 

The trip home discovered a fellow in a truck on the side of the road with a sign reading “Clams for sale.”  My kind of guy.

 

He was delighted to sell me 100 little necks and proudly announced he was there every Friday, ready for business.

 

A few days later, a couple of happy hour beers brought me to meet a fellow bar patron who was listening to my seafood woes and assuaged my concerns about an upcoming bivalve shortage.

 

He confided in me that he has a “guy” who can get me clams as that is his contact’s business.  A phone number was surreptitiously slipped to me along with the instructions to “mention my name” when calling.

 

Akin to a clandestine spy operation, I furtively placed the precious series of digits in my cell phone and promised my contact the call would be made.

 

I must say that such behavior – the nonexistence of seafood on The Shore – is embarrassing.  It would be no different if steaks were unavailable in Kansas City, Missouri.

 

It is about time the watermen quit carping about the lack of customers and actually try to sell their goods, and it is also time for the local businesses to sell local wares, locally.