It was early January on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The bleak, dark-gray morning sky was well matched with a raw and deeply penetrating cold. Locals would tell you more snow was on its way. They were usually right. The land is flat, depressingly flat, with farmland for feed corn as far as the eye can see. An occasional farmhouse breaks up the monotonous landscape. Quite often homes are paired with single, double or even triple grain silos that jut out from the ground like a relic from the cold war, a missile launcher standing at the ready. With the exception of a solitary truck rattling along a salt-bleached back road, everything was still.
What was happening high up in the sky was a different story. Ribbons of snow geese swirled and danced in mad un-choreographed frenetic motion as they moved forwards, sideways then back and forth. This swirl of activity was a far cry from the well regimented flights of their cousins, the larger and fuller Canadian geese who had passed before them heading south. The snow geese would break away from their mad dance only to swoop down to the ground in a mad cacophony of honking. This time of year the fields were covered with a frosty, crunchy layer of snow hiding whatever remained of last year’s summer corn or soybean crops. Suddenly, the early morning was shattered by the sound of gunshots, one after the other, in quick succession. With a collective rush, the snow geese took flight high into the sky like swirling ribbons turning right then left in no apparent direction.
Jeremy Pimbroke had been gunning on these lands since he was a boy. The Eastern Shore was very much a part of him and with good reason as his ancestors once owned significant tracts of lands deeded to the Pimbroke family in 1650 by King Charles II. Over the span of many a generation, lands had been divided-up, many sold off to housing developers but there were still lands being worked to this day. Jeremy had inherited a sizable tract of land and with it the family’s elegant estate, Spaniard Neck Farm, built at the turn of the century. It was a beautiful home that overlooked the graceful Chester River. Managing the property took almost all of Jeremy’s time and had put an undue financial strain on his pocketbook. His ex-wife, a socialite from Philadelphia, had never fully understood nor truly appreciated his attachment to, his relationship with or his passion for the land. Admittedly, there had been more than a few instances over the years when he’d been tempted to sell the house and the lands that made up the estate. He’d received unsolicited and very tempting inquiries from well-heeled individuals who were familiar with the area. Not surprisingly, a number of them were avid hunters or sailors or usually both with an intimate knowledge of this part of Maryland. Goose hunting season in these parts has always been a serious and passionate business. This was hunt country make no bones about it, goose or deer hunting ranked high as a favorite pastime and sport. Football was a close second. Pity the poor traveler who wanted a hotel room at the height of goose season. He would be out of luck as local hotels were all booked long in advance to accommodate hunting parties. To the untrained eye, a hotel lobby early in the morning, filled with Camouflage “camo” outfitted hunters of all ages, might well have looked like a revolution was in the making. Hunting around here is serious business indeed.
What was happening high up in the sky was a different story. Ribbons of snow geese swirled and danced in mad un-choreographed frenetic motion as they moved forwards, sideways then back and forth. This swirl of activity was a far cry from the well regimented flights of their cousins, the larger and fuller Canadian geese who had passed before them heading south. The snow geese would break away from their mad dance only to swoop down to the ground in a mad cacophony of honking. This time of year the fields were covered with a frosty, crunchy layer of snow hiding whatever remained of last year’s summer corn or soybean crops. Suddenly, the early morning was shattered by the sound of gunshots, one after the other, in quick succession. With a collective rush, the snow geese took flight high into the sky like swirling ribbons turning right then left in no apparent direction.
Jeremy Pimbroke had been gunning on these lands since he was a boy. The Eastern Shore was very much a part of him and with good reason as his ancestors once owned significant tracts of lands deeded to the Pimbroke family in 1650 by King Charles II. Over the span of many a generation, lands had been divided-up, many sold off to housing developers but there were still lands being worked to this day. Jeremy had inherited a sizable tract of land and with it the family’s elegant estate, Spaniard Neck Farm, built at the turn of the century. It was a beautiful home that overlooked the graceful Chester River. Managing the property took almost all of Jeremy’s time and had put an undue financial strain on his pocketbook. His ex-wife, a socialite from Philadelphia, had never fully understood nor truly appreciated his attachment to, his relationship with or his passion for the land. Admittedly, there had been more than a few instances over the years when he’d been tempted to sell the house and the lands that made up the estate. He’d received unsolicited and very tempting inquiries from well-heeled individuals who were familiar with the area. Not surprisingly, a number of them were avid hunters or sailors or usually both with an intimate knowledge of this part of Maryland. Goose hunting season in these parts has always been a serious and passionate business. This was hunt country make no bones about it, goose or deer hunting ranked high as a favorite pastime and sport. Football was a close second. Pity the poor traveler who wanted a hotel room at the height of goose season. He would be out of luck as local hotels were all booked long in advance to accommodate hunting parties. To the untrained eye, a hotel lobby early in the morning, filled with Camouflage “camo” outfitted hunters of all ages, might well have looked like a revolution was in the making. Hunting around here is serious business indeed.
![](https://culinarytravelsinfrance.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/a018b-hunting.jpg?w=212&h=320)
The name Spaniard Neck, is said to have come from the Spanish explores who, in 1526, sailed into Chesapeake Bay and called it Santa Maria, a name that eventually appeared on a 1556 map. At one time, the Spanish, French and English sailed on the Bay and into any one of its many rivers, the Chester, Corsica and the Choptank to name just a few. Legends of pirates abound including the Spanish Galleons sunk off the Eastern Shore. It’s a land that’s deeply steeped in history with a proud people who have lived off the land and hunted here for generations. Spaniard Neck Farm was styled after an 18th century English country retreat. It is undeniable. One entered into a graceful hallway, past a magnificent circular staircase. On the left there is a formal dining room with seating for ten and an elegant living room on the right that leads to a comfortable den painted in deep green and red with an impressive mahogany glass encased gun rack and a fully loaded bar with just about anything to please any unusual request. Each room, including the bedrooms upstairs all have working fireplaces. The sun-room, on the north side, welcomed the occasional visitor to the farm. Brick walkways lead to a well manicured lawn that slopes gently down to the Chester River. Sitting in the gazebo, one can wait and watch for merchant ships to appear over the horizon on the homeward leg of their journey from far away lands. It is indeed a peaceful retreat at Spaniard Neck Farm. Perhaps just a little too peaceful.
On his return after a day of hunting, Jeremy would hand the geese to the kitchen staff who would prep them. Molson would follow his master into the den where he would place himself by the fireplace and lie down with a contented sigh yet keeping an eye on Jeremy until he sat down with a cocktail in one hand the other resting lightly on a very happy dog.
Pan-Seared Snow Goose Breasts, Peppers and Onions
As served table side at Spaniard Neck Farm
Ingredients:
4 servings
- 4 boneless snow goose breast halves, skin removed
- 1/4 cup olive oil
- 2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic salt
- 1 teaspoon hot pepper sauce (Tabasco)
- 1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
- 1 green bell pepper, coarsely chopped
- 1 red bell pepper, coarsely chopped
- 2 jalapeno peppers, seeded and minced
- 2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
- 1 cup tomatoes, seeded and chopped
- Salt and pepper to taste
Directions:
I have a rule of thumb when cooking wild game birds. If the bird takes flight, it’s not ready to be cooked let alone served to your guests. Before serving, check for visual signs of doneness; juices should run clean and meat should be fork-tender. Using a thermometer is the only reliable way to ensure safety and determine the “doneness” of meat and poultry. To be safe, it must be cooked to an internal temperature high enough to destroy any harmful bacteria that may have been in the food. With that disclaimer out of the way, you can eat it raw for all I care.
Carefully slice the goose breasts thinly across the “grain” of the meat. Combine half of the olive oil, Worcestershire sauce, garlic salt, and hot pepper sauce in a glass bowl. Add sliced goose, cover and refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours. This little interregnum allows you to check on the quality of the wines. How else to explain to your guest the subtleties of each wine. When ready to cook, heat remaining oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion, peppers and garlic. Cook until onions are medium brown. Remove goose from marinade. Drain well and discard marinade. Add goose and stir-fry for 1 to 2 minutes or until just cooked or no further honking is heard, but definitely not past medium-rare. Stir in tomato and season to taste with salt, pepper and additional hot sauce. Serve over a bed of Cajun rice. A nice little green Boston lettuce salad in oil and vinegar would be just the right touch. A fresh, crusty baguette would be nice along with a selection of cheeses, perhaps a Camembert de Normandie, a Bleu d’Auvergne and a Chevrotin de Savoie.
Carefully slice the goose breasts thinly across the “grain” of the meat. Combine half of the olive oil, Worcestershire sauce, garlic salt, and hot pepper sauce in a glass bowl. Add sliced goose, cover and refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours. This little interregnum allows you to check on the quality of the wines. How else to explain to your guest the subtleties of each wine. When ready to cook, heat remaining oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion, peppers and garlic. Cook until onions are medium brown. Remove goose from marinade. Drain well and discard marinade. Add goose and stir-fry for 1 to 2 minutes or until just cooked or no further honking is heard, but definitely not past medium-rare. Stir in tomato and season to taste with salt, pepper and additional hot sauce. Serve over a bed of Cajun rice. A nice little green Boston lettuce salad in oil and vinegar would be just the right touch. A fresh, crusty baguette would be nice along with a selection of cheeses, perhaps a Camembert de Normandie, a Bleu d’Auvergne and a Chevrotin de Savoie.
Now about those wines...
DeLoach Russian River Valley Ritchie Vineyard Chardonnay 2007
Churton Pinot Noir Marlborough 2009, New Zealand
David Bruce Pinot Noir Sonoma Coast 2011
Leyda Reserva Syrah 2011 Leyda Valley, Chile
Château Thivin Les Sept Vignes 2011 Côte de Brouilly, Beaujolais, France