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Skeeter Visits Billy's Welcome to Skeeter's Corner, home of real down-home Eastern Shore cooking.
The Gamey Season Don't be fooled by the name. "Billy's Crabs" is diversified. From the clientele to the oyster shell, Billy's is a reflection of the season. When I stopped in, Billy was skinning deer. Three employees were busily processing and packaging the venison in the shop. Billy took a moment from his work, pushed back his ballcap and said, "'Lady asked me the other day how many I've done, and I said all of 'em." He pointed his knife to a stack of hides then quickly returned to his work. "Most folks want the back strap, or chops, the tenderloin, and the rest burger. Tenderloin is overrated, as far as I concerned. I think it's stringy.” To me, it all looked good. The phone rang. "Billy's. Yup. Uh-huh. Unh-unh. OK." Billy yelled into the shop, "Three more, boys and that'll be all
for today, I gotta go to New York State to pick up some rat." "Rat?" I inquired. "Muskrat, 1,500 of 'em. They're not in season here yet so I got to go up to New York to get ‘em." Billy's eyes twinkled. "I sell enough rat to pay the taxes on this place." This little exchange perked the interest of a nearby Billy's hanger-on. F.O.B. A Friend of Billy's.
He was there when I arrived, and though others had come and gone during my stay, he had not.
It's not as though he couldn't leave. He pointed out his van, "It's the white one with
the driver door lashed to passenger door with a rope 'cause the door got snapped when a semi blew by me on the Kent Narrows
Bridge last week when I was fixin' a flat. Snapped it flat back. Now I got to climb in and out the side door."
"What's your name?" "Bill." Bill continued to wax poetic about the subtle flavor of 'rat as he manicured his long finger nails with a jackknife. Billy paused with one down, two to go. "You’re not from 'round here are you?" he asked me. "Well, not originally. I'm from northwest Pennsylvania. I've trapped muskrat for pelts but never thought of them as a food source." "Hmph." Hard by, a jackknife snapped shut. Bill was excited. "You ever eat any beaver? Now there's some good eatin', beaver." Billy tossed some hard fat into a board box. "Save that for the old women." A hunter who was just dropping off another deer had the nerve to ask, "Old women like that?" "No,” answered Billy, “Birds do. Old women like to watch birds." "Pull out the tenderloin and everything else in burger,” said the hunter. "You got it," Billy barked. Bill, continuing on his own thread, cautioned that first timers might not want to eat 'rat with the old timers. "Cause they hold 'em by the teeth, you know you cook 'em with the head on, and they eat them big chunks of meat off the cheeks. That might be a little rough. Risky to say the least." "Come back in about three or four days," Billy yells to the guy walking to his truck. “And then there's 'coon,” he says to me. “You eat a coon salad and you'll never go back to chicken." Outside of Billy's, it can be difficult to find 'rat. Hunters Seafood in Grasonville has it sometimes. And find beaver where you will. So, hunters of good eatin', c'mon over to the Shore. The game is to die for. |
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