Rise & Brine

A day in the life of chasing sunsets with Phippsburg’s Lady Oyster

Words by Virginia Shaffer
Photography by Stephen Davis Phillips

6:15 am

“Rise and brine,” as my oyster friends say.

And just like those who flip, bag, tag, and ship, I’m up before the sun. My husband, Warwick, and I harness the dogs and stroll to the park as a heavy mist hovers over the Kennebec. I open my phone to check the forecast.

“This should burn off by the afternoon,” I nervously say to Warwick, who nods in reassurance. He knows that on tasting days, I pray for crimson and cotton-candy-pink skies. Sunset hostings engender both excitement and fear.

“Ah—I need to remember the new napkins,” I ramble. ”The maroon ones, with the thin stripes. They’ll go perfectly with the dahlias … Or should I pick some of the cosmos around the circle today? No, the dahlias will look more full on the table.”

Fresh oysters in a steel dish covered with a blue mesh cloth tied with twine.

9:00 am

“I’ll be back to grab you in an hour,” I holler to Warwick as the door swings shut at our home in Bath. Moments later, I’m hugging the bends towards West Point, snagging dahlias from our neighbor’s farmstand, and stopping by Bisson’s for extra ice.

The top of Wallace Circle is the interlude to our guest experience. Wildflowers drape the curvatures, revealing the grandeur and texture of Maine’s archipelago in one swooping frame. The corners of our seaside rooftop peek out from above Maine Oyster Company’s headquarters, an old general store wedged between two lobster wharfs.

Hand-painted wooden sign reading 'Maine Oyster Co. Farm Stand' on a shingled wall, with red, blue, yellow, and white triangular pennant flags hanging below.

A boat named 'Grace' floating on calm waters with another smaller boat in the background and a wooded shoreline in the distance.

9:30 am

Downstairs, I open the commercial refrigerators containing a variety of oysters in 100-count bags. Nauti Sisters, Love Points, Eros, Long Reach, Bombazines, Blackstone Points.

Sharing a home with Maine Oyster Company’s distribution business is pure perfection in summer. Two floors up, I host evening tastings. Two floors down, the farmers pack the fridges with bivalves to ship across the country.

I begin with my daily inspections, keen to find the oysters with deep cups, consistent profiles, and hinges that’ll lend to clean shucking. I check each tag for receiving details, harvest dates, and temperature logs. I search for contrast between the farms across location, characteristics, and story. Perhaps today, we’ll use one farm’s oysters with a verdant green shell because they’re so beautiful, another farm for its unique growing process, and a third oyster because the farmer’s story is so fun to tell … such as Mike from Eros Oysters who left teaching at Cornell for raising bivalves in Maine.

I pick my selection and quietly taste alone. My olfactory senses are sharpest in the morning. I sniff aromas, sip brine, chew for flavor, and linger in the mouthfeel.

“Oooh, a new profile this week,” I say to myself.

Brine. Celery. Kelp. Cashew. Oh, Maine. You’re so delicious.

Outdoor dining table set on a balcony overlooking water with boats, decorated with a floral centerpiece, wine glasses, and red napkins.

A bowl of fresh oysters on a bed of small pebbles.

Woman with sunglasses outdoors at sunset, smiling, sitting at a table with food and candles.

4:00 pm

With an hour before showtime, we’re back at basecamp, pitter-pattering up and down the rooftop staircase to tablescape. Linens, tapers, vases, flowers. Scallop dishes, cocktail forks, and bird-shaped lemon squeezers.

The checklist continues. Wines chilled. Oysters on ice. Review of guests. Deep breaths. In a final sweep, we fire up a playlist, light the candles, and arrange the tasting journals and wheels.

5:15 pm

The sound of tires hit the gravel and we spring into action. “I’ll get the wine ready,” Warwick shouts from the kitchen as I open the door and wave.

From the docks to the roof, our welcome is akin to a dinner party with friends, where house tours are required and surprises are imminent. Reaching the rooftop door, the table is revealed at last, shining in colors and accoutrements. The sounds of gasps from guests are shared with the popping of a Cremant de Loire. Later, we’ll introduce them to a local wine, or a varietal they may not know that pairs well with a Maine oyster.

Warwick begins to shuck as the sun pinches Carrying Place Cove. The sky begins to glow in soft tangerines. Satisfied, I grin and turn to our guests.

“Shall we begin?”

To further immerse yourself in the magic of Lady Oyster’s sunset tastings, workshops, and wisdom, visit theladyoyster.com.

A group of people enjoying a dinner on an outdoor table by the water at sunset, with a waitress serving food.

A man wearing a black apron and baseball cap preparing food on a deck overlooking a calm body of water with boats and small islands in the distance, under a partly cloudy sky.

11:00 am

I’m back in town with a knife and a shallot in hand. Today, we’ll have a mignonette sweetened with raw honey, mint, and homemade peach jam. As I chop, tinker, and taste, I remind myself to thank our partner for farm cruises, Captain Joe, for letting us raid his peach tree.

I count down the hours until setup. I glance over at Warwick, who’s poking holes into plump dough that will become tonight’s focaccia.

“Less than five hours to go!” I say excitedly, rehearsing in my head what we’ll discuss that evening. I’ll teach our guests how the currents move in Casco Bay, the importance of our shell middens in Damariscotta, and how to use our oyster tasting wheel. Maybe they’ll ask about hatcheries, or how farmers create deep shells, or simply what to look for in a good shuck. It’s exciting to imagine what they’ll taste and want to learn.