This is why the McDonald’s lobster roll is offensive to real New Englanders

The red shack that houses Red’s Eats sits on the corner of Route 1 and Railroad Ave in Wiscasset, Maine. If you’re driving from the south headed for Camden or Belfast, you have to pass through the small town where the roads are lined with stately old houses that used to belong to sea captains.

Famous for packing in over a pound of lobster meat in each roll, Red’s regularly graces national publications’ “Best of Maine’’ lists. In the summer, tourists meander across Route 1 to wait in line for over an hour to get one of the coveted rolls.

Red’s Eats is the bane of my existence.

I have been going to midcoast Maine my whole life—much of my extended family lives in Rockport—and driving through Wiscasset in the summer is essentially the eighth circle of hell, if hell were one of the most beautiful small towns in America. It can easily tack on 45 minutes to what should be a three-minute stretch of road. I blame the traffic on people crossing the street to get to Red’s.

This hypothesis is probably not entirely true. The backups are most likely due to other cars from other cross streets and from the sheer volume of vehicles trying to make it through a one-lane road. But Red’s plays a part, and it’s for that reason that I have never, and will never, stop and get what is lauded as the best lobster roll in the state.

But I admire those who do. I admire their sticktoitiveness, their dedication to a cause, their willingness to wait for hours for Red’s—their lobster roll place—when Sprague’s across the street also serves lobster rolls and never has any line at all.

These people exemplify the basic truth about lobster rolls: Going to get a lobster roll isn’t about the lobster roll, it’s about the experience.

Which is why McDonald’s roll out of the lobster roll should be met with the same reaction a New Englander would have when someone flips them off at a rotary.

Lobster rolls are meant to incite disagreement. If you live in or spend time in Camden, for example, one person will tell you that McLaughlin’s has the best roll in the five surrounding towns due to their perfectly toasted large bun. Another person will say no, Graffam’s is better, because there’s more meat in the roll. Yet another will say go to Miller’s Lobster Pound, because eating on the outdoor deck as the sun goes down is unparalleled.

All of these people would get heated about it if they were to talk to each other about their preferences. Fists might even fly.

I’ve been going to McLaughlin’s in Lincolnville since I was in utero. When I got old enough to walk on the rocks of the beach by myself without cracking my head open, my cousins and I would spend hours crushing mussel shells to powder and skipping stones. The lobster roll there reminds me of the people I love most and the times I cherish more than maybe any others, save the time David Ortiz signed my flip flop in 2004.

No one has fond, salty-aired memories of the McDonald’s drive-thru as their family’s go-to lobster roll place. You don’t think, “Man, I want a lobster roll,’’ and head to the golden arches. It is an afront to the concept.

Granted, the McDonald’s lobster rolls apparently aren’t that bad and—at around eight bucks—they’re a whole lot cheaper than most.

That may well be the case. But I maintain that some things—like memories—are worth the price. Even if they come with traffic jams that make me want to pull my hair out.

Lobster rolls around New England:

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