We’ve only been here for a couple of weeks. It’s called the Pine Tree State, a fitting enough appellation, judging by the back yard of our condo complex, which is located, we swear to God, in an industrial park. We have no doubt that once we have an opportunity to explore this state we will find it lives up to its license plate claim: Vacationland. And there are wild turkeys in our backyard among the pine trees. But the main thing, what we can say with absolute certainty, what we have verified and confirmed, what we can personaly account for is that in downtown Portland, quite a ways from the hellhole we call home (Auburn), there is a touristy, overpriced, charming snack bar on the water with lobster rolls that are very nearly beyond description. The bread its lightly toasted. The lobster flesh is buttery, perfectly cooked, untainted by mayonaisse, pure, simple, perfect. It’s a small roll. It’s a simple roll. It is utterly, absolutely delilly. We do not use that term lightly. In fact we have never, in our memory, used that term in print at all. No other adjective, however, would suffice. When one has occasion to eat a delilly lobster roll one must call it as one sees it. The venue is called the Portland Lobster Co. Go there. Get a lobster roll. Watch the Coast Guard vessels come and go. Skip the whoopie pie. But have the lobster roll, and you will understand, to the extent we do, now, what it means to be in the state of Maine.