not a cocktail glass in sight. good riddance. these little shrimpy fellas–coated with spices and kissed by lemon butter–are supposedly the centerpiece of this taste of maine, but you know what the ‘wich’s trump card is? the bun, in all its butter-toasted goodness. i would’ve wolfed this baby down in two bites if i hadn’t been surrounded by table-mates. instead, i did it in three. hooray, restraint!