A Maine institution in Wiscasett. Lisa and I used to laugh over how to pronounce the name of the town. Red’s sits at the bottom of a hill just before a bridge crossing. It is a given that traffic in both directions is moving slowly at any and all hours of the day. There is always a line waiting to order. I have peered at the menu time and time again. I have not been able to see anything special that would induce me to wait interminably. I’m from NYC. No one waits. There are simply too many choices. Red’s remains a landmark and is depicted in many many shots of Maine. This shot was from ten years ago. Not too much has changes – just the faces on the line. A true Maine native agreed with me. She told me that the place across the street if cheaper and faster and better. Fine dining it ain’t.