Summer shacks Whether your seasonal snack of choice be ice cream, fried clams, or fresh fruit, you've got plenty of options all over New England BY RUTH TOBIAS

Jack and Diane sucked on chili dogs outside the Tastee-Freeze. Danny and Sandy, they went strollin’ and drank lemonade. And you? Was it over something in a cone or on a stick, deep-fried or double-dipped? Were you roadside or seaside, at a stand or a shack, a hut, a cart, a parlor, a fountain, or an emporium? How many of you became foodies not while nibbling foie gras at some haute downtown hot spot, but as a teenager in love one snack-filled summer?

And how many of you aim to revisit your old haunts, or discover new ones, this year? You’re cracking the guidebooks, surfing the Web, amassing advice on hidden gems and tourist traps, and your picture of New England noshing is nearly complete — right? If not, don’t fret. With the season at hand, we’ve been doing your homework for you. For you fried-clam connoisseurs, who spit on strips but flip for bellies. For you lobster-roll lovers, who gobble them hot and dripping with butter, or cold, slathered with mayo. For you ice-cream aficionados, who know all about butterfat. Some spots are out in the boondocks and some are out on the real docks; some occupy neat, cheery little cottages, and others mere tumbledown booths fitted with walk-up windows; some answer the call of your cravings all year round, while others heed your need only in fair weather. But they all offer a glimpse of a not-so-distant golden past when the occasional corn dog or banana split could be gobbled with innocent gusto, not intense guilt over implicating yourself in the evildoings of multinational conglomerates and simple carbohydrates. Come on, we’ll show you.

MAINE

Chauncey Creek Lobster Pier, in Kittery Point, and Red’s Eats, in Wiscasset, are Maine’s answer to the New England Patriots: a bit overhyped, sure, but impossible to live without. Dining at Chauncey Creek, for one, is as close as you can come to having your own picnic on a restaurant’s premises. It’s partly a matter of the ideal, campsite-like location: The lobster pound sits smack on the banks of a creek overhung with trees; its picnic-table-lined deck, adjoined to its dock, juts out over the water. But it’s also a function of the owners’ liberal BYO policy: Patrons are welcome to bring anything not already on the tables or the menu (which is mostly limited to variously prepared shellfish and appropriate sides, like corn and onion rings). For instance, if you’re looking to get lovey-dovey over boiled lobster (the market-price house specialty), you can bring not only wine but also, say, Caesar salad and elegant table settings for two; if you’ve got extended family in tow, coolers full of beer and brownies by the panful might be in order.

As for Red’s — a funky little peanut of a hut beside the Sheepscot River — living up to the publicity it’s garnered for its lobster rolls (market price) might be a Herculean effort, but it’s one owner Alan Gagnon, his daughter Debbie Cronk, and the other employees (relatives and honorary relatives alike, Cronk notes) are willing to make. Actually, Cronk says, the secret to Red’s success is "very simple: Fresh Seafood, capital letters. Because you wouldn’t believe it, but a lot of people use flash-frozen stuff or whatever. That and not being afraid to give people a lot of food. Our lobster roll that we’re so famous for — so many people ask me, ‘How much lobster?’ We don’t even measure it, we just pile it on." And oh, what a pile it is. A whole creature’s worth of meat tops the toasted and buttered bun — along with precisely nothing else, as mayo and drawn butter arrive on the side. While all the other usual rolls and baskets (graced with homemade tartar and/or cocktail sauces) crowd the menu, Cronk surmises its unsung hero is really the good old burger ($2.15). "The meat is freshly ground every day and hand-pressed daily. I have a local farmer who grows organic leaf lettuce for me ... so many people go crazy after they have one." We assume she means in a good way — and speaking of good ways, Cronk vows that Red’s will continue to be the no-frills take-out operation it’s been for decades now. "When people expand, it somehow loses the magic. We like to keep it simple, keep it the way it is." The same, by the way, could be said of rival Sea Basket down the road, an eat-in joint whose market-price lobster stew, filled with fresh tail, knuckle, and claw meat, is beloved by those who always go the extra mile for good eats.

On the flip side, we admit it: The year-old fish market and eatery known as Scales — sibling to Fore Street — is way too chic to count as a shack (think counters of iron, slate, and concrete set against aged pine planks). But it is, as manager Justin Cross points out, "definitely based on a traditional New England haddock shack," deriving some of its "very classic Old World appeal" from its location in what Cross calls "the most beautiful food court in the entire world" in the cathedral-ceilinged Portland Public Market. And it is a counter-service operation — albeit one that employs an "aggressive bussing" system, such that, unless on a busy day the cashier warns you otherwise, you can grab wood and kick back once you’ve ordered and paid. Finally, even hole-in-the-wall fans have to waive their reverse snobbery and acknowledge that the ratio of quality to price is in admirable proportion here. Cross lovingly describes Scales’s market-price lobster roll as "really different from anyone else’s," containing a pound of lobster that’s been parboiled, then poached in beurre fondue (butter melted slowly with water so it doesn’t separate). The meat is then "served in its primal — tails, knuckles, claws — on a roll with a tiny, tiny brush of mayonnaise, literally a schmear on top, and sprinkled with chives." As for the fish chowder ($4.50/cup; $4.95/bowl), "We make our fish broth from scratch. We use nitrite-free bacon and potatoes grown in Maine. And every single chowder we make to order in the pan." And then there are the neat-to-eat fried treats served in paper cones with hand-cut fries ($7.95); Cross singles out as a customer fave the mixed cone of clams — "whole-belly Brunswicks, sweet and full and creamy" — and warm-water oysters from Apalachicola. Scarfing ’em down with a microbrew or glass of wine, you’ll be hard-pressed to envision a cushier take on eating-in-the-rough.

And as for topping the whole experience off: While conventional sorts will want to hit the ever-popular Beal’s, more exploratory souls might head north to Freeport, where Classic Custard awaits, luring Route 1 travelers with its namesake specialty, a frozen concoction that’s even richer than ice cream due to its higher yolk content. Per custard-stand custom, it whips up three flavors daily ($1.70–$2.95): vanilla, chocolate, and an ever-changing wild card — piña colada, say, or pumpkin pie (in case you harbor some freakish craving for something autumnal).

MASSACHUSETTS

Beyond lobsters, bivalves are the be all and end all for Bay Staters, whether they’re fresh from the shell or straight from the fry-o-later. Within city limits, the raw bar rules, but outside Boston proper, it’s the classic clam shack we crave. Due to their proximity to the local tidal flats, Essex and Ipswich have long housed the most celebrated examples of the genre — and far be it from us to ignore any excuse to celebrate. Especially when an 800-pound gorilla like Woodman’s of Essex is throwing the party. Woodman’s claims that its founder, Lawrence Woodman, actually invented the fried clam, in 1916 (he’d hung his shingle as a potato-chip merchant two years prior). While absolute proof is lacking, we’re wont to put stock in a guy who answered to the nickname "Chubby." Granted, like any legend, it has its share of detractors who equate commercial success with selling out; but its wealth of loyalists insists Woodman’s is not to be mistaken or missed.