A few years ago I was down at the Maryland shore, and I chuckled when I saw a vendor selling a t-shirt that declared, “I Put Old Bay On My Old Bay.”

It’s funny because it’s true.

Old Bay is as close to the state’s official spice as it can get, an iconic mix of celery salt, black pepper, crushed red pepper flakes, and paprika that has higher popularity ratings than pretty much anyone in elected office. (Don’t believe me? There’s a poll to prove it.) The Baltimore-born blend that started as flavoring for seafood has made the jump to just about everything, from beer and vodka to chocolate pots-de-crème with Old Bay meringue and hot sauce. Maryland drivers would even be good if sprinkled with the stuff. (Well, maybe not good, but better.)

So it wasn’t a huge jump in logic when Pepperidge Farm announced earlier this week they were releasing a limited-edition run of an Old-Bay flavored version of their Goldfish cracker. And people seemed ready for it; the manufacturer sold out of its online stock in the first nine hours the snack went on sale, per The Baltimore Sun.

I managed to snag a pair of bags at a Target in Hyattsville on Thursday. (For objectivity; I’m no shill for Big Goldfish.) With my curiosity all but burning a hole through one of the bags, I tore it open while sitting in my car. I put my nose into the bag and inhaled deeply; the recognizable scent of celery salt wafted up.

I poured a dozen or so of the Goldfish into my hand, admiring the specks of Old Bay dusted on them. Into my mouth they went. The rush of Old Bay flavor was almost immediate, starting with that celery kick and slowly evolving into that pleasant — but not overwhelming — spicy aftertaste. The flavor was complemented perfectly by the satisfying crunch of Goldfish crackers themselves, which spare a slight butter tone are mostly neutral in flavor, little more than a vehicle for the Old Bay.

It took a few tries to nail down the perfect approach to eating these: let the Goldfish sit in your mouth for a second or two so the Old Bay can lightly coat your taste buds, and then give those helpless suckers a few satisfying bites. Perfection.

“Whatever,” you might say, unimpressed. “How could anyone mess up Old Bay on crackers?” That’s a fair point; this would be pretty hard to screw up. But there could have been flubs — they could have gone overboard with the flavoring, for one. But they didn’t; the Old Bay is  evenly distributed throughout the bag, and there isn’t a pile of the stuff just sitting at the bottom when you’re done. And the cracker is critical — it subtly makes the eating experience better, instead of distracting from it. (Also, it’s worth recalling that geographic pride can only go so far in making a food or drink good; we found the cherry blossom-flavored LaCroix to be quite bad.)

Fair warning, though — if you don’t like Old Bay, and some of you exist, these won’t make the Old Bay experience any better for you. “Ugh, that celery grossness,” were the exact words uttered by my wife as she tasted the Goldfish, which she did with eyes closed and no knowledge that I had purchased them. (Despite having spent a better part of her life in Maryland, she hates Old Bay. If there’s some type of Maryland re-education camp, I’d volunteer her.)

“You know what?” she added. “I think you’re more Maryland than I am.” Maybe that’s true. And if it is, I’ll be putting more Old Bay on my Old Bay Goldfish soon enough.