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When I was 10 my parents bought a van and our family of five drove around the country. My parents had created a system where each family member got to decide where we ate for dinner each night (alternating and starting fresh every fifth day). It was my turn to decide when we pulled into New Orleans, and like every other night I got to decide, I wanted Pizza Hut. My family must have had a meeting without me, and decided that this was just not going to fly. How can they eat Pizza Hut in the city with the best food in the US? After much cajoling and promises of future pan pizza's in Texas and New Mexico, I agreed to switch. Ten years later I returned to New Orleans with a sensible palate and fully grasped the torture I almost inflicted on my family. One bite of an alligator po'boy at Jazzfest was all I needed to be a New Orleans convert forever.