On a sultry July morning, a few years before Katrina blew into town, a friend and I wandered into the frenetic, powder-sugar dusted Cafe du Monde for an early cup of coffee and the famously fabulous fritters we had heard so much about. We were hot, sweaty, and more than a little worn out from having hoofed all over the historic district. It would take more than a few Dunkin Donuts to revive our exausted, jaded spirits and a whole lot more than a Krispee Kream to skewer our skepticism.