Watching “Wild Kingdom” inspires you to write a cookbook.

You won’t eat a lobster because you think it’s a crawfish on steroids.

You take a bite of 5-alarm Texas chili and reach for some Tabasco.

You pass up a chance to meet the president to go to the Crawfish Festival in Breaux Bridge

Your children’s favorite bedtime story begins with, “First you make a roux…”

You’re asked in school to name the four seasons and you reply, “Onyons, celery, bell peppers, and garlic.”

You think the “Fab Four” are “Paul Prudhomme, John Folse, Justin Wilson, and A.J. Smith”.

You let your black coffee cool and find it has gelled.

You describe a complete breakfast as some deer sausage, grits and a yard of boudin.

None of your favorite vacation spots are north of Abbeville.

You sit down to eat boiled crawfish and someone says, “Don’t eat the dead ones” and you know what they mean.

You refer to Louisiana winters as “gumbo weather”

You gave up Tabasco for Lent.

You learned bourre’ the hard way - holding yourself upright in the crib.

You don’t know the real names of your close friends - only their nicknames.

You can look at a rice field and can tell how much gravy it’ll take for that much rice.

Your high school’s rendition of the national anthem begins with, “Jambalaya, crawfish pie, filet gumbo…”

You stand up when they play “Jolie Blon.”

You consider Breaux Bridge the state capitol.

You think the Mason-Dixon line is at Bunkie.

…with my apologies to Jeff Foxworthy.