In college newspapers across the country this time of year, columnists are offering their advice to the Class of 2011 on college life. I thought about writing a similar column for the new Wolfpack, but I think I can sum up my undergraduate wisdom in one sentence, my “Fully Dressed Declaration.”

Eat po-boys.

For the uninitiated, here is a brief yet tantalizing description of this native Louisiana dish. Served hot, the chewy French bread of a po-boy barely contains the meat and seafood within. The seafood most often comes fried to perfection. Po-boys can come fully dressed, which means packed with mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato and pickles. I highly recommend smothering the meat with hot sauce.

Salivating over this slice of heaven has given me more than just a goal of eating 50 different po-boys by graduation, though I am more than halfway there. It has transformed my relationships, especially with New Orleans itself.

Eating po-boys has gotten me great housing. While frequenting Guy’s on Magazine Street last spring, my two friends and I spotted a perfect three-bedroom one block away. Only when our love for gravy-drenched roast beef brought us outside of the university neighborhoods did we discover safe housing.

Eating po-boys has also brought me romantic success, like when I ordered the mouth-watering half-and-half “Oyster and Shrimp” on a date last year at Frankie and Johnny’s, an Uptown institution. The relationship wasn’t as great as the oysters, though; unfortunately, the sandwich wasn’t the only thing that stayed fully dressed that night.

Eating po-boys has even helped to rebuild New Orleans. The overstuffed sandwich from Singleton’s may be the biggest reason my high school friends visit me, ostensibly to do service. While cultivating their desire to gut houses, I have also cultivated their culinary cravings with detailed descriptions, pictures and Facebook groups vividly depicting fried shrimp and lettuce flowing out of French loaves.

Finally, eating po-boys has connected me to the city. When my roommate and I were eating at Guy’s far too frequently for our waistlines last spring, we encountered a new range of people: the old man who sells the Times-Picayune; the dirty construction worker; and the charming cashier, Lela, whom we both fell in love with over Spicy Sausage. We learned about their lives and the city by talking about anything from Road Home to Reggie Bush. Through indulging in fried goodness with the neighbors on a lazy afternoon, we became more closely attached to the city than before.

So, Class of 2011, I repeat: eat po-boys. Follow the “Fully Dressed Declaration,” and your life will improve in everything from dating to house gutting, from house shopping to learning about the city.

I forgot the one corollary to the declaration, which pops up in all other advice columns:

Get to know the Rec Plex well. Very well.

But not as well as which shop has the best roast beef.