Wedding Season

"Gleason is scheduled to marry New Orleans native Michelle Varisco on May 16 in New Orleans. They plan to travel for six months before returning to New Orleans to decide their future. Regardless of where they settle, he said the couple plans to keep a home in New Orleans."

The proverbial Black & Gold lining to the dark cloud that is Steve Gleason's retirement appeared miraculously on Tuesday evening at The Bulldog on Magazine St., just one day before Gleason's 31st birthday -- which he shares appropriately with St. Joseph's Feast Day. After receiving an emergency happy hour phone call from Cafe 641's OG -- the Who Dat formerly known as Nacho Libre -- Chef raced to The Bulldog for off-season conditioning.

It was only there that he realized that the Who Dat gods had expertly aligned the stars, the moon, the clouds, and probably Venus. Hogan spoke as if possessed and Chef transcribes here, on Easter Morn, the best that his fading brain cells allow:

"Chef. Where's your mustache? Can't hardly recognize you without the stache. Never mind. We need to speak openly with one another, Chef. We need to be honest, open our souls, speak from our Black and Gold hearts."

"Sure, Hogan. Let's do that. Can I get a beer first?"

"Get a pitcher, Chef. Put it on your tab. I'm thirsty. Let's talk about Steve Gleason, Chef. Chef, Steve Gleason's retirement is not fatal. It's an opportunity, Chef. It's an opportunity to return the gift that Stevie G. has bestowed upon us all. It's an opportunity to give back, to put a little pixie dust in the air, mix it around a little bit, and make the world a better place."

"I'm listening."

"Chef, drink your beer. This is serious, serious shit. Chef, I'm talking about giving back. Can you commit to this, Chef? Can you step up? Will you be and do the extraordinary? That's what Stevie G.'s legacy demands, Chef. No less, Chef. No Less. . . . . . . You still with me, Chef?"

"Right here, Hogan. Right here."

"It's about giving, Chef, and if you truly understand the nature of the gift than it can be a beautiful thing, a purely beautiful thing whose beauty cannot be denied by any who see it or hear it or dream it. Drink your beer, Chef. Drink it fast. . . Good. May 16, Chef. That's the day Steve Gleason marries one insanely fortunate New Orleans woman, Michelle Varisco. And it's the day, Chef, that we might set into motion our gift, a gift whose planning must begin this very eve, one night before Stevie's 31st birthday. That wedding is only two months away, and for sure it's going to be a glorious New Orleans party. A party with love and beauty and gifts. But I'm not talking about the love and the beauty, Chef. I'm talking about the gifts. And to give the greatest gift, we have to do extraordinary things, go to extraordinary measures. You remember Stevie G's gift, Chef? Do you remember it? How it made you feel from the inside out?


Chef, let's give Steve and Michelle "The Gift." I'm talking about a purer than pure, picked clean off the fingertips of the bride, blocked bridal bouquet. Just a mad dash sprint straight up the brides-in-waiting line and a pure blockage of the bouquet. It's "The Gift," Chef. And we take our bow, and we allow ourselves to be scooped up, and to be tossed on the street, and we say -- in hushed reverent tones -- "Thank you, Steve Gleason. Thank you."