Lip Hair Legends

Enough time has lapsed in the 2006 Saints season for Chef to come straight. I'm a truth teller, after all.

The mustache is an appliqué.

Chef realizes this comes as a great shock to many in Café 641. And he appreciates the love he’s received from those who noticed the careful grooming and innovative coloring that goes into that swab of facial hair.

But Chef also believes that Who Dats deserve the truth. And the truth is, Chef hasn’t been able to grow large amounts of facial hair upwards of his upper lip since an unfortunate puberty-related incident that occurred when he was 13.

(Apparently, the product he used was not as seen on television and not intended for facial use.)

So here’s the truth: Chef’s 2006 mustache is courtesy of the fine costumers on Magazine Street near Napoleon, a few doors down from Ms. Mae’s.

This one don’t look like it’s got much life left in it, so Chef’s decided to request its enshrinement in the Who Dat Lip Hair Hall of Fame.

That means a new stache for the Carolina game and playoff run.

Chef welcomes styling suggestions for the new lip piece, and suggestions of other Saints’ mustaches of hall of fame caliber.

Notes from the North Pole

Chef got a text message from Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, asking for gift ideas for the kiddie set that sits in the Upper Terrace, Section 641. Seems that word got back to St. Nick that Chef and the Café 641 family were showing all kinds of seasonal spirit to the lil’ Who Dats sitting in our section during the Redskins game.

Chef appreciated the courtesy message, but didn’t know how to reply. Doesn’t S.C. know that those lil’ Who Dats already received the rare Golden Spoon award for their rowdy, non-stop “Deuce Upside Your Head” chants? I know it’s tough to buy for kids, Santa, but Chef thinks these lil’ Who Dats really just want a Super Bowl for Christmas.

Guess Santa got Chef’s text reply . . . Saints 30 Giants 7 . . . Eagles 23 Cowboys 7.

Thanks, Big Man.

A Place to Put Your Nuts

Another note from Chef’s Who Dat Christmas . . .

Chef thanks the family for what on first glance appeared to be a simple ceramic New Orleans Saints bowl. “Thanks, baby. Thanks, kids. I needed a . . . uh . . . another . . . er . . . bowl.”

“It ain’t a bowl, Chef,” the Mrs. corrected. “It’s a place to put your nuts.”

Let Me See Your Grill!

It’s been almost 16 months since Chef lost his custom Who Dat grill to the floodwaters of Katrina in his Lakeview home. After finding its remains in the muck of his back patio last October, Chef swore he’d never fire up a gas grill again.

Sous Chef lost his prized cooking station too, and he quickly swore off outdoor cooking for life.

Flash forward to Christmas morning 2006, and Mrs. Chef continues to amaze.

A joint gift to Chef and Sous Chef: the Weber Genesis Platinum series!

Chef doesn’t even know if he can handle the platinum – might be too much bling. But in the spirit of this very Who Dat Christmas, he pledges to give it a go, especially if Chef and family get back in the house for a Who Dat Super Bowl party in late January.

Shitshockey Mushrooms

When Mrs. Chef left the room just after the Manning-to-Burress-past-falling-Fred Thomas touchdown bomb on Sunday, Chef was baffled. Half-gasping, half-screaming, Chef beckoned the Mrs. back to the television to insure maximum Who Dat gris gris. Mrs. Chef replied, “Gotta cook. Gotta cook.”

Turns out, the Mrs. knows a thing or two about away game menus. About five minutes into the first quarter, she returned with a fresh baked pizza.

Chef muted the television for a proper explanation.

“This here is a Jeremy Shitshockey Mushroom Pizza. Enjoy, Chef.”

Now, Who Dats, the Mrs. does lots of things that turns the Chef on. But this stroke of culinary genius may take the cake. Shockey’s line: two catches, -4 yards.

AFTER:

Twas the Night before Who Dat . . .

Seasons greetings, Who Dats. This special message comes from our anonymous Upper Terrace relatives in Section 640. Much love from the Chef, 640. Ya'll warm Chef's heart.


Twas the night before WHO DAT when all through the south
Only screams could be heard from Eli Mannings’s mouth.

The Saints played superior and it was not fair.
A game that was perfect enough to frighten the Bears.

The Giants were beaten and now are in the red,
While visions of Super Bowl danced in Benson’s head.

Payton in his visor, and Gibbs in his white cap
Had just called a defense sure to produce a sack,

When out on the field there arose such a clatter
Fujita sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.

Straight to the quarterback, Will Smith flew like a flash
Right through the line and put ELI on his ass!

The ball came out and what do ya know?
It ends up in the hands of number ninety-fo!

Grant rumbled and stumbled into the End Zone
To help came on Carney for a point of his own.

A trip to the Super Bowl is better than a check from FEMA.
Finally everyone can try to forget Katrina!

Relocated, flooded, and put to shame
The Saints have recovered and brought back WHO DAT fame!

"It was Bush, and Colston, Horn, and Brees too.
And don’t forget that boy Devery who played at LSU!

The crowd came together with one big cheer from all…
“WHO DAT SAY DEY GONNA BEAT DEM SAINTS!”

--- From the noisy Who Dats in the Upper Terrace, Section 640

FAITH!

It's been two days now since our Black and Gold's division-clinching loss. And Lil Reggie's been droopin' at home, walkin' slow to the carpool line, falling asleep in class, leavin' the dinner table before dessert is served.

What's Lil' Reggie lookin' for, you wonder? The boy is searching for his FAITH!

Awright, lil' man. Let Chef help you out. Put the specs down. Stand up. Raise your golden spoon. And follow along . . .

I believe that winning is an attitude. I have FAITH. I am the eternal optimist, a Saints fan, a Roof Banger, a Doam Foam drinkin' Who Dat.

WHO DAT RESPONSE: THE SAINTS ARE COMING. THE SAINTS ARE COMING.

I believe in the power of a Cool Brees. I drop to my knees when Deuce goes upside your head. I weep when Reggie runs right bayou.

WHO DAT RESPONSE: THE SAINTS ARE COMING. THE SAINTS ARE COMING.

I believe in playoff runs, home field advantage, frozen ticket prices, and $100 deposits on my season seats.

WHO DAT RESPONSE: THE SAINTS ARE COMING. THE SAINTS ARE COMING.

I believe in Santa Claus, a Who Dat Christmas, and the slim chance that even Mr. Benson's coal, coal heart will be warmed by a Super Bowl ring.

WHO DAT RESPONSE: THE SAINTS ARE COMING. THE SAINTS ARE COMING.

I believe in saving my gameday appetite for Cafe 641. I break bread with my Upper Terrace family. I feast on Birds, Cats, Pirates, Cowboys, Gold Diggers, and fat hunks of Cheese.

WHO DAT RESPONSE: THE SAINTS ARE COMING. THE SAINTS ARE COMING.

I believe in the spirit of the Who Dat. I profess my Who Dat faith. I will return to these roof-banging seats in 2007. I will wave my golden spoon. I will be loud. I will stay for 4 quarters.

WHO DAT RESPONSE: THE SAINTS ARE COMING. THE SAINTS ARE COMING.