Here Kitty, Kitty.

It may feel like All Hallows Eve, but Chef sees it as just another reason to dress up a dead cat. 12-4 won't happen without a couple of Big Cat Barbeques, most notably the Jaguars and Panthers. Who Dats eat bird like its candy, but at some point this season, we need to digest felines too.

A family friend of Jeff Faine is the only sure menu item thus far for Sunday's Cafe 641 brunch:
Jeff's Fainemous Center Cut of Prime Cat

Could it be that the test kitchen just hasn't found the perfect cat recipe?

Burn the Corner.

P-Diddy won't talk 'bout "turning the corner." Neither will Chef. Now, burning the corner. That's a different topic altogether.

Signs of the burned corner?

* Jeff Faine-mous injured in Dirty Bird Demolition, but graciously accepts a Golden Spoon and several Cafe 641 menus from the Cafe Mixologist.

* The Cafe Mixologist mixes it up with Faine's parentals:

"Got the golden spoon and a couple of menus to Jeff. Sadly, however, he was the
one and only injured player of the game and was really hurting. So we were only
there for a moment and he was headed out. Barb and I did party on with the
Faines at a tailgate with some folks we met in Seattle."

* Hollis "The Train Wreck" Thomas on the sideline laughing after another 49er 3-and-out.

* 1 game out of first place.

* Two consecutive home games.

* The presence of the Sous Chef at the Jacksonville Jaguar home game.

From the cutting room floor.

Chef has to agree with Supa Saint on this one: Leave nuthin bra.

And that's why it hurts so bad to be left just outside of the camera's viewfinder on the latest Supa video.

Chef had put himself in position to make the play, to take an over-sized Golden Spoon upside the Dirty Bird's dome. He had warmed up on a rubber version of a Blackened Falcon for one hour before game time. He had the mantra ringing in his head, "See the Bird. Beat the Bird." And when that got stale, he countered with, "Byyy-ron Left-Nutz. Byyy-ron Left-Nutz. Byyy-ron Left-Nutz."

But when Chef approached Gate A, it was too late. Supa won the race.

Just a reminder, Who Dats. Game time in 72 hours.

See the Dirty Bird. Eat the Dirty Bird.

It's game time.

A Dome Homecoming for . . .

Not the Prodigal Son, fool. Joe's homecoming has already received enough attention.

Chef's work on the Hotlanta Melt Down Menu this week has been inspired by the baddest Human Jukebox on the planet.

Remember the last time you saw them in the Dome?

The Falcons do.

Cafe Files Suit Against Vick

H-h-h-h-old on there, Wachovia Bank. Get in line, baby. Cafe 641 already slapped Ookie with a $10.78 lawsuit after one of its greatest Dirty Bird menus of all time was ruined by Vick's federal indictment. The excessive size of the lawsuit covers printing costs of 250 menus printed at Office Depot on Goldenrod paper.

Chef offered to settle the suit out of court if Vick's publicist would e-mail a few little known facts from the Falcons locker room that might fuel new menu items.

All Chef received was the following:

"Michael wears a number 7 on his jersey because he says it is his lucky number. . . . He glued his eyelids shut at the age of three. . . . Other than football, Michael’s favorite sport is fishing. Michael loves to fish. He first got into the sport when he was 10, casting his line into the waters of the James River."

And a link to Vick's Atlanta restaurant and wine shop.

Who Dats. Sunday's divisional game menu isn't going to write itself. Get your dirty birds out the freezer for that slow defrost. Menu suggestions should commence . . . right . . . now.

Eat Bird.

Eat bird for breakfast. Eat bird for lunch. Eat bird for dinner.

See a bird. Shoot a bird. Cook a bird. Eat a bird.

Bird on toast. Bird in eggs. Bird on grits. Bird on french bread. Bird over rice.

Blackened bird. Grilled bird. Boiled Bird.

Eat bird.

--- a friendly Who Dat reminder from Cafe 641 that 12-4 won't happen by itself.

The Wisdom of Eight-Year-Olds

Chef thinks it's time to turn his oldest son loose on the real word. Already he can pack his own lunch (see image) and complete third grade homework in 30-minutes flat.

But now, Chef knows that Lil' Reggie has manned up proper. After careful meditation and meticulous calculation of gameday scenarios, Lil' Reggie issued this fearless prediction yesterday:

"Yo, Chef. Dr. Z was right. The Saints will go 12-4. And win the Super Bowl."

Let's get it on then, Lil' Reggie. Faith.

Saints Re-sign Mare!

Grrrrrr-eat news, Who Dats! Mare fixed his groin.

So, he's not gonna miss any more field goals, indoors or outdoors, so long as he's not asked to kick from 60+. And he understands that P-Diddy was just trying to cover his ass with all those fake field goal auditions yesterday.

So everyone's happy now. No worries. Mare has promised to get more elevation on 20-yard field goals and extra points, and as an added free bonus, he'll narrow his focus to the area just between instead of just outside the uprights.

Chef has also learned that Mare's landing strip helps explain his accuracy.

Don't know about you, but Chef's feeling much better now.

Hey! Sous Chef! Getcha ass in here and bring Chef another beer!

Saints Waive Mare!

Did Chef get your hopes up? Sorry about that. Turns out, that was just the collective thought process of every Who Dat staggering out of the Dome yesterday. No basis in truth. Yet.

Rico Suave is still our kicker. For now.

And since the Chef has a serious football hangover this morning, he's focusing on what turns his frown upside down: the strong performance in the Upper Terrace seats on Sunday.

To recap . . .
* Golden Spoons awarded to 2 Fetal Who Dats and their maternal Saintsations. If Mare had the good sense to meditate before kicking field goals, he would have easily felt the powerful force of these in utero Who Dats and won the game.

* A Cafe 641 veteran received a late-game Golden Spoon at the tender age of five. What was his claim to Who Dat greatness? Optimism in the face of defeat, on display with high-pitched squeals of "DEFENSE!" after Mare's final miss.

and finally . . .

* No police raids. The Superdome Swat Team called a one-game truce on members of the Cafe 641 Smoker's Lounge, after realizing that cigarettes were the only things keeping the Upper Terrace from dive bombing onto the field in pursuit of Mare.

Sunday's Secret Ingredient: Catnip!

After several months of Carolina counter-intelligence, Chef has learned that the Kittens are defenseless to the allure of catnip.

0-3 can suck it, indeed!

FleurDLicious Rights the Ship

Ya'll don't wannna be loud on Sunday? Then go to the library and read a friggin' book!

The Who Dat word, as proclaimed by FleurDLicious.

Jake Delhomme's Wounded Wings (and other Cafe delicacies)

So Nola Chick suggests a Panther Pate' and a Fred Thomas Toast for Sunday's return to glory. As always, the Cafe 641 menu is heavily guarded until gameday, but Chef is working on a one-week licensing agreement with Smith and Wollensky.

The secret ingredient this weekend?

Catnip.

Menu suggestions that successfully combine catnip into a culinary dismantling of Julius Peppers, DeShaun Foster, or DeAngelo Williams receive preference.

Take notice. Jake Delhomme is already dismantled. But wings are wings.

Deuce Upside My Head

How Chef missed the back page of Sunday's Times-Picayune Sports section, the Cafe may never know.

But many thanks to Upper Terrace Section 635, a freshly spooned Chick in the Huddle, and yes, even Chris Rose for calling attention to the many, many ways that Deuce can still go upside our heads and hearts.

This cut out will be attached to Chef's heart for the remaining 2007 Saints home games.

Lord, Hear Our Prayer.

Genuflect. Now. Seriously.

Okay, that's better.

Chef's back on the prayer wagon, thanks to this ethereal offering from the Patron Saint of Supa.