Kitty Want Some Whoop Ass?

2nd seed? 5th seed? First-round bye? Home field advantage? Am I the only one who finds Carolina completely selfish? We're in the midst of a national fiscal crisis, largely caused by the banking industry, and all they care about is the playoffs. Hey Charlottians. Get perspective or we'll do it for you. I expect ya'll are ready for us to whoop that kitty's ass.

Cafe 641 Announces Saints-Panthers Halftime Entertainment

It's come to this, has it? Our New Orleans Saints have announced pre-game and halftime shows for our final game that wouldn't pass for entertainment in any other NFL city except Dallas. To avert catastrophe, and in the fine tradition of Cafe 641's allegiance with another West Bank hip hop legend, we invite you to scrutinize Lil Sol of the Sol's Watches Empire in hopes of staging the largest halftime Donkey Kong dance demo the 504 has ever seen.

donkey kong

The "Everything Tastes Better Next Year" Pledge

"I pledge to return to this hallowed Dome in 2009, mail my season ticket deposit on time (January 30), and pray (or meditate or make animal sacrifice based on my religious conviction) daily for a Black and Gold Super Bowl in 2010. So help me Deuce."

Travis Burkett just called, wished me a Merry Christmas, and gave detailed instructions on how Cafe 641 Row 41, Seats 20-22 WILL BE MOVED within spooning distance of Cafe 641 Row 42, Seats 9-10 in 2009.

Gary Gibbs must go, but Travis should be nominated for Ticket and Suite Sales staff member of the year. He can be contacted directly at (504) 731-1871.

If you'd like to move your seat into the Cafe, see above diagram for more detailed information. The following lcoations are not indicated on the map, but do, in fact, exist: Dirty Dog wall; exclusive Cafe 641 elevator; Smoker's Ally; and Club Bang the Wall.

Dear Diary . . . (Dec. 11th - 13th)

December 11, 2008

Dear Diary,
Hosted a small viewing party for Cafe 641 tonight. It ended poorly when I realized that dropping a Dirty Dog on that small space between sofa and wall has little impact on either linebacker play or porous holes. On the upside, Mojo made an appearance. As did Jimmy V. from the Cafe, Jimmy V.'s girl from the Cafe, two of their friends, an Uptown dentist, and the only Echocardiologist to watch from the bench as Dwayne Bryant single-handedly won the 1986 Louisiana State Basketball Championship for DeLaSalle. Best part of the night? Shouting "Get in the High Life" every time Billy Miller touched the ball and slamming a Miller.

By the way, how do you get sneaker marks off of eggshell finish latex paint?

December 12, 2008

Dear Diary,
Kyle Orton should just admit that the Bears' playoff chances depend solely on the weather and defensive backs with very little skill or pride in self.

December 13, 2008
Dear Diary,
Who are these guys? Don't remember seeing this much awesomeness in the Cafe. The one on the right reminds me of Joe Dirt, and the one on the left kinda looks like he could sacked Steve McNair's son in high school.

P.S. If I could find a way to put a mustache on that Black and Gold piece of sexiness in the background, I'd be a very happy chef.

Dear Diary . . . (Dec. 8th - 10th)

Monday, December 8th

Dear Diary,
Today I woke up with a pounding headache and a foggy memory of being hard since a lil one. Do I know this guy, Diary? All I can truly remember is dappin' it up, dynomite-style, with a cracked-out Ernie in Cafe 641, as Pierre Thomas took the Falcons' Curtis Lofton for a ride. And a drive home, courtesy of Cafe 641's top, top-row mother-daughter combo.

P.S. Does Roger Goodell know that in the Superdome, even the stadium attendants drink from a flask after touchdowns? I vaguely remember a tap on the shoulder after my second swig of Hennessy. Turning around, I handed over the flask to our very own Cafe 641 stadium attendant, who finished off the flask in a neat 2-seconds before returning it.

Tuesday, December 9th

Dear Diary,
My head feels more clear today, Diary, and I now feel confident in making the following list of things found/things lost in the Superdome over the past few weeks.
Things found: a new found appreciation for the adhesive qualities of Kraft American Singles; a deep-tissue bruise just behind my knee-cap, apparently the result of a fatal third Dirty Dog in a single game; a deep understanding of the importance of linebacker play; a Mother Hen.

Things lost: little plush Chef; a 22-inch Golden Spoon given to me on the eve of our 2006 playoff victory by Proud Mary and Mr. Rita Benson LeBlanc; my liver; a tube of eyeblack; my patience with Sean Payton.

Wednesday, December 10th

Dear Diary,
Did I ask the entire Cafe 641 to my house to view the Bears' game for tomorrow night? Whose idea was that? When did I make that ill-fated decision? Is that guy Jimmy V. coming with his hot girlfriend "whats-her-name?" Did I agree to cook?

Abracadabra!

Hey, Fuhrer Goodell. Ever heard of the power of suggestion? No?

How about the infinite ways in which food makes us do things we might not otherwise conceive of? No?

Well, S.O.I. Roger-baby. Cuz' it's not even Sunday yet and Cafe 641 has already willed Deuce into uniform.

All-U-Can Sack Buffet

How do you follow cheez whiz shots, Kraft Single Cheese-staches, an Aaron Rodgers voodoo cheese doll, and a postgame celebratory trip to the home of the hottest painting of a woman in a 'stache?

It's not easy, but Cafe 641 likes to think you start with the basics. Like a blackened rubber bird, beaten. And a few old-school golden spoons. Maybe even a few West Bank guests.

Another home win would be nice too.

(Lil' Doogie) Steps Have Been Taken

All U Can Sack Dirty Bird Buffet

It's Tuesday, and due to forces beyond Cafe 641's control, the Ryan's All You Can Sack Buffet menu goes to press in two days. Nevermind the inexplicable pass-to-run ratio. Forget for a moment today's potential sidelining of our Deuce Upside Your Head Cake.

Instead focus on the bird. The dirty, dirty bird. Consider, if you will, the very real possibility of verbal altercations with overhyped Phallcon fans. What might you bring to the table?

Should you go biblical with a little John Abraham's Sacrificial Lamb? Maybe old school with Blackened Falcon? Perhaps nuovo with a side of Shoddy Roddy Rice?

Matt Ryan wants you to eat him.

Rinse and Spit

Trying to get that fecal matter taste out thee fleur de lis mouth? Well, good luck. So is Tom Benson.

But, nevermind Poopgate. This shit we've got right here is serious.

So serious, in fact, that Cafe 641 is bringing in the big guns. While the Phallcons lay claim to Young Jeezy, Lil' Jon, T.I., Outkast, Luda, DJ Unk, Bonecrusher, and Scrappy . . . Cafe 641 will unveil it's own level of durty, durty on Sunday. Straight outta Marrero, he's real, brah.

Look for more details in the days to follow. But for now, just know that the dirtiest of bird menus will be prepped & printed by Thursday, Dec. 4. The menu box is now open.

Favre-Free Fromage

Say cheese Pack-whores.

If a dairy farmer fails to disclose ingredients . . .

Taking a cue from Deuce McAllister's lawyer, Cafe 641 has agreed to suspend all ingestion of cheese until NFL steroid policy administrator Dr. John Lombardo agrees to disclose whether or not Who Dats might contract genital Bumetanide through interaction with Cheeseheads. Apparently, cheese shared at Green Bay Packer tailgates may have contained several rare strains of a diuretic that weakens the antibodies that help fight off genitally-spread Bumetanide. Stay tuned to WDSU's Fletcher Mackel for more details.

Cheese Unlocks Your Wildest Dreams!

The menu team at Cafe 641 invites you to contribute to the Mustache Monday Night version of its cheese-themed menu. It's Farve-Free dairy week at the cafe and top menu suggestion wins top billing and free post-game beer at Handsome Willy's.

If you want to dream big, consider a cheese-only diet this week -- apparently it can help you control your the direction of your dreams. I've already experienced consecutive Saints wildcard finishes with first round playoff victories, all because I indulged in 16 oz. of Wisconsin Cheddar on Sunday evening and Monday morning.

Is it (Mustache) Monday Yet?

Suck on it, NFC South beeotches. It's on. Mustachio style. Next time you see us, we'll be livin la vida loca early in the Tuesday mornin at Handsome Willy's. Stache-in-tact.

Who Dat Shock Heard 'Cross the Pond

Thanks Deuce. Thanks Will. Thanks Charles. I was thinking that tomorrow's overseas victory (Shocked Scones w/ Jammer anyone?) would be the real shock. Now, it's all Cry Me a Rivers Fish & Chips. I've had so much to drink already today, I'm gonna need a friggin' diureutic to clear my urine.

Anyway. We'll be at the Mid-City Bulldog by 11 a.m. for our Cafe 641 "home" game. Feel free to join us.

Monday Morning Tonic

And this is supposed to make me feel better?













I'd much prefer this:

Pond-Hopping Menus

No fewer than three Who Dats have agreed to transport customized, goldenrod-papered Cafe 641 menus to Wembley's Superdome East on October 26. If you'll be in that London number and are willing to spread some Upper Terrace, Dome Foam-inspired satire, drop a line and I'll do my best to get the "Who Dat shock heard 'cross the pond!" menu in your hands. It takes a small deputizing ceremony, but in some cases this has already happened.

Any Given Sunday

Compliments of Miss Shootz 2 Kill (who returned from a one-game suspension from the Cafe due to her use of photographic substances banned by the NFL), we present a stunning sequence of any given Sunday in Cafe 641:

Whose House?

Our House.

The Entity Brings her "A" Game

Big Chief Curly Head: Showing S.C. Love for Stir-fried Russell Terrier

The Toastmaster General hears the love from DJ Doberge & Chef

Wineskin Hogan taking care of the Who Dats

Gris Gris lays a blessing down in the Cafe

Chef Who Dat: Dirty Dog style

Jessica Simpson leaves Tony Romo for Chef Who Dat

Handsome Willy Style

Just in Time for Raiders: 100% Gramatica Free!

Vi-Queen Leftovers

Coming Soon to a Brennan's Restaurant Near You!

So a Chef walks through a tailgate on a Monday night, samples a stunning crabmeat dip, turns to a distinguished looking gentleman who looks as if he may be a holder of season tickets in the Club Level, and asks, "Say, brah. Who made this dee-lish crab dip?"

The distinguished looking gentleman replies, "My talented wife did, Chef," then holding up a goldenrod-colored paper, asks, "Can you tell me where I might find the person responsible for this stellar culinary menu?"

The Chef says, "Lookin' at him, brah. Here, have a Cafe 641 Snack Schedule -- it's a little something that our very own Chef K-Paul put together."

To which the distinguished looking gentleman responds, "Interesting. Mind if I borrow the Stir-fried Jamarcus Russell Terrier for my restaurant? I'm a Greenie and I'd like nothing more than to serve that little rat bastard over a plate of rice."

"Consider it done," said the Chef. "What's your restaurant?"

"Well, I have three here in the city, Chef. Not sure if you've heard of them. Redfish Grill, Ralph's on the Park, and Bacco."

And that friends, is how Cafe 641 will open up its call for menu items this week: with the semi-non-fictional story of how Ralph Brennan came to inquire about serving Cafe 641-inspired dog at his New Orleans restaurants.

Craig's List Ad

Ten things I would graciously offer in exchange for a Monday Night Football victory:

10. The rainbow that floated above the CBD yesterday afternoon after an earlier downpour.
9. The Madame Alexander Vi-Queen doll that comes with every Childress Plate.
8. The 5-second inhalation of Jim Beam from Hogan's touchdown wine skin that I ingested after Reggie's second punt return.
7. A game-used loaf of Leidenheimer's that was broken during last night's Cafe 641 communion ceremony.
6. A dirty dog.
5. The risque image of Special-K (Chef's niece) pushing the smokers around in the Cafe 641 men's room and demanding a stall.
4. An assortment pack of mustaches game-used by the ladies of Cafe 641 (The Entity; Proud Mary; the Cocktail Chef; Special-K; Dianne; Absolut Pamela, etc.) during the Hail 'Stache prayer.
3. Martina's left nut.
2. Martina's va-jay-jay.
1. Martina Grammatilova.

All Hail the Vi-Queens!

On behalf of the Who Dat Nation, and especially Cafe 641, it gives me great pleasure to extend our warmest welcome to the Norwegian royalty that has traveled all the way from Minnesnowta to take part in a contest of brute strength today in the Sacredome.

We welcome all Nordic Queens into our city with open arms. Come for the football. Stay for the party. But leave your defense at the Sacredome door.

Yo, Adriaaaaaaaaan!

Yo, Adriaaaaaaaaaan!














We will eat you. Alive.

Nordic Mortal Awakens Who Dat Diety

Somehow, I think Dr. Morris would be a big fan of Adrian Peterson this week:

"Fans will be in that dome drunk and crazy and yelling," Peterson said. "It's going to be a good atmosphere to go out and test what we've really got."

Roger Goodell . . . As Translated by Superdome Staff

All that worry about conduct, misconduct, and Big Brother was apparently for naught. Here's Roger Goodell translated through the fleur-de-lis lenses of Superdome personnel:

1. Weapon-like contraband? Not recommended, but we ain't gonna stop ya
Superdome security sez: "Are you allowed to enter with that?" (gesturing toward 18-inch wooden cooking spoon) "I don't know if you're allowed in with that? They may want you to leave that outside."
Chef sez: "No. I'm good. It's a prop. They want me to bring it in."

2. Alcoholic contraband? We already charge $8 for a single bloody mary and we outlaw bloody doubles, so you should probably just bring your own.
Superdome security sez: "What's that?"
Jim Beam sez: "That's my fifth of Jim Beam."
Superdome security sez: "Oh. Okay."
Chef sez: "Hey Jim. Can I get a swig of Beam? Want me to step behind the wall here so you don't get it confiscated?"
Jim Beam sez: "Shee-ottt Chef. Drink my damn drink, fool. If they take this one, they know I have another back at my seat. And if they ask me to leave, they know I got an extra ticket back at the truck. They don't want to kick me out Chef."

Superdome security sez: "What's that?"
Under-21 Cafe 641 patron sez: "Uh, what? This bottle with pretty royal blue writing on it? It's like a giant perfume bottle that my mom asked me to hold for her."
Superdome security sez: "Oh. Okay. Well, don't drop it."

Superdome security sez: "Why you walking funny, sir?"
Cafe 641 patriarch Hogan sez: "Cuz I got a got-damn wine skin chaffing my ass cheeks cuz. It's full of Jim Beam and I was doing my Keyser Söze impression."
Superdome security sez: "Oh. Okay. Well, take care of those ass cheeks."

3. Malodorous contraband: We'd prefer you bathe at home, but we'll provide complimentary room spray as the need arises.
Superdome security sez: "WTF? Who hath defaced this precious Cafe 641 air?"
DJ Doberge sez: "No worries, sir. It's a concentrated version of a spice commonly used in fajita meat rubs. I think it's called cummin. An industrial deodorizer should clear the air."

To re-cap: your super-size spoons, Jim Beam, and stank are all welcome on Monday Night.

Connect the Dots

Game 1












+
Game 2








+

Game 3



=

THE HAIL STACHE.
Hail Fleur-de-Stache, full of faith, the Black & Gold is with Thee.
Blessed art thou among fleur-de-lis and blessed is the soul of thy team, the New Orleans Saints.
Holy ‘Stache, Patron Saint of Who Dat Mustachios, pray for us fans now and at the hour of our
kickoff.
And the Who Dats proclaimed: Who Dat!

Introducing . . . Miss Shootz 2 Kill

You know what works? Prayer works. Ya heard?!

But so does the sensitive groin-gina of Martina Grammatilova. Enough to shank two pre-game 35-yard field goals but still killed an even shorter kick when it counts.

And speaking of violence, Cafe 641 hired a fabulous new photographer who goes by "Miss Shootz 2 Kill" a.k.a. "Kodak." Her work has been seen at the New Orleans Museum of Art, a Save Our Cemeteries show, and above the toilet in Chef's own bathroom. Now, Miss Shootz 2 Kill offers the Cafe 35 millimeters of Who Dat Point & Shoot as a new season ticket holder in Row 41. She auditioned for the job in December of 2007 and gave the Cafe it's stylish "tiny eagle" shot:














Here's a small sampling from Game 1 and Game 2:














Chef talks strategery at Hogan's pre-game birthday bash.














Miss Shootz 2 Kill in a daring self-portrait w/ Chef K-Paul on the morning before the 2008 season begins

Unloose the Deuce! (feature-length film version)

Unloose the Deuce!

Archdiocese of New Orleans Announces Deuce Vigil

Our Deuce, who art in limbo,
Hallowed be thy knees.
Thy first carry come.
Thy first down be done.
On turf as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily Deuce.
And forgive us our coaches,
as we forgive those who know not your signature down nor distance.
And lead us not into closed holes along the line of scrimmage,
but deliver us from third and one. Amen.

A Prayer for the Deuce-olution

In response to the call . . .

Deliver us, oh Deuce, from any coach who knows not your signature down nor your signature distance. Deliver us, oh Deuce, from every loss of yardage on 3rd and 1. Deliver us, oh Deuce, from every miner of gold, and grant us victory in our day. In your long awaited crossing of the line of scrimmage, keep us free from injury and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for Golden Jerry Romig to bellow “1st Down Saints!” as you carry overpowered 49ers downfield.

As seen on Sesame Street

Because Little Tuna refused to acknowledge the wisdom of Berto's oracle, here's a signpost observed this weekend on Sesame Street. It's meaning cannot be more clear:

Can't Harsh My Mellow

Ya heard, Riding-the-Pine Nuts? This weekend, this coming out party for a sickle cell defense, this statement game, this dismantling of South Park lampoons. Even your shittiness, oh Mr. Pine Nuts, even your shittiness can't harsh this mellow.

Defend New Orleans (and other observations)

In lieu of post-game analysis and grades that other Who Dats handle with far more discretion, I'm going with a list of observations to move from gin-induced, game 2 headache to week 3:

* Friday, Sept. 12: After Chef's full-time employer safely closed its facilities to protect the interests of all its valued employees from the tornadic threats of Ike, Chef retreated to a bunker on Bienville Street, Liuzza's, for a fish bowl or four of amber, a Frenchuletta, and the ice-filled tile-backed toilet trough. Not a bad way to start a NFL weekend.

* Saturday, Sept. 13: A late invite to a family birthday celebration for a 22-year-old nephew resulted in a cochon plate, double-stuffed potato, and cracklins at Cochon. More important was the opportunity to visit the restaurant's handsomely appointed men's room, where just to the left of the wash basin I found a framed photo of the Defender of New Orleans setting off the Dome on September 25, 2006. The Defender had signed it thusly: "Cochon! Defend New Orleans! Steve Gleason #37" Defend New Orleans indeed. Never mind Fed-Ex field. Steps have been taken.

* Sunday, Sept. 14: On second thought, cuban black beans with smoked sausage, cilantro chicken tacos, and habanero cheese stuffed sausages may not be the best meal to serve with the heartburn that a team coached by the slowly fattening-Sean Payton provides.

* Monday, Sept. 15: See Sunday, Sept. 14, especially "heartburn."

We dub thee "Cafe 641 East"

In response to our worthy colleague's appearance at FedEx field on Sunday, Cafe 641 interrupts its regularly scheduled program to bring you live coverage of the Upper Terrace Chef knighting of one Nola Chick.

"Nola Chick, you have presented your tailgate for dubbing of Cafe worthiness through your Who Dat vigil and perserverance, evidenced this very Sunday by your faithful roast of all Redskins. Please accept this charge with solemn conviction:

Right mindful of your prowess in the stands, and responsive to the wishes of your Who Dat peers, we are minded to dub your tailgate venture "Cafe 641 East." Know that to wear the belt and chain of an Upper Terrace Chef is to hold a sacred trust; that the obligations of Chefdom will demand your efforts every moment of your life.

A Chef of the Upper Terrace must be respectful of only one religion, always offending the faith of another.

A Chef of the Upper Terrace must disrespect all those who are weak or defenseless, whether because of age, infirmity, poverty, offensive suckery, or defensive lapse, and be steadfast in offending them.

A Chef of the Upper Terrace must love her kingdom and her province, and fulfill most faithfully her feudal duties to #s 23, 51, 26, and in moments of crisis #19.

Her word must be dependable beyond doubt or question. She must never flee from the face of her foes, neither feathered nor painted for war. She must be generous with insult to all.

And, always and everywhere, she must be the champion of the black and the gold.

The Laws of the Society and the customs of the Who Dat Kingdom require that a Upper Terrace Chef be prow, as you have demonstrated you are upon the tailgate field; that a chef be profane, as you have shown yourself to be and as these noble gentleman and ladies attest.

Do you then desire to accept the burden of Upper Terrace Chefhood and swear fealty to the Crown? Please accept this scepter as symbol of your status and impale it on the closest Redskin.

Lost and Found

Ever the humanitarian, Reggie Bush visited the Tampa Bay Yuckaneers locker room yesterday after the game. He headed straight for the locker of Jermaine Phillips, kindly replacing a piece of clothing lost sometime in the fourth quarter.

Said Reggie: "One moment he's talking trash, next he's on my highlight reel." And then: "Yo Jermaine. I know you've got that Super Bowl ring and all, but I didn't know Geriatric Jello Garcia hooked his d-backs up with their own warmers. I looked all over for the one that you dropped at the 35-yard-line, but I didn't see it. Tell you what, to show there's no hard feelings, I got you a little gift out of my own locker. You keep it to remember what we shared for 1/2 second this afternoon:

Neither wind, nor rain, nor power outage . . .