Citizenship Reclaimed

Moobs! Moobs! Moobs!

No need to cook tonight. We'll be cleaning out the fridge and serving up a Chicken of the Sea buffet, and the Big Tuna's got top shelf billing. If you've got the hunkering for bottle-nosed dolphin, we're the place.

Hell, if booing the Toastmaster General gets to be a bore, we may even throw in Flipper's speedo.

My Evacuation Route? My Buddy.

I've been sitting on this one like a Christmas present -- precious communique with my new best friend The Cocktail Chef (it's trademarked beeotches, so don't even think about it).

But Lil' Reggie turned 9 yesterday, almost three years to the day that we prematurely deflated the bounce house during his 6th birthday party to board up the windows.

And I'm not doing so well with the experts' instructions for adults here. It's not uncommon for the Chef to experience gastric distress the day after two $2 pitchers of Abita Amber and a Reginelli's pizza, but something wasn't right this morning.

Berto made me feel a little better this morning, and now that I have a evacuation route other than the usual Dallas-Fort Worth trip, I'm slightly calm. So here it is:

1. Thursday night: Chicken of the Sea with extra importance.
2. Friday morning: Reservations with My Buddy. I think he'll put me and the family up for a few days -- after all, we're tight now. He even said so in a recent comment:

"Thanks Chef. I really appreciate how you've handled this situation and as far as I'm concerned... CHEF WHO DAT is all good with me. I am going to try to make it in December but if I don't, thank you for the olive branch. YOU ROCK!! -- Thanks again. Your friend... The Cocktail Chef -- www.myspace.com/cocktailchef"

Here's to you The Cocktail Chef and your sold-out mixology seminars:

Today's Special: Yellow Fin Manboobs

That's what happens when you cross sashimi-grade tuna with Parcells' natural D-cups.

Don't worry. You can order off the menu too, but that assumes you're willing to toss out a few menu ideas for any of the following:

Chad Pennington
Reefer Ricky
Tony Soprano

Otherwise, it's Yellow Fin Manboobs for you!

You Have the Power

Take a moment today, Who Dats.

Take a single moment from your busy pre-season lives and search yourself. Look inside for the creativity that lies within. Dig deep. Find that ounce of forward-thinking that will propel you past tonight's minor scrap with the cheetos.

Ask yourself what you might do for your section come September 7. Ask yourself how you might transform from Who Dat to WHO DAT. Ask yourself how much more you have to give. Ask yourself whether the cornerback position is really all that important anyway. Ask yourself how much eye black it takes to reflect 1,000,000 watts of greatness off the Sacredome turf. Ask your liver to forgive you.

Our own Charcutier has done this very thing. He has fashioned the super and the hero from ordinary Black and Gold. He has found his way through the mystifying maze of pre-season questions and come out better for it.

Charcutier's recent actions speak for all of Cafe 641: In 3-seconds flat, he whittled a Who Dat cape from a team towel and spare Fleur de Stache buttons. He now has the Power to Save the Who Dat Nation.

The Golden-Spooned Maelstrom Drops on Oct. 19

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.

With all this message board guy jackassery (tm Wang), it's all we can do to remember that steps have been taken, that those actions were not intended for pre-season greatness nor pressure up the middle nor even the betterment of Chasin' David. Those steps were taken to deliver us from evil, no fewer than seven times.

But October 19 makes it all feel better.

It's all we can do to remember that October 19 marks the beginning of a 10-game win streak propelling the Who Dats into the Bowl. Why October 19?

Because ya boy Train Wreck will be ready to go by then. And his triceratops will be in the best shape of its life. And when that happens, Fleur de Chef will descend upon you from Cafe 641 in a golden-spooned maelstrom whipping the Upper Terrace into a golden-spooned whirpool the likes of which have only rarely been seen.

Homecoming Toast

Homecoming is always bittersweet.*

You see the people you've waited all off-season to see.

And then you drink too much.

You embrace your family with open arms, raising your voice and cup to what brings you closer.

And then Jason David happens.

The Cafe, even with multiple tables open, was rocking Saturday night. The regulars - minus Hogan - were all there. An original gangsta was there. New season ticket holders Chef K-Paul, K-Les, and the Charcutier were there. And the guests didn't stop: Guests from Ralph Brennan's seats. Guests from the Krewe of Brid and Egg Yolk Jubilee. Roller girl guests. Latin guests. Reincarnations of Buddy D. guests. Shit, Jake Who Dat even designed a killer dueling spoons logo for the Cafe and dressed as Drew Brees.

And then Jason David happened. And when Jason David happens, even my Anheuser Busch-induced warm glow fades so quickly that any goodness of Saturday night is replaced by this message, repeated every 42 seconds until we become the change we wish to see.


* Except in 2006.

Thanks Houston.

It is upon us. In a watered-down pre-season form, yes, but it is upon us.

Tonight we offer our deepest tongue-in-cheek gratitude to Texas governor Rick Perry (go to Oct. 18, Sports), the city of Houston, and Barbara Bush.

Tonight we salute the commute, the smog, and the overpopulation.

Tonight we ask Deuce to show us his bionic knees.

Tonight's Cafe 641 contributors:
T-Dex w/ the muffaletta, the Entity (aka Mrs. Chef) with the pulled pork, and Mother Hen with the sirloin and greens. The Gambit Weekly's sports blogger Alejandro de los Rios inadvertently inspired some pancakes. Chef K-Paul contributed a special not appearing on tonight's menu: The Texas Sirloin Tip ("never pass on Bush").

Sunday School

You remember how the Fuhrer once took his niece to a NFL game, and she got all freaked out when she met some folks who made less than 40K a year and spent at least some of that on season tickets and some beer and let off some steam cheering for their home team on Sundays in the Fall?

Well, that led to this.

Which led to this.

Which led to my hearing on WWL's news flash what Saints fans can expect tomorrow on entering the Superdome for the first time in 2008.

Superdome General Manager Dave Freeman has apparently read Dilly's Sacredome manifesto quite carefully and wants to take us Who Dats to sunday school. Problem is, though, Dave must be Baptist cuz his church sounds different than mine.

Dave starts out all sane-like. He says we should follow the Dome's version of the Golden Rule -- do unto the guy sitting next to you as you would want him to do unto you. Right on, dawg. Right on.

Oh, wait, you mean not everyone is a big fan of striping your section up with pre-game eye black, offering neighbors swigs of Absolut New Orleans, or open-mouth kissing (sadly no link) to celebrate first downs? Well, what's a Chef to do?

If you're struggling with your behavior modification project like I am, here's an easy to remember interpretation for each of Dave's Sunday School Superdome Policies:

1. Dave sez: "don't drink too much" Dave means: you'll be forced to take a breathalyzer test at Gates A & C, and again if you try to enter any of the Plaza or Club seats.

2. Dave sez: "don't say the wrong thing" Dave means: Remember, you don't have to project your voice to be heard. It's more fun to say it, not spray it.

3. Dave sez: "basically don't do anything inappropriate" Dave means: sit on your hands, cross your legs, and use napkins to wipe the nacho cheese from the corner of your mouth.

What's that, Who Dats? You're worried that you still might get tossed because you just don't understand? No worries. Dave's a fair guy. He's not gonna toss you out on the first offense. WWL's Dave Cohen even gives us an extended interview so you'll know just what to do.

Just remember . . .

4. Dave sez: "there's a fine line in saying something that is offensive to the guy sitting next to you" Dave means: you never know if the guy sitting next to you is a guy or a girl, so better to err on the side of caution and not talk to anyone.

5. Dave sez: "ask yourself if you'd want your 10-year-old son exposed to that sort of language." Dave means: it's much more comfortable for him to hear it at home when you throw a beer at your new 40-inch LCD when Jason David pops out of the toaster.

But, good news, Who Dats! It's not all "don'ts." There's at least one "do" mixed in there.

Dave sez: "don't worry -- there's no provisions in there for standing. If someone wants to stand up the whole time, they are certainly free to do so." Dave means: WTF? I have no idea what he means by this. Can I stand up entirely on my own two feet, rising in reaction to the action on the field induced by Our New Orleans Saints?

Let's recap: When you enter the Superdome, it's time for sunday school, and Dave is your preacher. If you don't follow his rules, you're out.

And don't even try to sneak past Rule #1 above:

"If we can tell you've had too much to drink before you get here, you're not going to be able to get in the building. We're just gonna send you back to your car."

Back to your car. Perfect. Just where you need to be when your public drunkenness is thoroughly clear that you can't even gain admittance into the Superdome for a friggin' football game.

Train Wrecked by Habanero Poppers

Damn. Just when it looked like the Train Wreck was going to inflict all sorts of pain on opposing offensive linemen, he gets distracted by some friggin' habanero poppers and tears his triceratops.

Chef can't help but wonder if Hollis was sabotaged by teammates surprised by his rapid weight loss regimen and strong training camp performance.

Could it be possible that old friend Brian Young planted a tray of Habanero Hollis Poppers behind the tackling dummy and our boy Hollis couldn't stave off his craving for savory deep fried poppers stuffed with jalapeno queso and bacon bits?

Or was it Big Sed looking for a 1st-string guarantee, thus dropping a H.T. Train Wreck (block of cream cheese drizzled in Tabasco-infused cocktail sauce and shrimp) behind Hollis at the sound of the whistle? (I can only imagine the strain placed on the triceps when whipping back, one-armed, for a taste of the cheese.)

Get thee well, Hollis. You've come back from injustice (c.f. "Who Dat prayers of the faithful) before.

All Good Things . . .

. . . must come to an end."

And so it was that Our New Orleans Saints closed camp on Monday, moving from Jackson to Metairie.

"But there's a silver lining in every cloud."
(CUE your choice of Mike Brady, Danny Tanner, or Peter Griffin for an inspiring lesson about overcoming the dramas of everyday life.)

Speaking of silver linings, Chef is looking for a tiny morsel of goodness amidst the devastating realization that Friday, August 15 is the last day of legalized cockfighting in this great state of Louisiana.

Cockfighting is a sport close to Chef's heart, and one that he wholeheartedly promotes as a classy, all-American family activity. But seeing as how Louisiana legs. like Art Lentini, R-Kenner, have their PETA panties all wadded, I'll be a law-abiding citizen and cease/desist.

Still, there's always that silver lining.

So here it is, Cafe 641 and Who Dat Nation, your black and gold and silver lining, the newest addition to our Upper Terrace fan base, just rescued from the Atchafalaya Game Club in Cecilia, Louisiana. His contract includes tickets to four home games with performance bonuses based on attacks on Dirty Birds.

Two-Piece McAllister

From the Archives . . . 2007

More from the Cafe crypt.

It was a unanimous feeling inside the Cafe that a certain mojo was missing during crucial games last season. The effort was there, noise was sufficient, even the Dirty Dog was on display. But, something didn't always feel quite right. Thumb through these menus at your leisure and let us know if the disappointment started here.

From the Archives . . . 2006

I was cleaning up the Cafe archives over the weekend and thought it might be useful to show some of our scraps. It's not that Cafe 641 frowns on repetition of menu items; we just like to know where we come from, of what we've been made.

(Note: December 31, 2006 menu (Carolina Panthers) lost during vodka-induced blackout that occurred somewhere between Upper Terrace and the Claiborne St. bridge. Would appreciate a .jpg from anyone who still has one.)

Houston . . . We're Ready for Take Off

*
While Gary Kubiak gets his hair ready for the Texans' preseason opener against the Denver Broncos, Who Dats are back at work today. Back at work trying to steal Joe's number. Back at work fixing the mistakes. Back at work cleaning off the grill.

It's only a preseason game on August 16 (preseason? preaseason? we talking 'bout preseason? it's preseason, man. preseason.), but it's still Houston. And Houston is sort of like a post-Katrina version of Atlanta. They both suck.

And with that, the preseason menu board is open. Andre Johnson's groin strain? On the menu. Gary Kubiak's quarterback stable? On the menu.

Who and what else, Who Dats?

Remember, we're only talking 'bout preseason. No need to tip our play calls too early. But if you've taken a few days off after Thursday night in Arizona, it's back to work. Chef's already cleaning off the Pesto Pierre that wasn't as good on the grilled preseason burger as he imagined it would be.

* Illustration by Michael Schulz (thanks always to The Cocktail Chef for reminding me of the fragile psyche of the trademarked)

Rally TIME 08/7/2008

It is upon us, and Chef will fire up the grill to test its fire.

It's only preseason, you say? It means next to nothing?

Ask Berto. He'll give you a lesson from our recent past about the importance of today:

"The date has been set. We can do what we can for ourselves, our city, our SAINTS. Please find it within to collect your family, friends, and those who live next to you in exile - Siegen Lane, Bluebonnet, Hammond, Houma, Gonzales, Port Allen. Use your bike to get there."

The archives of Our New Orleans Saints are littered with wisdom.

We Can Mix It, If We Want It

Apparently Chef Who Dat (neither registered nor trademarked) isn't the only person staving off madness before the NFL season starts next month. He thought he was. But he's not. Down in Hot-lanta, folks are losing their minds.

See, there's this guy named Steven Kowalczuk. He's originally from Pittsburgh. Proud graduate of the 1987 class of Langley High School. Maybe even grew up a Steelers fan. Steven's currently holding it down in the ATL at clubs like "Stage Crew" and the "Getting Stoned At My House Club."

What? You haven't heard of Steven Kowalczuk? Maybe a little reminder would help. Remember these club-banging lyrics to "Mix It"?

Listen up ya'll I'm The Cocktail Chef

a Pittsburgh native mix-master Stef

Cookin' up dishes and fillin' your glasses

Gypsy Pearl in the house 'bout to shake your asses

Nothing? Seriously? Oh, wait. I forgot.

You don't know him as Steven. You know him as "The Cocktail Chef" (registered and trademarked by Steven Kowalczuk & Angelina Sarantis). That rings a bell, right?

Steven, uh, I mean "The Cocktail Chef" was Atlanta's Most Wanted Bartender in 2005. But ever since Ryan's "All You Can Sack" Buffet (not Ryan's Buffet, registered and trademarked eating establishment, but Ryan's "All You Can Sack" Buffet, an unregistered, untrademarked mess hall catering to the Upper Terrace Who Dat ilk) reported to training camp, CC's been all crazy like.

Crazy like? Whatchutalkinbout Chef WD? And what's with all this registered/trademarked shit?

Uh, well, no easy way to put this. So I'll just lay it out as I heard it:

Hello, My name is Steven Kowalczuk and I am "The Cocktail Chef". The name "The Cocktail Chef" is a registered and trademarked name that is the property of Steven Kowalczuk & Angelina Sarantis. My attorney has been informed and you now have a chance to change your name, discontinue use of the name, or continue to use the name and have criminal charges brought against you. We are fully prepared to take this issue to court. Seeing that you do not own the name (because we own it by law) you are not permitted to continue using "The Cocktail Chef". THIS IS A PRIORITY ISSUE. I WILL BE CHECKING BACK TO MAKE SURE YOU HAVE COMPLIED WITH THIS REQUEST. Please feel free to visit THE "ORIGINAL" COCKTAIL CHEF @ www.myspace.com/cocktailchef

Good thing this isn't Cafe 641's first run-in with lawsuits. We know what to do. Here goes:

With my deepest apologies to all that I've damaged, including our very own Cafe 641 Cocktail Chef, the Diva Mixologist, Ms. Vidrine, who will forever in my heart -- even if a small unregistered, untrademarked way -- be known as the cocktail chef (lowercase t, lowercase c's), I've now discontinued use of the highly visible name mentioned above. Evidence is provided in the 2007 Cafe 641 Profile #2, which must have irritated Steven's Hot-lanta Rash. BTW . . . if you google "Cocktail Chef," Steven's myspace page is the #1 hit. Our very own Cafe 641 mixologist is #2, so maybe the O.G. has competition issues?

Steven, I still feel a little bad about all this. So I'm extending a few olive branches.

1. You're more than welcome to a free meal and all-you-can drink voucher at Cafe 641 on December 7. You'd have to fly to New Orleans, buy a ticket to a football game, and climb to the very top of the Louisiana Superdome, but I'd like to think it would be worth it. I'll give you an autographed menu, a complimentary golden spoon, and who knows? Maybe the Dirty Birds would even foot the bill.

2. You're also welcome to trademark a few dishes from the Cafe 641 menu that may go over well in the ATL: Bird-Beak Bisque? Blackened Falcon with Dirty Bird Rice? Wait. I know what you might like: The Hotlanta Nut Sampler (w/ Old Man Morten’s Shriveled Nuts, Joey’s Riding-the-Pine Nuts & Byron’s Left Nuts)

Peace.