The Guest Twins (featured in previous posts) have adapted well to life in a French/American household.

Maybe too well.

We seem to have gotten them hooked on "Nouvelle Star" (The French 'American Idol' spin-off)
They've been watching it with us for the last two weeks and are now plotting a way to get their parents to let them watch the final show next week. They are pretty optimistic, as they'll be staying in a hotel and presumably have access to a TV....

(Here I'll just insert a hearty "sorry" to the parents of the Guest Twins, who probably would rather their children do something else during their dream vacation in France than watch TV)

But I have to admit that I love this show.
Yes- a year ago, I hated it, but now I adore it.
I guess I'm becoming more French? I even think it's better than American Idol, which has been getting saddder and more disappointing with every season. Somebody needs to stick a wooden stake, Buffy-like, in that thing and mercifully let it crumble into dust.
And then gather up all the dust and launch every molecule of it into outer space.
Srsly.

But NS is still fresh and interesting and manages to get some really unique talent. And this season, the show has boasted my favorite candidate, ever! She's a quirky, incredibly talented and lovely 20 year old from Montpellier.

And last night, she sang one of my favorite songs, ever.
You've got to hear this!

Yesterday afternoon I wallowed a bit in low self-esteem as I hurried along the streets of Annemasse. I'd left the house in a rush, anxious to pick up a prescription from Alexa's cardiologist before the clinic closed. I still had on my house-cleaning clothes: baggy capri-lenth jeans, an old gray t-shirt and comfy sandals...and I felt very profoundly un-chic. Not like Annemasse is a big, sophisticated city...but it's pretty fancy compared to Saint André. My home village has more cows than people and cows seem to appreciate a more laid-back clothing vibe.

I tried to cheer myself up by finding people worse dressed than I was. "Look! Brown calf-length socks and white loafers with geeky shorts!" I told myself. "He looks WAY worse than me."
But the guy was at least 60 years old, balding and sporting an ugly tattoo.
Who was I kidding?
I had to admit that not many 40ish women were wearing anything so un-pulled-together as I was. In fact, it looked as though they'd all signed a contact agreeing to wear pointy-toe, high heel shoes and tight, short skirts, all day, every day, forever and ever.

"But at least your hair looks fabulous", I consoled myself.
And it did - I'd just been to the hairdresser right before and it was all sleek and bouncy and shiny- not at all like my usual fuzzy mess. And that was a good thing. That night I was invited to an art exhibition in Geneva and didn't want to look like a countrified pile of dowdiness.

So, there I was, walking down the street, thinking deep thoughts about my hair, when I heard a child yell "Amandine Bourgeois! Amandine Bourgeois!".

He was about 10 years old, black, cute as a button and walking up to me!
"Amandine Bourgeois! It's you!"

This little boy had mistaken me for the 2008 winner of Nouvelle Star (the French version of American Idol)
TOLD you my hair looked good!


You can easily see why he made this mistake.
She and I are alike in so many ways.

For example, Amandine is 30 years old and at one time in the past, I was 30 years old!

Another amazing coincidence: We weigh exactly the same amount...well, we would if I amputated one of my legs.

Anyway...maybe it's silly, but it did kind of make my day.

Despite the fact that we have a satellite dish, we don’t watch very much television. Most days, it doesn’t go on at all.
There are, in fact, only two programs we watch with any regularity:
One is the popular French singing completion Nouvelle Star. It’s so bad that it makes American Idol ( of which it is an imitation) look like a high-quality program of refined taste and exceptional educational merit. I’m not sure why I watch it. I’d be tempted to say «It’s because I love music », but that’s precisely why I SHOULDN’T watch it.
Well, perhaps some mysteries are best left unsolved.

The other program that we often watch is Un Dîner Presque Parfait . It’s a great show to watch as a family and it’s really interesting. It’s actually a cooking contest that takes place over the course of one week. Each Monday, they present a group of five contestants living in the same town. Then every night one of them must give a dinner party for the group. You are expected not only to cook really well, but also to decorate the table elegantly and provide some kind of activity or entertainment for your guests. At the end of each meal, the four guests secretly grade the host on three points: cooking, décor and ambiance. On Friday night, the last meal is served and graded and then the averages are revealed. The top scorer wins 1000 euros, which is really just symbolic. It’s an awful lot of work and expense for the chance to win a pretty small amount of cash. But this is France and people take their food VERY seriously. It’s not for the blé, its for the honor and the gloire!!

Even a small, cow-intensive village like ours is filled with hard-core gastronomes. Take Saturday night: JP and I were invited to a dinner that some friends threw together at the last minute. We saw Martine on Friday afternoon and she said « Come for dinner! Maybe tomorrow? We’ll do it at our house, or maybe Lionel’s place. I’ll call you. »
She called and so it was that on Saturday night at about 8pm, we showed up at Lionel and Andrée's beautiful old farmhouse high on the hillside that overlooks the main part of the village. (One day I am going to BEG them to let me photograph their house and post it on my blog. It’s SO amazing and they did it all themselves!)
Our friends Lionel and Michel were already busy in the kitchen, looking very fetching in that »capable guy in an apron » kind of way.
Then another couple from the village arrived and the guest list was complete.
First of all, we were served an impressive homemade aperitif that our hostess had made from red wine and hawthorn flower buds. It was really lovely.
Then we sat down to this:

I’m sorry the light is so poor. I took these with my cell phone and I didn’t dare turn on more lights. I think poor JP was embarrassed enough.
« We ‘re just tourists » he told everyone. But when I go into my « This is SO going into my blog » mode, there’s no stopping me.

The dinner was very simple, elegant and good. It was:
Batavia salad with cherry tomatoes and herbs
New potatos with herbed yogurt sauce
Fromage frais with herbs
Round zucchini stuffed with pork.
For dessert there were apple slices sautéed in olive oil, served warm with whipped cream.

Though conversation touched many topics: politics, philosophy, language, travel, etc, much of it revolved around food.
Three of the men present had just gotten back from a road trip to Perigord to track down local wines, foie gras, magret de canard and other gourmet specialties. A six hour drive just to go hunting down food. These guys are all about the cuisine.

Before the end of the night, I was sure to warn them all that I’m not a very good cook and that they shouldn’t expect much when they come for dinner at my house. I figure that if they start out with low expectations, they won’t be disappointed…

Last night we FINALLY watched the American Idol saga wrap up. It has been my little oasis of the USA every Sunday night for the last couple of months.

I'm not sure what to make of it all. It took a few hours of stewing, but think I have finally determined that I actually wanted David A. to win. It took me a while to figure out because I had been under the impression that I didn't like him that much. 'The Squinting Marshmallow' was my nickname for him. (David Cook was 'The Smirking Wisp Boy). But in the end, The SM's perfect angel voice kind of won me over. And the way Simon slathered on the compliments during the final sing-off, young SM HAD to have thought the Idol crown would be his. And I hate to see cute little children disappointed. The SWB is a big boy and could have handled second place without a blink- and then gone on to be rich and famous like Chris Daughtry. But the poor little SM looked all sad around the eyes. He was smiling, but I could tell…

Plus, can you imagine the SWB doing ads for Disneyland attractions, à la Jordin?

I didn't think so. His Alt-Rocker cred would be right out the window and then where would he be? Out driving around in his new Ford Escape Hybrid, humming along with Daughtry tunes, I guess.

And as for the Ford Motor Company, I think they could have been far more generous with that car give-away. A Hybrid Escape each for David and David? TWO measly cars?

.Now, I never completely saw any of the famous ads that were aired, featuring AI contestants. The African channel that we tape the show off of chops out the US ads and replaces them with trailers for crazy Ghanaian soap operas (think witchcraft and fetishes) and African Idol (which looks astounding in many, many bad ways). But I did see a few clips from the ads, and all I can say is: Matador outfits? Puh-lease! For submitting to that humiliation alone they each deserved a nice car.
Ford = Cheapskate. Go for the big gesture, people.

And Fantasia’s guest ‘performance’?. Ummm… what WAS that? Her frenetic screaming and writhing and hopping was positively alarming. Has she been digging into Paula’s stash of crack cocaine?
Just asking.

How any of this really fits into a West African reality is beyond me. The aforementioned ‘African Idol’ takes place in South Africa, a place SO different from Burkina that it may as well be on another continent. And American Idol may as well take place on another planet in a distant solar system.