What a reckless choice of words.

Hello all. So remember that nice dinner with a couple friends I was planning? The one that was supposed to make me feel better, to help me relax? Never in my life have my best laid plans gone quite so awry. I think my blog posts must have some special jinxing power. Noted.

We weren't able to have dinner at my house, because my mère d'accueil didn't really want people around after she had spent a long day at work. So, instead, we decided to do it at Andrea's house. I wanted to take a shot at the recipe for chili that my mom sent me... Andrea and I set about doing the shopping and then met up with Ramsay back at the house. It was all looking good, we found all the ingredients we needed, despite the language barrier difficulties that come along with shopping off of an American recipe in a French grocery store.

So. We're about ten minutes into cooking when a bunch of Andrea's host brother's friends come filtering in... rounds of bises (the emblematic French cheek kisses) and Franglais (French/English) conversations were quick to follow (it always shocks me how fantastically almost all of the French speak English, despite their inevitably fervent insistence that it isn't true... I suspect the vast majority of the French population speak far better English than I do French). We were having a little bit of difficulty with the recipe, given that the measurements were all American, and the small but significant detail that there were no measuring cups or spoons in any conceivable location. I guesstimated away, figuring it wouldn't matter all that much if I really screwed things up, we could always trash it and go out somewhere to find something better to eat.

Teaches me to assume. It right around the time that I made that brilliant executive decision when the French guys started asking about what I was cooking... when we replied "chili" they clarified: "chili con carne" (sidebar: has anyone ever heard of a chili that wasn't con carne??). I started to get anxious... being guys they were going to want some, which was fine given that we had enough to feed a small army, I just had no idea how it was going to turn out... I mean I had just poured three coffee mugs of water in, going with Andrea when she said it had to be about equal to the three cups the recipe called for. (For the record, it was a good call on her part. Ten points.)

Well, the evening basically devolved from there, in the best of senses. The chili, if I do say so myself, turned out fantastic... there was enough to feed us and probably about six or seven of her host brother's friends... we had good laughs and conversations with wonderfully ridiculous people we had never met before... and we got to practice our French (kind of... given my recent state of culture shock I had basically been boycotting the language all week... why are Andrea and Ramsay so good at it?!??!). I ended up spending the night at Andrea's since I missed the last metro home... three quarters of the way through the night sharing her twin bed, I discovered a trundle bed underneath (genius, I know). In the morning, we got up and thoroughly cleaned the kitchen, ate a nice breakfast, shared some music and good conversation. It was a wonderful Saturday morning.

Don't you love when things like that happen? Everything went exactly opposite than I would have wanted, though now I wouldn't have it any other way.

Well, I have to go, don't want to be late for dinner (though it would be very French of me). I promise I will write soon about life and classes... but for now let me enjoy my weekend. À la prochaine.

bryn.