On any regular Monday, the smell of meatloaf and mashed potatoes wafts through Benoit’s Country Meat Block in Addis, Louisiana. For $10.99, you get a hearty Southern lunch—green beans, dessert, and now, a generous side of star power. Because behind the butcher counter and the boudin trays, this humble Cajun deli has suddenly become the epicenter of American Idol fever. Why? Because their boy—John Foster—is making waves on national TV.
Let’s get something straight: “John Foster” may sound like a stage name, but it’s not some slick marketing rebrand. His real name is John Foster Benoit—third-generation local, LSU biology student, co-valedictorian, and meat-block holiday worker turned heart-melting country crooner. The same kid who once stocked jerky now has Luke Bryan licking Benoit’s seasoning off his fingers on live television.
Yes, really.
When John flew to Nashville for his Idol audition, he brought the soul of Addis with him—literally. In his carry-on? Boudin, jerky, and spice mixes from the family store. It wasn’t just Southern hospitality—it was a flavor flex. And the judges ate it up.
“He loves the beef jerky,” says his 75-year-old grandmother, Verbie Benoit, who’s quickly become the unofficial Idol grandma of the South. “Somebody at American Idol loved the seasoning so much, they ordered more—and I delivered it myself. That’s what Luke was eating on set!”
With every round of the competition, Verbie’s pride swells. So does her suitcase. She’s Hollywood-bound again, rosary in her purse, joining 31 family members to cheer her grandson on during the Top 10 episode. But she’s not just hoping for votes. “I pray for him—not to win, but for God to be with him,” she says, her faith as strong as her belief in her grandson’s future.
And that future? It’s still wide open.
Because while John’s charming the nation with covers of Elvis and Randy Travis, he’s also finishing his second semester at LSU online, gunning for med school. His dream? To become an oncologist—something deeply personal in a community where cancer hits hard. “God heals spiritually,” he once said. “But He gave people the ability to heal physically. I want to be one of them.”
That balance—of starry ambition and small-town soul—is what makes John different. He’s not blinded by the spotlight. He’s grounded in family, in faith, in seasoning rubbed deep into his DNA.
Back home, the crew at Benoit’s Meat Block can’t get enough of the ride. Rick Bourgoyne, who’s worked there since 1988, wants the world to know: “He’s a Benoit. Foster’s his middle name. Just like his dad and granddad. He’s the third.” That name, carved into the sign out front, means something around here.
“He still works holidays,” adds Blake Sarradet, another longtime employee. “We knew he could sing, but now? Now he’s a star.” They credit his musical chops partly to his uncle, Gaylen Martin, a local performer who gave John his first stage.
And the fanbase? It’s not just local anymore—but they’re fierce. Regina DeBenedetto, who’s only been at Benoit’s for two years, voted 30 times in one night. “He listens. He learns. He gets better every week,” she says. “I’m all in.”
Watch His Performance Here:
They all are. Because whether he ends up headlining the Grand Ole Opry or opening a cancer clinic back home, one thing’s for sure: John Foster Benoit will always be one of their own. He’s the kind of young man who still calls his grandmother after every episode. Who remembers your name. Who brings a little spice with every smile.
Talent? He’s got it. Humility? In spades. But more than anything, John Foster is proof that sometimes the brightest stars don’t come from Hollywood—they come from places like Addis, Louisiana. From behind the meat counter. From homes where dreams are seasoned slow and cooked with care.
So whether he’s serving country hits or country ham, this kid’s the real deal. And America’s just starting to get a taste.
