A beautiful friendship blossomed because "red heart likes" were exchanged. Little did I know that "NikkiCanCook" was about to be on Season one of America's Best Cook, airing on Food Network. She started following me on instagram. After realizing she was "Liking" a lot of my photos, I wondered, who is this Nikki lady, and followed her right back! I LOVED her food photos and inspiration. She re-posted a quote that I'd absolutely loved and said, "Mrs. Dovebelly say's it best!" I was so flattered, as that quote had become words I live by. After a few messages exchanged, I attended her A Bit of This, A Bit of That cookbook release party! It was so nice to finally put a face to a name. I tried some of her Calypso Fried Rice and immediately became a FAN! Nikki realized that Mrs. Dovebelly makes custom couture aprons, and what do you know, We had a rush order put in the very next day for the following week! Having her logo printed was the easy part, the rest was in the hands of Mrs. Dovebelly. The Apron was delivered just in time for Nikki to debut it on one of her favorite cooking show, Atlanta and Company, that she watched faithfully before her career launched as a culinary genius. I was so honored to fit her, and tie those apron strings as I clipped the remaining loose threads. Bravo Nikki for all of your success and a warm thanks for supporting Mrs. Dovebelly!
Seemingly so, It's more difficult to keep an orchid alive than most believe. My trick is to not move the orchid once you've found it's home. They are delicate and temperamental plants that like to stay in a familiar environment. You may give them a spritz from time to time, as we ladies love our Coco Channel!
My trick to watering…. I put one purified water ice cube next to the stem of the plant and let it melt on its own. Seems to have always worked for me!!
Orchids tend to bloom once a year. After their blooms have fallen off, you can cut the orchid down to it's stem, where the leaves are, and continue watering on a weekly bases. As long as the leaves remain green, you will watch your orchid re-bloom it's beautiful delicate flowers.
For all of you FASHIONISTA's out there, is it pronounced Ki-mo-no or Ki-mo-na?? Recently I've had a debate regarding this very subject. I for one believe it is pronounced with an emphasis of the "O" on the end. Feel free to correct me!
"Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning. -Albert Einstein
P.S. the dragon is, Komodo!
One of my most favorite memories growing up is playing in the woods with my younger brother. I was always a girlie-girl to say the least, but mother nature called me into her forest and It became a part of who I am. My soul finds peace in nature, perhaps that's why I sought out a degree in Biology, or roamed the Aracaria forests of Patagonia. The ocean speaks to me, however the bending trees, and smell of fresh rain, always draws me back to hiking and exploring. As a young child, I would pretend that fairies lived in the forest and dragon flies were there means of transportation. Still to this day that thought crosses my mind when a dragon fly passes me by, and then, I smile to myself. I am inspired by the colors, the air, the trees. The way the wind blows points me in a direction that leads to non other than a continuous path I shall travel. I follow the wind as she guides me to all things the universe has in store for me. I encourage you keep your inner child alive. Take your shoes off and walk along our earth feeling the ground beneath you.
I've always loved receiving mail the "old-fashioned" way. There is something special about having a personal letter sent to you rather than e-cards or emails that have only hit the sent button. It takes time to handwrite a letter (Not saying that an email doesn't require time,) to seal an envelope, choose a stamp, and physically write the address of whom you are sending it too without the convenience on typing in the first letter of a name, and boom, there address gets inserted.
As a child, my grandparents on both sides of my family faithfully mailed me notes, letters, and cards. It was something that made me feel special. Don't we all love to feel special?!!
I grew to continue appreciating these letters as technology became more advanced. Packrat or not, I now save all of these letters in a special box, hoping to turn them into something special one day. I always have a little (OR BIG) project i'm working on at all times, and this too shall come to fruation.
I love the way old cursive looks and the penmanship of my grandmothers. I remember hearing a story about how growing up in a catholic school, they would have to sit and retrace their writing until it was nearly perfect. Well, I by far don't have perfect penmanship like either of my grandmothers however, I love sending handwritten unique letters and thank you's to show a little less "easy email" and a lot more, "I put LOVE into sending this."
As many of my friends call me asking "how to's" in the kitchen, I recently received an unlikely question. For those of you out there that don't know how to boil an egg, I must say this….
Gently put the egg in a pot of already boiling water.
It's easiest to lay the egg gently on a large spoon and slowly lower it into the water until you are able to remove the spoon, and the egg is on the bottom of the pot. The trick here is to NOT break the egg.
You then continue the process, placing as many eggs as you desire, not to overfill the pot.
My quick trick to see if the eggs are done: Take a spoon and lift the egg out of water. If the eggshell dries quickly, the egg is finished boiling!!
Remove the eggs from the boiling water. I let them cool at room temperature and then put them in the fridge for awhile to finish the cooling process.
When cracking the egg shell, I tend to hit the egg on its bottom part of the shell, usually there is air and it will crack nicely and be easier to peal.
Wahlaa! You have boiled an egg my dear friend. Feel free to call anytime!
A family tradition that soon was followed by her own creation of a thinner pancake, known as a French Crepe. On a New England farm land where she would gather the hens eggs and carry them to her mothers kitchen, she grew up in a house filled with 12 children, her being the second to last. Her inspiration to cook was a lack there of. She rather be fishing with her on the farm with her Pa, as she usually did almost everyday after school. Her mothers Pancakes however, were one special memory kept alive. It was the year of 1959, when My great Pepè would climb three flights of stairs to their top floor apartment. Stopping every few, to take a short rest. It took him almost an hour to get to the front door, while the aroma of pancakes kept him encouraged. He would travel great lengths for my Meme's special breakfast. He would finally make it to the kitchen table where he would gladly rest, filling himself will three of the largest pancakes my grandmothers black cast iron skillet could make. It was one of those old heavy skillets that we can almost no longer find these days. She would start the fire on the stove knowing his arrival would be soon, melting the butter turning it into a light brown color, almost caramelizing the outside casing of the fluffy pancake itself. As her father stopped coming and her daughter, my mother grew up, pancakes turned into a meal served almost anytime of the day. For a lighter supper meal, she would make a thinner pancake, known as the French crepé. My mothers love of the Crepe then became a tradition in our household as I was a child. Growing up I came from two very different worlds. One in which was known as "Memeres manner school," and the other, a less fortunate side, where my mother would sacrifice her own dinner from time to time. Crepes were a cheap alternative to sophisticated dinners, with what seemed like four forks on the table. Although, I could appreciate the luxury of white tablecloths and lavish dinners at such an early age, I also loved the simplicity of good old fashion brown sugar, topped with Aunt Jamima maple syrup on my mothers rolled crepe, passed from generation to generation. I now let the aroma fill my house with that brown butter smell as it hits my pan and the crepe batter begins to bubble. Not always perfecting the crepe on my first try, (I usually have to throw the first one out,) quickly remembering how my mother slowly poured the batter, knowing instinctively when to flip it over to it's other side of golden perfection.