Flowers

One summer in the mid-1970s I had lunch with my mentor Richard Olney, who lived on an idyllic little hill in a village in Provence. It was at his table that I first ate flowers—glorious nasturtium flowers -tossed atop a salade mesclun that was at once elaborate, because it contained so many varieties of green things, and simple, in its light and festive effect. Several years later I had a restaurant where I was forever making flower salads for startled but delighted guests. We had a flower garden and I’d go out and pick whatever blossoms looked pretty and tasted good. I’d flick off any obvious insects and toss them—the flowers, not the insects—into the salads. It was during this period that I was asked to give a cooking demonstration for the YWCA. When I showed up with my shopping bags of foods and flowers from the restaurant garden, one of the women at the gathering said how kind it was of me to bring the flowers, too. Her smile quickly waned when I told her they were going into the salad. Now that I look back, I realize that things had gotten out of hand—not all flowers taste good and frankly it’s a wonder I didn’t poison anyone—but some flowers are so delicately flavored and textured that they provide the perfect accent to delicate meats, herbs, and vegetables.