Flower Power
I smell the blossom first, then touch its velvety surface to my lips. I hold the petal away from me and think, "Is this really OK to eat?" I'm not concerned about toxicity, but about symbolism: Here is a magnificent, fleeting display of aliveness—offered up for my pleasure, to crunch and swallow. A blossom is a plant's last creative shout before turning to seed; a potent reminder of our own potential to unfurl, to bloom, and ultimately to wilt; a decadent display of beauty. And I'm about to eat it! Of course, take away its exotic appearance, and a flower is no different than any common fruit or vegetable that is picked and eaten. With that thought, I put it in my mouth and am surprised at how fleshy and peppery it is, how it leaves a residue of sweetness. That first flower was a revelation—that simple foodstuffs can be so provocative, visually, sensually, and philosophically. It renewed my sense of gratitude for the beauty and bounty of the earth and for my own vitality and potential. Of course, as soon as I started paying attention, I discovered I was eating flowers all the time. They're disguised as dried spices like saffron, which is actually the stigmata—the inner crimson threads—of Crocus sativus; they flavor preserves like rose petal jam and many vinegars; they're the basis for herbal infusions like hibiscus tea. No matter how often I saw them and ate them, though, they still had power to thrill me and surprise my palate. And I wasn't the only one affected that way. My sister told me she had been to a party where vast quantities of sushi were served on large trays, a perfect pansy blossom atop each piece. The trays sat on broad tables like purple and white fields, and inspired the guests to nibble slowly, so as not to reduce the magnificent landscape too quickly.
Down the Garden Path So many edible flowers are easy to grow, it's almost a crime not to devote some corner of earth—even a window box or pot—to cultivating plants that produce gorgeous blossoms you can both eye and eat. If you have poor soil, try nasturtiums. These creeping vines produce a ton of blossoms ranging from yellow to deep maroon, even in the driest clay soil. Page 1 2 Subscribe to Yoga Journal Magazine Reader Comments
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Floating on a sea of baby lettuce, a nasturtium draws my eyes like a bright orange beacon. I've never thought of eating flowers, but here on my plate at a local café is the same Day-Glo bloom I'm used to admiring while hiking or wandering the neighborhood; the idea of popping such beauty into my mouth makes me pause.


