When I was home for Rosh Hashana last weekend I climbed into DAD GANSIE’s garden and captured a bagful of tomaotes. Some green, some greenish red, some bursting red.
The cucumbers had long been pickled. The carrots weren’t ready to be plucked.
But I wanted more to take home.
And then all of a sudden, I started talking about my mom’s flowers. And how they looked delicious. I’ve seen edible flowers on menus before. I didn’t know much about them. Like all things in life, a quick google search showed me what flowers I could munch on. Luckily, marigolds fit into that category.
We performed some taste tests before I made my mom mine her entire plot. My mom, dad and I (my sister refused) each tried a bite. It was bitter, but not terrible. I went in for a second taste, this time with a petal dipped in salt. Like all things dipped in salt, it became much more enjoyable to eat.
With my mom hysterically laughing, clipping flowers from the backyard, I am now in possession of some seriously beautiful marigolds. Currently, the stems lay in water, in a proper vase, pretending they’ll wilt to their death right there. But my stomach knows better.
I will eat these little bursts of orange. Of course, I have no idea how to incorporate them into a meal. And I refuse to wuss out of this and toss them with greens.
Perhaps in a pasta salad with herbs and feta?
Baked into an egg dish?
Stirred into guacamole?