The closest I ever got to dining at New York City's top-flight French restaurant La Grenouille was pressing my greasy nose against the window to envy the beau monde flitting about the exquisite floral arrangements. At the time I worked around the corner, and knew even less about French food than I do now, which is to say "practically nothing." These days I can at least pronounce the names of the mother sauces. Nowadays I hear the motherland of haute cuisine has started transplanting flowers from the vase to the plate. French chefs are whipping up creations ranging from carnation and herb salad to veal in daisy gravy. The pretty plate above was created by three-star (Michelin, naturellement) chef Yannick Alléno, who recently declared, "France is now my garden." The dish consists of king crab with rock rose, chickweed and borage flowers.
At the risk of being gauche, this floralization begs the question: Can high-concept tiki bars where patrons with edible leis consort with the chefs be far behind?
You don't have to be gregarious or adventurous to start or be part of a community garden. If you're lucky enough to live in a neighborhood with an available spot of ground, say 80'x80', you have the beginnings of a great social experiment. Here in Boulder, this was inclusive to the development plans in my neighborhood so procuring growing space wasn't a problem. I thought getting people to sign up and rent plots (this wasn't my job) would be an issue. Not so. It was what should be grown that got thorny. Most wanted veggies and flowers. Some wanted only flowers and vice versa. In the end it was an even mix. We even had edible flowers: I ate carnation petals right from the plant, and later 










