Those nasturtiums and marigolds on your plate are doing more than just looking pretty.

Exciting new research has lead me to the discovery of the ultimate menu to celebrate the triple arts of cookery, seduction and romance. Here are my findings: A dinner for two, done in three courses (best to stay light on your feet, here), with a bouquet of edible flowers the featured star of every scene.

Just imagine this: Thoughtfully chosen off-dry Alsatian Riesling is poured into a sparkling, oversized stem, where gently floats a perfect round raspberry atop a sprig of fairy-like sweet woodruff, radiant in the twinkle of candle flame. The potion is offered by a tremulous hand. The first course is laid upon the shimmery, silk cloth. Pansy pasta, a single, chaste, purple pansy winking up between layers of soft semolina dough, filled with basil-infused ricotta, and chive flowers. A shallow pool of beurre blanc, made with the same wine, receives the ravioli, with a trio of pink and yellow pansies drifting near the shore. The mood, by now, is well set.

Between soft sighs, johnny-jump-up veal chops appear! (The veal was earlier seared off and was nicely roasting during the pansy course.) The chops have come from the oven and each one is now faux finished in savory, warm turnip puree. The tiny purple and yellow florets are tenderly pressed into the meat. The chops are set upon a smooth lake of rosemary-laced veal reduction; lavender-hued rosemary petals doing a graceful surrounding backstroke.

The accompaniment: tourne (football-shaped) boiled potatoes are reheated in brown butter and given a feathery sprinkle of ochre calendula. Amid ecstatic epitaphs of gastronomic gratification, the finale arrives--lemon yellow bee balm tartlets in rose petal sauce. Lemon curd fills tender pate sucree shells. Simple syrup, infused with champagne vinegar, lemon juice and deep red miniature rose petals create a rosy glow, reflecting back the prurient smiles of my dining companion. A simple candied violet shivers expectantly in the custard.

After all, this is spring, the season of awakening flora-bundance. Though my imagination has taken certain liberties with this flight of fancy, most of the forementioned recipes indeed appear in Edible Flowers, From Garden To Palate, by Cathy Wilkinson Barash. Unless you already have a palate for petals, a tour through these spritely, colorful pages will leave you in a state of remorse over what you''ve been missing.

Earliest Chinese recipes celebrate the use of daylilies, known as golden needles and an ingredient in authentic hot and sour soup. Nasturtiums, from the Latin "nose twister," does a peppery little number in everything from oils and vinegars to compound butters and beurre blanc. Native Americans have long appreciated the delicousness of squash blossoms. And again, since 500BC the Chinese have been cultivating chrysanthemums for food. This may now be the time to add your nosegay to the cookpot, and stand back to observe the alluring effects.

Michael Kimmel, executive chef at Tarpy''s Roadhouse in Monterey, lent me his copy of Edible Flowers for futher reference, the aftermath of a riveting tête-á-tête on the subject. Working with two professional gardeners, Kimmel oversees a full acre of vegetables, herbs and edible flowers that adorn the grounds around his restaurant.

"Every year we grow a host of different flowers--peppery nasturtiums and geraniums, roses that give a softness on the palate, violets, calendulas and shasta daisies for garnishing and for bouquets," Kimmel enthuses. "We even sell mixed flower arrangements from the garden. Right now we''re putting up a new greenhouse for starting and propagating plants, and the collection just keeps growing." Lavender-crusted rack of lamb and honeysuckle ice cream are just two of Tarpy''s often-featured favorites.

Kimmel points out that there are probably flowers that could be harvested for the kitchen right outside our doors. And that''s where the book comes in handy. Picking something because it''s pretty and then putting it in your mouth is not a good idea, the author warns. (She was once served cheesecake garnished with toxic delphiniums.) Knowing the correct botanical name, rather than the common name, is the key to correctly identifying varieties.

Barash''s book also warns against consuming flowers that have not been organically grown, or that come from the florist or nursery. And bugs will definitely spoil the mood, served with your johnny-jump-up veal chops. Avoiding most stamens, styles, sepals and pollen is also advised, for aesthetic reasons.