Courgette flower

Stuff, fry, eat within two minutes or the petal goes to leather.

One salt hit inside the cheese. The flower has no savour of its own.

Melts to a thread and glues the petals shut in the fryer.

Batter is structure. Without it the flower disappears in oil.

Fried batter goes flat in seconds; acid buys it another minute.

Two pollen flavours in a row, one floral, one medicinal.

Flower and fruit on the same plate, one soft, one squeaking.

The blossom is already honeyed; the drizzle just admits it.

Barely a flavour, mostly perfume. Fold it in with the heat already off.

Pollen sweetness on iodine. Both collapse if you cook them twice.