No other flower will smell as sweet after you try this

Remember a while back when I wrote a post about planting squash simply because I like to make fried squash flowers? Well, it's time!

I thought I'd pass along a little how-to.

First, mix together milk and flour (sorry, I didn't measure, but the consistency is a little thinner than pancake batter). Add a pinch of salt and pepper and a dash of Tabasco if you want.

Rinse off the flowers and remove the stamens. Pat them dry.

Throw the flowers in the batter. And mix them around (with your hands, unless someone is looking...).

Drop the coated flowers into a pan with heated olive oil. I let them clump together so they wind up like a pancake, but you could use a larger pan and spread the flowers apart more.

Once the flower/pancake is golden brown, flip it and fry the other side. (How did I manage to make such a mess on the stove? And, in the interest of full disclosure, I also started a little grease fire when I flipped the flower/pancake and got oil on the hot coil... But, even if you burned down the house, you'd make these again...)

Then put the flowers on paper towel and sprinkle with kosher salt.

Good stuff! When I was eating this last night, I was thinking it could use a little sour cream dipping sauce on the side, maybe with fresh chives. The flavor is a little nutty and the flowers are tender, almost creamy. And there's a crunch to it.

My 5-year-old son loved them, as did his little friend from across the street.

My husband dismissed them, saying after one bite: "fried and salty." The weird part: He said that like it's a bad thing.

As good a man as he is, you can't rely on his palate. His favorite movie food: Sour Patch Kids. There, I outted you.

At least I didn't tell you about Poo-Poo Pie

Here's a sentence you've probably never said in your life: Can I have your recipe for Vomit Dip?

And an answer you wouldn't expect either: Why, of course you can.

I know I'm risking offending the sensibilities of some readers here (who if they move along at this point will forever have that image stuck in their heads anyway, so they might as well read the rest...).

Here's the explanation: I make an awesome heated dip made of yummy cheesy salsa goodness. Everyone loves it. Except for my husband. And he named it.

And so it came to pass that Vomit Dip was known throughout the land. In mixed company (people who don't like to refer to their food and bodily functions in the same sentence), we have shortened the name to V-Dip.

Cousin Keyne put in an emergency Fourth of July email for the recipe today: "I usually go to allrecipes.com and find just about any recipe I need - but I am pretty sure 'vomit dip' will not yield any search results ~ and frankly if it does, not sure I want to make it."

Good point. So, here it is, as a Fourth of July present to Keyne and to the rest of you:

8-ounce package of cream cheese
8-ounce container of sour cream
1 bottle of salsa (any kind, any heat, any size)
8-ounce package of shredded Monterey Jack cheese (or any Mexican blend)

• With electric hand mixer, combine cream cheese, sour cream and salsa until (relatively) smooth. Fold in shredded cheese.
  


• Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or so.
  


• Serve with nacho chips.
  


• Stand back as crowd attacks the dip.

Suggestion: Wait until after your guests try this to tell them the name...

Please drink responsibly and other disclaimers

Planning to entertain on the Fourth? I've got a drink suggestion for you. It's a cocktail I created by modifying and combining a few other recipes.

Crush about a handful of blueberries in about a teaspoon of sugar (use a fork to mash them in a bowl).

Place them at the bottom of a glass.

Add crushed ice and pour some raspberry-flavored vodka over the ice. (Add a little fresh squeezed lemon to the vodka).

Top with crushed raspberries.

My friend Marianne and I consider ourselves connoisseurs of martinis... because that's just a nicer word than some others we could come up with. And we like to experiment. Marianne bests me more often than not, mostly because she makes a really strong drink. And the speed at which your tongue becomes numb is one of the criteria we use in judging a cocktail.

But this was my invention and we thought it was quite tasty. We toyed with different names. The Firecracker...The Red, White, and Blue...The Patriot. In the end we settled for: Gimme a nuther of that little drinkie-poo, wouldja?

You can also make a non-alcohol version; just substitute Sprite or another clear soda (or pop, if you live in the South) for the vodka. Yummy!

Forget roses, give me squash flowers

My 5-year-old son has been wanting to plant a vegetable garden, and this weekend we finally got around to it. But I am going to remember this for next year: Loosely translated, "I want to plant a garden" means "You do it. And call me in two months when the fried squash flowers are ready."

Fried squash flowers? What, you've never had them? (I had them for the first time only last year, but it makes me feel like a Southern belle to act like I've made them my whole life. Like I garden in white gloves, my hair in a bouffant, and ice tea at the ready...when in fact I'm a Northerner, who gardens without gloves so my manicure is ruined, my hair in a ponytail turned in on itself, and the only beverage in sight is the one that comes out of the garden hose...or from a bottle that says Mike's Hard Lemonade.)

Anyway, Jude refused to help because of the bugs that my superficial tilling uncovered. To be honest, these aren't your usual bugs...they are prehistoric bugs, like maybe our yard is some sort of Gateway to Bug Hell, with all tarantulas and Africanized honey bees safely ensconced in Bug Purgatory.

So Jude runs off to his swing, me reassuring him: "They are more afraid of you...No bug has ever eaten a person...that I know of."

Back to the moral of the story: All vegetables taste better fried in oil and sprinkled with salt and pepper. And with yellow squash, same goes for their flowers.

So here's my tip of the day: Grow some yellow squash and then pluck off the male flowers (the larger ones). Remove the stamens and gently rinse the flowers and pat them dry.

And then do this:

Combine about a cup of milk with a tablespoon of flour and some salt and pepper and maybe a shake of hot sauce. Dip the flowers in the mixture. Fry in olive oil in a hot pan until they are golden brown. Drain on paper towel.

Eat. Repeat.

The design part? We should probably have a design part: Put them on a pretty plate.