The technical name for this beautiful and delectable apparatus is "scape." Such a harsh name sounds more like an injury or a disease or misplaced blame is a cruel injustice to the world of pleasure the name represents. That's why I refer to them as flowers, despite the fact that botanists advise otherwise. At least I'm not alone. Whatever you call these garlic thingies, they have a mild, sweet flavor, a mesmerizing neon-green color that's enhanced by light cooking, and a whimsical shape that's conducive to sauce-dipping. It's also the stuff of epic springtime parties. Invite your friends to eat garlic flowers, breaded and deep-fried, or roasted in olive oil. Or wrap the scapes around your wrists and traipse about like Greek gods and goddesses.

Or better yet, Asian gods and goddesses, for it was the Asians who first latched onto the pleasures of garlic flowers. The Buddha himself would have been a great fan if they didn't make him so dang horny. Me, I ate my first garlic flower in China, riding north on the train toward Mongolia. I made my way to the dining car, where there was no menu, and where I was served stir-fried pork and chopped garlic flowers in a mild oyster sauce.

While garlic flowers have long been a seasonal delicacy across Asia, as well as in many parts of Europe, here in the U.S. we are catching on slowly. And we may soon lose our chance, as the American garlic market is now flooded with cheap garlic from China. While California supplies 85 percent of this nation's garlic, China supplies 66 percent of the world's garlic, a percentage that's rapidly growing. Despite a recently imposed 367 percent tariff on Chinese garlic imports, distributors and processors in Gilroy, Calif. the undisputed garlic capital of America are still buying garlic from China. Meanwhile, North American garlic production is down.

The flowering kind of garlic, called hard-neck, is more labor intensive because the flowers must be picked. Otherwise, energy and resources will go to the growing cluster of miniature garlic cloves that form at the end of the flowering stalk, while the growth of the below-ground bulb which is what goes to market is stunted. This is the same principle that's behind castrating meat animals, like steers and hogs. Without the need to expend bodily resources on reproduction, the animal grows larger.

Thus, whether your garlic comes from Gilroy or China, if it's grown on a large scale it won't flower, and that's why the flowers are a rare sight at the market. But an increasing number of small-scale, gourmet growers are turning to hard-neck garlic, for a number of reasons: It tastes better, peels like a prom dress, produces beautifully symmetrical bulbs, and sends up those delectable flowers. If you are lucky enough to get your hands on some, there is no better way to usher in the garlic season.

With these curly-stocking-capped morsels, you can do anything you would do with regular garlic. Or, capitalize on the shape for presentation points. Steam them like asparagus and serve drizzled in lemon butter aside broiled antelope back strap; add a few to the simmering Thai coconut chicken soup two minutes before serving, and watch them curl around the bowl; or, unwrap a flower from your wrist, bite by bite, as you co-munch neon-green garlic with whatever is on your plate.

If you want to find garlic flowers, visit your farmers market in mid-to-late June. Or try the specialty produce shops. If you still can't find any, hop online and go to www.dakotagarlic.com/garlic_scapes.htm. Dakota Garlic is a family farm in North Dakota specializing in many varieties of hard-neck garlic, which means they have plenty of flowers in June, and they will be happy to ship you some. They also have a recipe page full of tips for garlic flowers, which they call scapes.