The swirling petal shapes, saturated colors, and deceptive smells keep me walking around rose gardens every year, trying to satisfy my own curiosity and figure out why it’s such an obsession. From the delicate taste of rose petal tea, to the vibrant designs they inspire, I crave each new rose season. Here are a few favorite rose snapshots.

I remember the beach from my childhood as a place where the pristine sand either burned my feet during the day or cooled them mercifully at night. The dunes were favorable for hiding, as well as the sharp blades of grass that formed a kind of gate to the seashore. On mornings where the sea was almost motionless, I could stand in the fog and feel the water and sand have no distinct boundary. Sandwiches were brought out during exhausting volleyball games during the day, and pancakes were ready to be eaten when I came back. The factory nearby was far enough not to be of daily notice, but there was still an innate sense of of malice that emanated from its black smoke.

One day, a family friend asked me and a few other children to come with him to clean up the beach. No matter how many times he told us that it was a wonderful thing to do for the beach, I was not enthused. Even when I picked up the plastic bottles and discarded papers, I didn’t see the point of doing it. I had never taken notice of the trash before, and it was farther away from where I usually walked.

Andy Hughs’s photography, which focuses on trash on the beach, provides that adult perspective. In his statement, he says the underlying current behind his work is to reflect how industry and commerce are affecting the environment. For me, his philosophy is a little too contrived, not only because his images speak for themselves and have great creative value on their own, but also he says that “the perspective of these photographs conveys a sense of unrestricted freedom and transports us momentarily back into our childhood.” Just because he takes the pictures from down below, doesn’t mean that a child would view them as such. Indeed, a child would see quite the opposite, from a perspective that doesn’t judge or connect anything to a global problem, but simply accepts what is already there first.

Someday, I hope to go back to the beach that I remember, and take some photographs of that pale sand and blades of grass.

I spent my childhood summers running around in the countryside, and I distinctly remember the pine trees, the crepes with nutella, the pine cones on the ground that my feet had to get used to, the beach just down the road with dunes and fine sand, the mushroom picking, etc. I have unusually vivid memories of all this, even though now they take on a more fantastical quality. I especially remember the smells, and nothing describes it better than “a blend of Torn Leaves, Crushed Twigs, Flowing Sap, Fallen Branches, Old Leaves, Green Moss, Fir, Pine and Tiny Mushrooms.”

Christopher Brosius’s scent “Wild Hunt” is my current favorite—it is intensely woodsy, non-floral, and warms to your skin. Floral perfumes give me a headache. In fact, a lot of perfumes give me a headache, but I am obsessed with smell and associate everything with it. I am eager to try more of his scents, but for now I will have a very real substitute for those long summer days in the forest.

Take one bite of Maison du Chocolat’s sorbet or ice cream, and you will no doubt realize that all the other frozen desserts you’ve tasted are simply inferior in taste and quality. They are known for their expensive chocolates, which are displayed like museum pieces, but many people don’t know that they sell ice cream in the summer as well. “Very good” ice cream, as the well-dressed lady who helped me said with a French accent. I highly recommend raspberry sorbet and chocolate ice cream as a combination, because the intense fruitiness of the raspberries perfectly complements the creamy chocolate (you can really taste the chocolate, not the sugar). I’m also eager to try the apricot sorbet. I even got to taste a truffle, and wish that someday I could indulge in their other confections. But for now, if you’re wondering if it’s worth it to spend $8 on two scoops of ice cream, let go of your usual New York stinginess, and you won’t be disappointed.

Already familiar with the burritos and salsas of places such as La Salsa and Titos Tacos, I was eager to experience authentic Mexican cuisine. Not that there is anything wrong with the oily creations of beans and cheese, but I had the feeling these were mass produced to appeal to the tastes of unsuspecting Americans. Stumbling upon one particular episode of Bobby Flay’s Throwdown on the Foodnetwork, I saw the owners of La Casita Mexicana, two brothers with sunny personalities, cook what they said was a traditional Mexican dish: the chile relleno. I was embarrassed to discover that I had never heard of it, as there is no greater sin, in my mind, than to be ignorant of culinary authenticity. They explained that one of the aims, besides making great food, was to represent true Mexican cuisine, and to dispel the myth that it is greasy and unhealthy. Authentic, healthy food is all I need to convince me to try it.

I was lucky to already be in California at the time, so I ventured down into a rather remote part of Los Angeles, which is probably why there were so few people at dinner hour. The walls were painted a messy yellow color that I loved (and would mind on my own walls). I ordered lemonade with chia seeds, which proved to be a refreshing, not-too-sweet drink, and we were brought a basket of chips covered in mole sauce. I had never had mole before, and this was the perfect place to try it first. With 46 ingredients and a recipe that is unique to the family, it was intense, nutty, and had a chocolate undertone (not sweet, but not bitter either). It was one of those things that fill you instantly even though you feel like you haven’t eaten a lot.

As a main course I ordered the mushroom and cactus chile relleno (stuffed pepper), a dish that every kitchen in Mexico makes in its own way, which was preceded by a creamy tomato soup with rice in it. I was eager to taste the cacti, which are harvested on a cactus farm close by. It had a nice texture that absorbed all of the other fresh flavors and complemented the mushrooms very well. The dish itself was quite spicy, which I enjoy, but after a big piece of the chile skin alone, my mouth was flaming (in a good way, of course).

A friend sitting across from me had the three mole enchiladas with cheese. The three different types of mole each had its own unique nutty flavor, one almost tasting like pistachio. While we were waiting for dessert, a group of mariachi came in, and one in particular tried desperately, with no avail, to make me admit there was some birthday or special event we were all celebrating so he could perform for us. None of the others had any success either, and they came out of the restaurant empty-handed. Mouthwatering churros with melted centers surrounded by crispy cinnamon outsides came to our table, along with guavas in eggnog liquor. We also tried the flan, and although it wasn’t my favorite of the three, it had a dense texture with a flavor that wasn’t too sweet. After a evening well spent savoring authentic Mexican cuisine, we left with our postcard and a sense that we would be coming back in the future.

Some flavors stay with you in the sense that you can call upon that particular taste years later. The hot blend of beans and cheese seems simple enough, but only Tito’s Tacos in L.A. knows how to make it right. You can watch this burrito being put together through a glass window, and the process only takes a few seconds: one ladle of beans spread out a little, the cheese on top, and some skilled folding. The concept of the burrito is often taken a little too far. Rice, guacamole, peppers, and whatnot are often piled in. Save it for other things, please. The best is still the bean and cheese duo. I have yet to find a decent burrito in New York, much to my disappointment. New York can do every cuisine except Mexican, which still baffles me (I wish to be proven wrong, of course).

The chips are quite hard, and the salsa very mild, but the burrito still takes the top spot.

The process of getting in line to order in front of a window and then eating the food on a nearby table in the sweltering California heat is something I much prefer to white tablecloth and classical music.

You will never get fat from eating too much gelato. That isn’t even an issue, because your body will welcome it and want more no matter how much gelato you eat. The health food fanatics can sharpen their pitchforks and accuse me of treason if they like, but I speak the truth.

Whether it be fragola, baci, stracciatella, melon, pineapple, you must have it in Italy. Preferably in the tiny step-up-one-stair-and-order place in Trastevere, Rome, which can easily by reached walking down the Tiber until you hit a small plaza occasionally occupied by a farmers market. Proceed in and slightly to the right. The pastry shop next door I will keep to myself.

Pistachio gelato will always be my most beloved flavor.