This golden syrup tastes like April in a jar. Sweetened with raw honey and scented with fresh forsythia flowers, it takes twenty minutes of gentle simmering and an hour of patience while the blossoms steep. Pour it over yogurt, stir into tea, or brush onto roasted chicken while the spring hedges are still blooming.

The first time I started making things from spring flowers, it wasn’t forsythia.

It was lilac—because everyone talks about lilac. Then dandelion, because it’s everywhere and impossible to ignore once you realize you can use it. A year later, I waited almost too long for elderflowers, checking the same spot every morning like I might miss them if I blinked.

Forsythia was just… there.

Bright, early, and completely off my radar.

I used to cut it back without thinking, those long yellow branches ending up in a pile like they didn’t matter. It never crossed my mind that it belonged in the same category as all those other spring blooms I was carefully collecting.

Until one afternoon, mid-March, when I was already in that habit—basket in hand, scanning for anything usable—and I stopped in front of it a little longer than usual.

It felt obvious in hindsight.

I picked a handful, more out of curiosity than anything else. No big expectations. Back inside, I treated it the same way I had with everything else that season—jar, honey, a bit of lemon, and patience.

What came out of it surprised me.

Not strong, not perfumed—but soft, clean, slightly nutty. The kind of flavor that doesn’t hit you all at once, but settles in quietly. It tasted… early. Like the very beginning of something.

Now I don’t skip it.

It’s the first thing I reach for each year, before lilac, before elderflower—because it’s always the one that shows up first, almost like it’s starting the season for everything else.

Are the Flowers Edible?

Yes, though you must be careful. Only the yellow petals of Forsythia suspensa or F. x intermedia are safe to consume. The leaves and stems contain compounds that will upset your stomach, so you need to strip every flower from its green base.

Never harvest from bushes growing along busy roads or in areas where pesticides might drift.

These early bloomers are also critical food for the first emerging bees, so take sparingly from each bush and leave plenty behind.

How It Tastes

It tastes like honey that remembers being a flower. The forsythia adds a delicate, grassy note—somewhere between fresh pear and chamomile tea. The lemon peel keeps the sweetness bright and prevents that flat, cloying taste you get with some floral syrups. It is subtle. You won’t taste it and think of perfume or soap. You’ll taste it and think of thawing soil and warm wind.

What You Need

• 2 cups fresh forsythia flowers ([Forsythia] spp.), stems removed, loosely packed
• 2½ cups filtered water
• 1 cup raw honey (clover or wildflower)
• Zest of 1 organic lemon, peeled in wide strips with a vegetable peeler

Pick the flowers on a dry morning after the dew evaporates. You want fully opened yellow bells, not the tight green buds. Shake each cluster gently to evict spiders and beetles.

Then use your fingernails to strip the petals from the stems. Discard every bit of green. Do not wash the flowers—moisture dilutes the flavor and shortens the shelf life.

Making the Syrup

Bring the water and honey to a boil in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to low, add the lemon peel strips, and simmer for 20 minutes.

The liquid will turn pale gold and your kitchen will smell like a bakery.

While the syrup simmers, place your prepared forsythia flowers into a medium-sized heat-safe bowl. Glass or ceramic works best.

Pour the hot syrup directly over the flowers. They will wilt immediately, bleeding their color into the liquid.

Leave the bowl uncovered and let it cool at room temperature for exactly one hour. This steeping period is crucial—the flowers release their essence as the temperature drops.

Strain the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve lined with cheesecloth. Gather the cloth and squeeze gently, but do not wring it out forcefully or you’ll extract bitterness from the flower bases. Compost the spent flowers and lemon peel.

Pour the finished syrup into a clean glass jar and seal it tight. Store in the refrigerator.

Ways to Use It

Stir two tablespoons into hot water with a cinnamon stick. Pour over thick Greek yogurt with toasted walnuts. Mix with sparkling water and ice for a floral soda. Brush onto chicken thighs during the last two minutes of grilling for a glossy glaze. Or do what my mother does—keep a jar in the fridge and add a spoonful to morning tea while you wait for the next batch of flowers to open.