If you are what you eat, are you a dusty flavorless apple or a juicy tropical pineapple almost ripe enough to eat? If you don't have a fruit bowl in your kitchen exploding with a variety of fruits so tantalizing you fantasize about them at work all day, shame on you.

The section of counter I see the second I walk into the kitchen is reserved for rotating produce exhibits. I do this because the power of suggestion made me fat. I figure if it made me fat it can make me thin.

I do a lot of culinary photo shoots at home so I have a basement full of garage sale dishes, plates, cups and bowls. Thanks to my Mom and sisters who love to forage about tag and estate sales, I've got a beautiful collection that includes Japanese dishware, '50s dishware, Carnival glass, a few pottery pieces and a whole lot of odd shaped serving pieces. They don't pay over a buck for anything. It's the rule.

When I come home with my groceries, anything that's best kept at room temperature and is eye appealing goes on display. My countertop art is not limited to food. I love mixing in knickknacks, photos and anything else that inspires me. I might have a 1940's pink pottery vase filled with hydrangeas next to a taller yellow vase with a hand of bananas plopped on top and a tiny framed picture of my nieces tucked in between.

Right now I've got a giant mortar and pestle housing 3 kiwis. Nearby there's the most beautiful pineapple I've seen this side of Maui. A brilliant yellow spaghetti squash sits next to a bowl of five bright red Fuji apples and two Japanese sweet potatoes. There's a lone white grapefruit next to a shallow bowl filled with nectarines and peaches

I don't think of myself as the Michelangelo of kitchen fruit displays. And I'm certainly not known for my decorating skills. I moved into a tiny house with a tiny kitchen and a tiny refrigerator. When I came home with my first load of groceries there wasn't enough room to put everything. So what didn't have to be refrigerated all day was banished to the counter.

I've always been taught to respect food, to treat it with care and reverence. This was instilled in me not only by Mother but my culinary mentor Judy Rodgers. In my mother's kitchen nothing went to waste. She taught us the relationship between the long hours my father worked, the money he brought home and how far we needed to stretch the dollars.

When we were old enough to understand my Mother taught us about families who had less than we did and families who may only get one meal a day if they were lucky. She taught us to cook by assigning prep and clean up duties to each of us. She needed the help and she wanted to teach us how much time and effort goes into preparing meals. She taught us how to utilize everything and waste nothing. She taught us how to tell time. If we didn't like the dinner menu breakfast was served daily at 7:00 am.

In Judy's Rodgers Zuni Café kitchen a sink full of lettuces was a sink full of babies. Newly harvested fresh herbs were to be washed and dried, wrapped carefully in towels, tucked neatly into individual bags and labeled clearly with a black Sharpie. A case of peaches brought to the back door of the restaurant by the farmer who nurtured them from seed to harvest was so special they were kept under lock and key in her office.

All of the ingredients used in the restaurant were of the finest available anywhere. I never got used to how lucky I was to learn about so many foods, where they came from and how they were grown and raised. Many times I stood still in complete awe of the deliveries as we received and processed them.

Perishable foods were arranged in the refrigerators in perfectly aligned rows, each item in their own container. Artisan cheeses from France, Spain and Italy next to jars of house cured anchovies from a fisherman Judy knew well shared space with tubs of olives from a favorite farm. Rows of curing meat hung like stockings. Shelves were organized by category.

The pastry walk-in was among my favorites. Tall jars of house made strawberry rhubarb and boysenberry jam stood side by side with orange and grapefruit marmalades waiting to be served with Zuni's famous scones.

One of my responsibilities was to clean the walk-ins each night. I was to wipe all the shelves, clean the floors rotate all of the food according to the date it was purchased or prepared and change every container in the process. I was responsible for inventorying every item, every night and instructed to turn in legible, detailed notes on items we were low on, provisions we had a surplus of and which foods needed to be worked onto the next day's lunch menu.

I saved the pastry cooler for last. It was the smallest which meant quitting time was just around the corner. And it was my favorite. I have a wicked sweet tooth and there was always a delicious little something to treat myself to. The perfect end to another long day of cooking.

The butter, the cream and the "watercolor" eggs were the foundation of Zuni's extraordinary dessert menus. They weren't uniform in color or shape. They arrived looking hand painted by nature in hues of the palest blues and greens. Some were speckled in shades of brown all with signs of the nests they were laid in. I could never resist picking them up and turning them over in my hands.

Getting lost among the ice cream batters, tart and cookie doughs and the petite crocks of chocolate and vanilla pot de crèmes waiting to be taken upstairs in time for dinner service is as good as it gets for a dessert lover like me.

Despite my addiction to chocolate sampling a very small portion of the carefully culled fruit set aside strictly for desserts chosen for its pedigree based on texture, taste and aroma was one of the greatest rewards of the job. Organizing the fruit meant it was almost time to call it a day. But I never hurried the task.

I learned how fruit should taste. I learned the fragrance of berry blossoms should linger in every berry you eat no matter the variety and that nectarines with the most marbled skins are of the sweetest and that each variety of apple has its own season. I learned the subtle and significant differences between all the varieties of the fruit family we stocked. I learned that I love Comice pairs, wild blackberries, rhubarb and lychee.

I learned that all food is a product of its environment. Its quality and flavor determined by the soil, the sea, the farmers and Mother Nature. I learned that my job as a cook is to elevate and draw attention to the extraordinary characteristics of each ingredient and each dish as a whole.

Mallomar season is in full swing but out of sight, out of mind. I don't think about them when I have a counter filled with thoughtfully purchased fruits and an icebox filled with my very favorite foods. The best part about staying on track is that I never feel guilty when I'm through eating.

Now that's a feeling worth the price of sweet juicy cherries in winter! In case you're wondering they're up to $6.99 a pound right now. Outrageous I know but I don't buy a pound and for me the alternative would be high butterfat ice cream.

kd@chefkathleen.com