The second she got fresh with me and touched my lips, I fell in love -- in lust!

Her name is marjoram.

I've had her in my spice cabinet for years, and didn't give her the time of day. And despite the many herbs I grow in my back yard, I'd hadn't cultivated a relationship with marj.

But a recipe I recently tested for work -- Beets and their Greens with Marjoram and Pine Nuts -- made me buy some fresh marjoram, which I felt like I was tasting for the first time. I may have been.

The marjoram pesto (http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/09085/958268-107.stm) is nose-ticklingly piney and citrusy at the same time -- a flavor as bright as it is green.

Like food writer Deborah Madison, whose recipe this is, we ate that pesto on everything -- bread, meat, alone.

I vowed to grow my own marjoram this year and learn more about her.

Sweet marjoram's full scientific name is Origanum marjorana, so she shares a genus name with oregano, with which she is frequently confused. Both are perennials in the mint family (they share, with basil and sage, square stems, opposing pairs of leaves and spikey flowers; marjoram's are white).

But marjoram is described as being more flowery in flavor than oregano and -- I love this -- more sensitive (to cold).

A Mediterranean native, marjoram was highly regarded by the Greeks and Romans as a symbol of happiness. Both crowned young couples with the plant (earning a Shakespeare reference); it was said, when planted on a grave, to cheer up even the dead.

According to the 1931 British "A Modern Herbal" by M. Grieve (on botanical.com), which fleshes out her interesting history as everything from a tea to a medicine to a furniture rub, "The tops are also sometimes put into table beer, to give it an aromatic flavour and preserve it, and before the introduction of hops they were nearly as much in demand for ale-brewing as the ground ivy or wood sage."

Today, most of the world's supply is grown in Egypt, but it's very popular in many European countries and Mexico, and part of well-known spice mixes such as France's herbes de Provence and bouquet garni, Middle Eastern za'atar and Italian seasoning.

But marjoram isn't exactly a food celebrity: I mined mounds of cookbooks, at work and home, looking for marjoram recipes and found very few.

I was tickled to see that Penzeys, the spice merchant with an outlet on Penn Avenue in the Strip District, notes on its Web site, "We view marjoram as the next big herb to be rediscovered by American cooks."

But staffers at the local store report no runs on marjoram and aren't girding for any. I reached a company spokeswoman -- coincidentally named Margie, Margie Gibbons -- who said she wasn't sure why, but, "Marjoram is very popular in Europe, much more so than the U.S."

Penzeys, which sells dried Egyptian marjoram leaves for $1.45 (for a 2-ounce, or 1/4-cup jar) to $7.89 (for an 8-ounce bag), notes, "Like basil, marjoram should be added near the end of cooking. Marjoram improves the flavor of tomato sauce, bean soup, marinated vegetables and salad dressing, and is a traditional addition to Polish sausage (kielbasa). Marjoram is also excellent in place of or in addition to oregano or basil on baked chicken or a pasta side-dish."

I've been having fun with the bottle I bought, shaking it on everything from spaghetti to chimichurri sauce for steak.

On a recent visit to Pittsburgh just before she won another James Beard Award (for Best Television Food Show), restaurateur and food media star Lidia Bastianich told me she likes to use marjoram as a dry rub by mixing it with sugar or salt. I gotta try that.

But the flavor, not to mention the antioxidants, is even bigger in fresh marjoram, which you can find with the other fresh herbs in more supermarketsnow. And many sources recommend using it that way.

One is fellow food writer Nancy Hanst, who is a member of the Herb Society of America and one heckuva cook. I like this marjoram quote she sent me:

"Though its aroma is forcefully herbaceous, it's softer than oregano; when you nibble on a leaf it will be strong tasting and slightly camphoric but not fiery." This from Jerry Traunfeld in "The Herbal Kitchen" (William Morrow, 2005).

"I'm particularly taken with marjoram with eggs and mushrooms," Nancy notes, giving me something else to try once I get the plant my wife bought us into the ground this weekend.

Meanwhile, here's a recipe Nancy sent that I made with some of its tiny, young leaves.

Eggplant Pizzas

PG tested

These delicious discs cook up soft, so you eat with a fork, not fingers.

-- Bob Batz Jr.

• 1 long thin eggplant
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• Olive oil
• Fresh marjoram (or oregano, thyme, rosemary), chopped
• 1/2 cup good tomato sauce, preferably homemade
• 1/2 cup grated mozzarella, Swiss and or parmesan cheese

Shave off both ends of eggplant, cut into 1/2-inch-thick rounds. Sprinkle both sides of each slice with salt and drain for 20 to 30 minutes on double thickness of paper towels.

Heat oven to 375 degrees. Pat slices dry and arrange a layer on oiled baking sheet. Paint tops with oil, sprinkle with herbs, cover with large lid or foil. Bake in lower-middle of oven 15 to 20 minutes, until just soft when pierced with a fork.

Spread each with a spoonful of sauce, a sprinkle of cheese, a dribble of oil.

Pizzas can be done to this point. Just before serving, place under moderately hot broiler for 2 to 3 minutes.

-- "From Julia Child's Kitchen" by Julia Child (Gramercy, 1999)