I was fifteen and unkempt in 1983, a boy unburdened by the challenges of childbearing and taxes and flounder-grasping. As for cooking, the jury was still out. And although Peg Bracken’s book, The I Hate to Cook Book, had been a cultural juggernaut for nearly a quarter century, I’d never heard of it. But I was hungry, so I kept reading.

What makes a food special, what turns a simple dish into a memory? Why do some dishes stand out so much more than others? (Aside from how good or bad they are, of course.) In many cases, it’s because there are certain meals, ingredients even, that we always associate with another person.

Now is the perfect time to lift lentils from their winter stews and soups and bring them into the light. The recipes here feature the three most common types of lentils — French green, red, and brown — so that they shine as mains, sides, or components in meals and snacks. As in: a salad that works with or without salmon; a creamy and versatile vegan twist on refried beans; and a stir-fry loaded with sprouts you grow in a jar.

Beyond the reading, the cooking classes, the careful adherence to recipes, the most important way to build knowledge in the kitchen is to put food in your mouth. To taste. Taste the stew as it cooks; taste the sauce as it reduces; the pasta as it boils, the fish as it poaches, the stock as it simmers. Pay close attention, to how your body and mind react. Sense it, feel it, name it, remember.

I had never in my life eaten the same thing three nights in a row — until this particular night. But it wasn’t a bad thing.

To my parents, eating, say, pasta and potatoes would have been unhealthy in some undefined way and frowned upon as “starch on starch.” Yet pasta with potatoes is a great dish—especially on a chilly evening. And so is the better-known pasta e fagioli. Here, I want to talk about our new favorite: pasta with lentils.

It’s succulent broccoli raab, yuba (sometimes called soy skins), mashed chickpeas, and more, on a soft, short hero roll with a light, crisp exterior. After the first chomp, my whole body relaxed, as if my system had shut down to upload a new program. I wish I could eat the Yuba Verde all the time; in the meantime, I’ve experimented with making it at home.

At home, where our thermostat typically reads around 74° F, I’ve been thinking more about food that comes together at a rate that matches the given mood or moment. In an attempt to protect a sense of peace in the kitchen—less pressure, more pleasure—what I’ve found most appealing are meals with no fuss around the degree range at which they’re consumed. Things that can be done ahead while still existing as an expression of care and attention to detail.

When you mash chickpeas, they disappear. In a good way. Imagine what this stir-fry would be like if instead of a hearty sauce to coat crisp-cooked vegetables, you end up with a handful of errant beans bobbing in a watery pool at the bottom of the pan. No one wants that.

The goal isn’t perfection, it’s lunch, and good enough is good enough. Cooking, at root, is not an exercise in fantasy. It is a task, quotidian and necessary. If you wanna eat, you gotta cook. (Unless you’re rich, but that’s a topic for a different writer.)

It’s been head-exploding to discover a new alternative to traditional hot cereal grains like oats and cornmeal: ​brown rice cereal​. It’s like broken rice with benefits. Whole-grain goodness for one; quick-cooking for another. This cereal has got use rethinking techniques, using it instead of white rice, and adding it to places that brown rice has never been before.

What got me started on my roasted garlic journey was Mark’s recommendation that people spread roasted garlic onto any pizza before adding toppings. What genius is this? Evidence here, along with a ton of other ways to use this alluring allium.

The need for sweet pounces at night, and no simple piece of fresh fruit beats it back (though grapes and pineapple stand the strongest chance). Then I upped the ante by grinding dried fruit in the food processor, adding complimentary flavors, and rolling them into “truffles.” These have passed the test of time.

The word salad comes from the Latin word for salt, so it’s no surprise that the two go hand in hand: salting vegetables (and not just greens), even briefly, can maximize their crispness and flavor by causing them to release their water. But when, exactly, should you add salt?

Creating and maintaining your own personal stock takes doing, but it’s not much doing — simple enough to become a habit. And having a steady supply of flavorful, multifaceted stock on hand is a huge boost to anything you use it for.

Spongy tofu isn’t curded, as most tofu is. It’s made by slow-cooking a soy protein slurry until it sets. Spices do not affect this process, so it can be flavored before it even reaches your kitchen. Nowadays, it’s common for producers to throw in a dash of salt and umami and a drizzle of oil, which round out the soy notes and create a warm, full-bodied creaminess. This ensures that the tofu tastes great, no matter how it’s cooked.

Though oats are best known in their creamy and thick incarnation as the ubiquitous breakfast porridge, lately we’ve been pushing them far beyond that. They’re perfect for lunch or dinnertime pilafs, grain bowls, and stuffings, with results as far away from breakfast as you can imagine.