8 accidentally vegan foods your grandparents cooked during hard times that now cost $18 a plate

My grandmother used to make what she called "poor man's stew" every Sunday. A pot of lentils, carrots, onions, and whatever herbs grew wild near her back porch. She'd serve it with crusty bread and call it a day. No one talked about protein or plant-based eating. It was just what you made when money was tight and you had to stretch every dollar.

Fast forward to last month, and I saw essentially the same dish on a trendy brunch menu for $22. They called it a "rustic Mediterranean lentil ragout." Same ingredients. Same basic preparation. Wildly different price tag.

This got me thinking about all those "depression-era" meals our grandparents made out of necessity that have somehow become expensive restaurant fare. The irony is thick. Foods that were once symbols of scarcity are now marketed as conscious choices, health foods, or artisanal cuisine.

Let me walk you through some of these accidentally vegan staples that have made the journey from survival food to status symbol.

1. Bean and vegetable soup

Every culture has its version of this. My partner Marcus's Italian grandmother made pasta e fagioli. My neighbor's Puerto Rican abuela made habichuelas guisadas. Different names, same concept: beans, vegetables, broth, seasonings.

These soups existed because beans were cheap, filling, and lasted forever in the pantry. Meat was expensive and reserved for special occasions. You threw in whatever vegetables needed using up, added some dried herbs, and fed a family for days.

Now? Walk into any farm-to-table restaurant and you'll find "heirloom bean stew" for $18 a bowl. They'll tell you about the specific varietal of beans, where they were sourced, how they were slow-cooked in small batches. All true.

All exactly what grandma did because she had no other choice.

The beans are the same. The preparation is nearly identical. But the framing has completely transformed.

2. Fried potatoes and onions

During my years as a financial analyst, I spent a lot of time looking at food industry data. One thing that always struck me was how potatoes have remained one of the most economically efficient foods you can buy. Your great-grandparents knew this instinctively.

Fried potatoes with onions was breakfast, lunch, or dinner depending on what else was available. Slice them thin, cook them in whatever oil or fat you had, add onions for flavor. Done.

These days, this shows up on brunch menus as "hand-cut potato hash" or "artisan home fries" with caramelized onions. Same dish. Fifteen dollars. Maybe they'll add some microgreens on top to justify the markup.

The preparation hasn't changed. Potatoes are still potatoes. But call something "artisan" and suddenly it's worth triple.

3. Tomato sandwiches

When tomatoes were in season, people ate tomato sandwiches. Not because they were making a culinary statement, but because tomatoes were abundant and free if you grew them yourself. Bread, tomato, maybe some salt. That was lunch.

I grow tomatoes in my backyard now, and every August I eat these same sandwiches. The difference is I'm doing it by choice, not necessity. And apparently, so are hipster cafes charging $16 for "heirloom tomato tartine" on sourdough.

Yes, the bread might be fancier. The tomatoes might be specific varieties with names like Cherokee Purple or Brandywine. But fundamentally? It's sliced tomatoes on bread. Our grandparents weren't wrong about this being a perfectly good meal.

4. Oatmeal with fruit

Oatmeal was breakfast for millions of people during the Depression and for decades after. It was cheap, it kept you full, and you could stretch it by adding water or milk you skimmed yourself. Throw in whatever fruit you had, maybe some cinnamon, and that was your morning meal.

Now you've got overnight oats, steel-cut oats, artisanal oat bowls topped with seasonal fruit compote and house-made granola. Twenty dollars at your local health food cafe. The base ingredient costs maybe 50 cents.

I eat oatmeal probably four mornings a week. I top it with whatever fruit I grabbed at the farmers' market where I volunteer. It's filling, it's simple, and it costs almost nothing. My grandmother would recognize it instantly, though she'd be baffled by the price tag when someone else makes it for you.

5. Sautéed greens with garlic

People used to forage for wild greens or grow them because they were easy and prolific. Collards, kale, chard, dandelion greens. You'd sauté them with whatever fat you had and some garlic if you were lucky. Side dish done.

Walk into any restaurant with "seasonal" in its description and you'll find this exact preparation listed as "locally foraged greens" or "farm-fresh braised kale" for $14. They might add a squeeze of lemon. Maybe some red pepper flakes. Revolutionary.

When I started gardening seriously, I realized how absurdly easy it is to grow more kale than any human should reasonably consume. It's almost impossible to kill. It grows back after you harvest it. This is why poor people grew it. Not because it was trendy, but because it was nearly foolproof.

The same preparation your great-grandmother used is now considered upscale simply because we've attached different words to it.

6. Polenta or grits

Cornmeal mush. That's what it was called. Boil cornmeal with water or milk, add salt, eat it hot or let it cool and slice it to fry later. Cheap, filling, versatile. Working-class food across the American South and parts of Europe.

These days, you'll see "creamy polenta" or "stone-ground grits" on menus for $16 as a side dish. They'll top it with roasted vegetables or mushrooms and act like they've invented something new. They haven't. They've just made it expensive.

I make polenta regularly because I actually enjoy it. Costs maybe a dollar to make enough for several servings. But I'm not kidding myself that I'm doing anything innovative. I'm eating what Italian peasants ate because wheat was too expensive.

7. Rice and beans

This is possibly the most universal "poor people food" that has become trendy. Every culture that experienced scarcity figured out some version of combining rice and beans. It's a complete protein. It's cheap. It stores well. It's filling.

Caribbean communities have their versions. Latin American countries have theirs. The American South has Hoppin' John. Different seasonings, same fundamental dish.

Now you'll find "artisanal rice and bean bowls" at fast-casual chains for $15. They'll add some pico de gallo, maybe some cilantro-lime dressing, call it a "power bowl" and market it as health food.

During my transition from finance to writing, rice and beans became a staple again. Not for nostalgia, but because I was watching every dollar. It reminded me that this combination has sustained people through actual hardship, not through Instagram-worthy lunch choices.

8. Root vegetable stew

When I spent time going through old family recipes while my parents were downsizing, I found my great-grandmother's Depression-era cookbook. Half the recipes were variations on "whatever root vegetables you have" stews.

Carrots, turnips, parsnips, rutabaga, potatoes. Whatever was in the root cellar.

You'd cube them up, throw them in a pot with water, add salt and dried herbs, and simmer until everything was soft. Sometimes you'd mash it. Sometimes you'd leave it chunky. It was food.

Today, this shows up as "rustic root vegetable medley" or "winter vegetable pot" on seasonal menus for $18. The vegetables are the same ones that have been growing in cold climates for centuries because they're hardy and store well. That's why poor people ate them. Not because they were making a statement about eating seasonally.

Conclusion

Here's what strikes me about all of this. These foods were never inferior. They were actually nutritious, satisfying, and resourceful. Our grandparents weren't suffering through these meals. They were making the best of what they had, and often what they had was pretty damn good.

The problem isn't that these foods have become expensive in restaurants. Good ingredients and skilled preparation deserve fair compensation. The problem is that we've created a narrative that these foods are somehow special or elevated now, when they were always valuable. We just didn't recognize it because they were associated with poverty.

I think about this when I'm cooking my lentil stew or making my tomato sandwich. I'm eating the same foods, but I get to feel virtuous about it. My grandmother ate them and probably felt a little ashamed that she couldn't afford more.

Maybe the real shift isn't in the food itself, but in recognizing that simple, plant-based ingredients have always been enough. Our grandparents knew that. They just didn't have the luxury of choosing it. We do. And somehow, that choice has become worth eighteen dollars a plate.