8 foods you’ll never stop craving if you grew up lower-middle class (vegan edition)

There are flavors that stick the way old songs do.

You hear the first note, you’re back at a wobbly kitchen table with chipped plates and a door that never quite closed right.

For me, growing up lower-middle class taught me two things about food.

First, make a dollar work like it has a twin. Second, taste is memory in disguise.

As writer Jonathan Safran Foer put it, “Food is not rational. Food is culture, habit, craving and identity.” That’s why the classics below still call my name—even now that I read labels for fun and keep oat milk like a true millennial.

Let’s dig in.

1. Peanut butter & jelly

The sandwich of all sandwiches.

Shelf-stable, sturdy, and endlessly customizable.

Back then, it was off-brand white bread, a jar so big it could double as a piggy bank, and whatever jam was on sale. Now it’s whole grain, natural peanut butter, and a spoonful of strawberry that still tastes like after-school cartoons.

Vegan tip? You’re already there. Most peanut butter and most jams are plant-based. If you want to fancy it up, smash a banana on there and sprinkle a little cinnamon. That’s a $1 upgrade that eats like a memory.

2. Instant ramen

Pull-tab dinners were a minor holiday at my house.

Ramen was how we learned chemistry: just add hot water and watch boredom turn into broth.

These days I ditch the flavor packet (too salty), then add miso, a splash of soy sauce, and frozen peas.

If I’m feeling ambitious, a few cubes of baked tofu or the ends of whatever veggies I have left. It’s not just dinner—it’s a masterclass in stretching what you’ve got.

Behavior nerd aside: nostalgia lowers our “effort threshold.” When a food reminds us of home, we’re far more willing to cook—even if “cooking” is boiling water.

I’ve mentioned this before but it’s worth repeating because it’s a quiet superpower for eating more plants: make it easy, make it familiar.

3. Bean chili

We didn’t say “protein” growing up. We said “beans.”

A pot of chili was meal prep before meal prep was a thing.

I still start with onions and garlic, then add canned beans (two kinds if I’m showing off), crushed tomatoes, chili powder, and a spoon of cocoa for depth. Let it burble while you answer emails or call your mom. The house starts to smell like safety.

Serving ideas are pure budget brilliance: over rice, stuffed into a baked potato, or on toast. Three meals out of one pot—it’s the inflation-proof dinner plan.

4. Fried rice

Question for you: what’s the most reliable leftover makeover you know?

For me, it’s fried rice.

Day-old rice, frozen veg, a dab of oil. Add scallions if you’ve got them and a splash of soy sauce. If I have leftover crumbled tempeh or a stray veggie burger, it goes in. Suddenly last night’s side becomes tonight’s main.

Here’s the psychology angle. Habits stick when they’re attached to “cues.” Fried rice is the cue for “don’t waste food.” Keep a bag of frozen mixed vegetables on hand and you’ve created an autopilot dinner you’ll actually look forward to.

5. Spaghetti marinara

Sunday meant pasta, full stop.

Sometimes there was garlic bread. Sometimes there was just… more pasta.

I still love a jarred sauce (check the label for dairy), doctored with olive oil, extra garlic, and a shower of dried oregano. If there’s a zucchini about to go squishy, I grate it straight into the sauce. No one notices. Everyone gets seconds.

There’s a reason this one endures. As Marcel Proust wrote about memory, “The smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us….” A plate of spaghetti can teleport you faster than any plane ticket.

6. Oven potatoes

Roasted potato wedges were our house fries.

Cheaper than takeout, and they made the kitchen warm in winter.

Slice into wedges, toss with oil, salt, pepper, and paprika. Bake hot until the edges get dramatic. If I’m feeling extra, I whisk a quick dip: vegan mayo, lemon, and minced pickles. It’s the fancy cousin of ketchup.

Nutritionally, potatoes get unfair shade. But in real life, they’re the hero of “I need something filling that doesn’t cost a latte per bite.” Add a big green salad and you’ve got a weeknight dinner that feels like a weekend.

7. Pancakes

Pancakes were how we learned that “brunch” is just breakfast with marketing.

Flour, baking powder, sugar, a pinch of salt. Stir in plant milk until it looks like a lazy river. Cook on a hot pan until bubbles pop. Flip with confidence.

My family used to ration maple syrup like it was liquid gold. I still do a drizzle and then top with sliced fruit to fake abundance.

Pro move: drop a handful of chocolate chips into just one pancake. Whoever finds it wins the morning.

There’s a tenderness to pancake nights—for dinner—that never leaves you. As columnist Sheilah Graham said, “Food is the most primitive form of comfort.” Some comforts are worth keeping.

8. Stovetop popcorn

Microwave bags if we were lucky, pot + lid when we weren’t.

Either way, popcorn meant movie night without the price of tickets.

I heat oil in a big pot, drop a few kernels in, and when they pop I add the rest. Shake, salt, done. Nutritional yeast turns it into cheesy magic; a dusting of cinnamon sugar makes it Saturday-morning cereal in disguise.

Popcorn is also a budget-to-joy ratio masterpiece. Pennies become a bowl that brings everyone into the same room. That’s not a snack; that’s a ritual.

Final thoughts

Here’s what ties these foods together, beyond the obvious “cost per bite” math. They’re low-friction. They’re forgiving. They’re delicious when you’re hungry and still pretty great when you’re not. They turn up as dinner, snack, lunch, and sometimes all three in one day.

Also, there’s pride in making something out of not much. It reminds me that thriftiness isn’t scarcity—it’s creativity. It’s the original sustainability. You use what you have, you waste less, you flavor like a pro because you had to.

If you grew up lower-middle class, you probably still crave these because they remind you that you can figure things out. You can make it work. You can eat well without a trust fund or a ten-ingredient sauce.

And if you’re plant-based now, the good news is you don’t need to reinvent your taste buds. You just keep the same playbook and swap a few pages. Cheaper than therapy, tastier than nostalgia, better for the planet.

So tonight, pick one.

Toast, a pot, a skillet, a sheet pan.

Memory is on the menu—and it’s vegan.