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Alright, let’s just say it: every one of us has a jar of tomato sauce tucked somewhere in the pantry “for emergencies.” Maybe you grab it on those nights when you’re running on fumes and the family’s already asking what’s for dinner (again). But oh my goodness, there is just nothing like a pot of homemade tomato sauce bubbling away on the stove. That rich, beautiful aroma? It doesn’t just make your house smell like heaven—somehow, it wraps everything up in a sense of comfort only a truly good home-cooked meal can offer. Now, I’ve got a little kitchen secret …

If you’ve ever found yourself staring at a can of beans or a box of cereal and tossing it out just because the date on the package has come and gone, you’re in good company. Maybe you did it and instantly felt that little prickle of guilt. Or maybe you didn’t give it a second thought—because hey, if the date says it’s time, it must be time…right? Well…not quite. Here’s the scoop: those “Best By,” “Best Before,” and “Sell By” dates? They aren’t expiration dates—not in the way we usually assume. Once you know what those mysterious dates actually stand …

Let me share a little secret from all my years of cooking for kids, a husband, and whatever extra bodies happen to be around the table: some foods just don’t give a hoot whether you eat them hot or straight from the fridge. And I don’t just mean they’re fine either way—I mean they’re downright delicious both ways. I’m talking about those magical foods that are just as satisfying when you’re serving them fresh out of the oven as when you’re sneaking a bite cold from the fridge at midnight (in fuzzy socks, if you’re anything like me). You know …

We’re always told not to burn the food, right? There’s this pressure to get it just right—perfectly golden brown, with just a hint of crisp and not a spot of black. But can I let you in on a little secret? Sometimes, the real magic in the kitchen happens when things get a little too much sun (or sizzle, as it were). You know exactly what I mean. Remember that marshmallow you roasted a teeny bit too long over the fire, or that crispy bit of cheese that slipped out of your grilled cheese and turned into a golden treasure …

Let me tell you something—if cooking spaghetti were a sport, I think I’d qualify for a medal by now. Whether it was those sweet nights as a kid twirling buttered noodles with a sprinkle of parmesan from—you know the one—the green can, or simmering a big Sunday sauce that perfumes the whole house, pasta’s been there for all my seasons. So, you can probably picture my face the day my uncle pulled a little stunt that nearly made me drop my trusty wooden spoon right onto the kitchen floor. He rinsed the spaghetti. Cold water, right into the colander—right after …