In Umbria, in the shadow of the Sibillini Mountains, there is a high plateau called the Piano Grande. The lentils grown there are small, no bigger than the head of a nail, with skins so thin they cook evenly without soaking. Italians eat them on New Year's Eve because they resemble tiny coins, and coins mean prosperity. This is superstition, but it is also good sense. You should eat lentils more often.

The cooking is simple. The lentils simmer with aromatics until tender, then meet warm olive oil and a splash of vinegar. Chopped parsley. Salt. Nothing else needs to be there. The lentil itself has an earthy sweetness that heavier legumes lack. You do not want to bury it.

Americans want to add things. Feta cheese. Sun-dried tomatoes. Dried cranberries. I beg you not to do this. The lentil salads of Umbria are dressed simply because the lentils deserve attention. What you keep out is as significant as what you put in. If your lentils are good, you will not miss what is not there.