People ask me a lot of questions. What’s the best way to cook dried beans? Can I substitute aquafaba for eggs? Why do my lentils keep turning to mush? All reasonable. All answerable. But the one that stops me cold, every single time, is this: “What’s your favorite bean?”

I get it at book signings. I get it at dinner parties, usually from someone who has just declared their own allegiance to chickpeas with the fervor of a convert. I get it in my inbox, phrased hopefully, as though I might finally unlock the one correct answer and everyone can go home. And every time, I do the same thing: I pause. I look slightly pained. I say something like, “Well, it really depends…” and watch their face fall.

The honest answer is that I don’t have one.

Or rather, I have hundreds, and they rotate depending on the season, the dish, my mood, and what’s been sitting in my pantry long enough to start judging me. I have a longstanding affection for black beans — their earthiness, their versatility, their near-universal enthusiasm for Mexican food, which I share. From hummus to aquafaba to all the dishes made with their flour, chickpeas possess an unparalleled versatility that has earned my permanent respect. And I don’t know if it’s my Middle Eastern blood or just an appreciation for particularly large, meaty beans, but favas and limas and gigantes will always have, to quote Janis Joplin, another little piece of my heart.

Other than those — and all the others I haven’t mentioned, which is most of them — I’ve never met a bean I didn’t like. In the moment, when they’re cooked right, I always love the one I’m eating.

What I’ve come to believe, after cooking my way through more bean varieties than I can count, is that “favorite” is the wrong frame. The better question is: what does this dish need? And the answer to that — once you understand the personalities involved — opens up a world of flexibility that no single bean loyalty can offer.

There are hundreds and hundreds of varieties out there, many with very distinctive qualities, and I encourage you to look beyond the supermarket standards. Heirloom beans from Rancho Gordo, Foodocracy, and other specialty purveyors, and the regional varieties beloved by particular cultures that you’ll find in international markets — these are where the real discoveries live. Some beans stand alone, and there’s really no comparable substitute for them, though that shouldn’t keep you from experimenting. A pasta dish with chickpeas will be very different with cannellini, which are much more buttery and less starchy. But will it be bad? Heck, no. Enchiladas made with black beans will be distinct from those made with pinto beans, although each is delicious in its own way.

With all that in mind, I tend to group beans not by their botanical family — especially since so many of the most popular ones in the United States are all part of Phaseolus vulgaris — but by taste, texture, and color. In my recipes I make frequent substitution suggestions, but feel free to play with the swaps below. Just be aware that cooking times will vary, as will the size of the beans and, in some cases, the texture.

Round, starchy, nutty, firm: chickpeas = black chickpeas = cicerchie.

Very large, creamy, slightly sweet: large lima = fava = gigante = corona = scarlet runner.

Medium, creamy, nutty: pinto = cranberry/borlotti = pinquito = Jacob’s Cattle.

Medium, starchy, almost a tad crunchy: black-eyed peas = lady cream peas = cowpeas.

White/light green, creamy, smooth, firm: navy = cannellini = great Northern = flageolet = tarpais = coco.

Red, meaty, full-flavored: red kidney = small red bean.

Quick-cooking lentils that hold their shape but get tender: brown/green lentils = mung beans.

Lentils that collapse into creaminess: red/orange lentils = split mung beans = split black urad (moong dal).

Small lentils that stay firm and intact: French green = black beluga = Umbrian = pardina lentils.

Which brings me, by a somewhat winding road, to the kidney bean. I know. I hear you. You’ve walked past it in the grocery store 400 times and reached for the black beans instead. This is forgivable. But I want to make a case for reconsidering, because the kidney bean does something specific and unrepeatable: It is meaty, it absorbs spice beautifully, it holds its shape with a kind of dignified stubbornness I can only aspire to, and that deep crimson color is, frankly, gorgeous. It’s in the “red, meaty, full-flavored” family in my substitution chart — a small category, which means it doesn’t have many stand-ins, which means when you want that quality, you should just use it.

The dish that made me stop taking it for granted is a taco filling I’ve been making for at least a decade, when I want something fast and satisfying and just interesting enough to feel like I actually cooked. The kidney beans go in with sliced poblano peppers — mild enough that their heat doesn’t overwhelm, bitter enough that they push back against the beans’ richness in exactly the right way — plus the usual suspects of cumin, cinnamon, smoked paprika, garlic. Then quick-pickled onions on top, which you will make more of than you need and use on everything for the next three weeks. You’ve been warned.

So the next time someone asks me what my favorite bean is, I’m going to try something new. I’m going to say: whichever one I’m cooking at the moment. And if they push back — if they want an actual answer, a commitment, a bean I’d take to a desert island — I’ll tell them to consult the substitution chart and figure out what flavor profile they’re after. Then cook whatever bean fits. Or take a chance and play around.

That’s the whole philosophy, really. Not loyalty. Flexibility. A well-stocked pantry and a willingness to be surprised.

The beans will reward you for it. They always do.

Makes 6 tacos // Time: Weekday // Storage: The pickled onions can be refrigerated for up to 3 weeks and the taco filling for up to 4 days.

For the pickled onions

For the filling

For the tacos

To make the pickled onions: Combine the grapefruit juice, orange juice, lime juice, and vinegar in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, remove from heat, and stir in the red onion. Allow to cool in the pan. Any extra can be stored in a quart-size Mason jar in the refrigerator for up to 3 weeks.

To make the filling: Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. When it shimmers, add the poblanos, onion, and garlic and cook, stirring frequently, until the vegetables begin to soften, about 4 minutes. Sprinkle in the cumin, cinnamon, paprika, salt, and pepper and cook for another minute or two until the spices bloom and smell fragrant. Fold in the beans, reduce the heat to medium-low, and heat through. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed. Turn off the heat and cover to keep warm.

Warm the tortillas one at a time in a dry skillet over medium-high heat for a few seconds per side, then wrap in foil to keep warm.

To assemble the tacos, lay out the tortillas and top each with some of the bean-poblano mixture. Spoon on salsa, scatter with crumbled feta and pumpkin seeds, and finish with a few slices of pickled onion. Serve hot.

Substitutions:

Adapted from “Cool Beans” (Ten Speed Press, 2020), copyright Joe Yonan.

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