I keep a supply of tuna in pouches or cans in our pantry, but I am the only one who eats it.

My husband grew up on Manhattan's Upper West Side where, he insists, canned tuna feared to tread. He did eat lots of smoked, canned mussels as a child - on tiny toasts, he recalls.

By looking upon tinned tuna as déclassé and sometimes referring to it as "cat food," he has persuaded our daughter to eat the fish only when it is fresh, grilled, and spritzed with lemon juice.

It is tragic, so tragic, that neither will entertain the notion of eating Tuna Noodle Casserole made totally with pantry (read: canned, as in, also, cream of mushroom soup). They do not understand the joy of a tuna salad sandwich made suddenly and simply with mayonnaise and a bit of relish.

Among other ways, my friendship with canned tuna was formed by being reared a Catholic in the near-Midwest before fresh fish was flown daily from coast to coast and everywhere in between. I realized that it did not come only in cans only after I was old enough to worry about moisturizing under my eyes every night.

Over the years, there have been many reasons not to eat tuna.

The first was because lovable dolphins were being killed in the process of the capture of the less-cute tuna. Dolphin-safe tuna fishing resulted in the 1960s. Now there are protests over canned tuna because all sorts of tuna varieties, including the overfished bluefin, are being inadvertently caught in nets.

And then there is the more recent news of the high levels of mercury in most varieties of canned tuna.

Enlightenment has its price. For all of these reasons, I no longer eat the amount of canned tuna that I did as a child. Still, I have not abandoned it.

This has everything to do with convenience, taste, versatility, and memory.

It was the first protein I worked with in the kitchen. I still recall my pride when at age 10 I used the big old electric can opener to open enough tuna to stir into a huge pot of cooked, drained elbow macaroni mixed with several cans of cream of mushroom soup.

In my house, it was not required to dirty another dish by turning this mixture into a casserole and baking it. Nor were green peas involved - just those three ingredients.

It was easy, fast, cost-effective, hit the spot, and served many, particularly during summer vacation from school when siblings and neighbors filled the yard.

A few cans of tuna in the pantry mean a pardon from grocery shopping, especially on a summer day when the prospect of climbing into a car and walking across scorching pavement to buy, say, cold cuts is just too daunting.

Over the years, I've learned that canned tuna is related to tofu in the sense that it takes on the character of whatever ingredients it's mixed with. And rarely do you need to follow a recipe to make something of it.

Mix it with cooked spaghetti, sauteed garlic, and kale to make tuna-ghetti. Pair it with canned white beans and a simple vinaigrette to top salad greens. Complicate that salad by adding a hard-boiled egg, steamed green beans, tomatoes, and boiled potatoes to devise a Nicoise version.

As suggested by the recipes below, combine it with exotic ingredients: Lemongrass, chilies, lime juice, curry powder, ginger or olives quickly turn old-fashioned canned tuna contemporary.

Trying to cut down on fat and carbohydrates during a summer overloaded with outdoor events at which the concession stands offer only pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, and other beloved but sabotaging fare?

Turn to the newer space-saving, no-draining-needed variety of tuna that was introduced in 2000. Before or during an event, rip open a package of tuna, add low-fat mayonnaise (flavored if you have it), relish, or even salsa, and stir with a plastic fork.

It's portable and, as I discovered recently, enviable.