Oysters—which used to be sourced from river beds as cheap sustenance for impoverished workers—are now washed down with Champagne. Quinoa, a staple grain from the Andes, has become a costly commodity. Even caviar, a delicacy favored by the Russian elite, was once served as a free bar snack in American saloons in the hope that its saltiness would encourage drinking. If we can learn anything from these once-humble goodies, it’s that even the least glamorous can succeed with the right rebrand.

It turns out that a savvy reinvention, coupled with diminished availability, can transform even the shoddiest reputation. When early settlers first arrived on America’s East Coast, they had such an abundant supply of lobster that it became the diet of the poverty-stricken and the incarcerated. Even prisons limited their servings to once a week because of the perceived cruelty of making people eat it. But when railways began to expand across America, train managers realized that they could repackage this lowly protein and serve it to unsuspecting Midwesterners who wouldn’t know any better. Gradually, people developed a taste for it.

Post–World War II, lobster assumed its status as a luxury item enjoyed by those wealthy enough to pay market rate for it. It was now boiled alive—a method that reduced the risk of food poisoning—and had become synonymous with an upper-crust New England lifestyle. Dwindling lobster stocks had driven the price up, but its radical new identity also proved the power of shrewd marketing. Diners weren’t just enjoying the taste of its meat. They were also buying into the fantasy that surrounded it.

In the case of the caviar-producing sturgeon fish, a waning population was responsible for the roe becoming a rarity. But for most delicacies, their newfound desirability is more a reflection of changing fashions than simple economics. We all like to feel fancy—the trick is convincing people that a simple food item is capable of doing that.