Marjoram

Marjoram is oregano's gentler cousin, and once you know that, you understand everything about it. Same family, softer voice. Rub a leaf between your fingers and the smell jumps up warm and sweet, almost like pine and citrus. Leave it in a simmering pot too long and that smell fades to almost nothing — you lift the lid and there's barely a trace of that sweet perfume left. So marjoram goes in at the end of cooking, not the beginning.

Choose it by the nose, not the eye. Crush a pinch — it should smell round and sweet. If it smells like hay, or like nothing, it's tired and won't do your dish any favors.

Some people say marjoram and oregano are interchangeable — just use more or less, same timing. No. Cook marjoram the way you'd cook oregano and you'll taste the difference in the bowl, not on paper. Simmer it too long and it just isn't there anymore, gone quiet, its sweetness gone. Toss it in too early, expecting it to behave like oregano, and it turns flat and tired instead of bright. Add marjoram in the last few minutes, off the heat if you can, and let it breathe into the food instead of boiling itself into silence.