There's nothing worse than a convert, and I have become one, so look out.

I doubt there is anyone in the United States who has scorned sun-dried tomatoes more than I have. I teased people who bought them, refused sandwiches made with them, questioned their very right to exist. To the extent I acknowledged that it might be acceptable to shrivel a perfectly good plum tomato, I argued that the only proper way to do it was gently, in the oven, with olive oil and perhaps some thyme and garlic.

Sun-dried tomatoes first came here around 1979. ''I was walking around in Cannes,'' recalled Steve Jenkins, now a partner at Fairway Markets but then an employee of Dean & DeLuca, ''when I went into a great store in the old town. There were big, five-kilo tins hanging from the ceiling, filled with these beautiful dried tomatoes in oil — they were from San Remo, over in Liguria. I called Giorgio DeLuca and told him. And he was the first person in the States to get his hands on them.''

They became, almost immediately, one of our first contemporary food fads.

They've changed some since then; they're no longer always packed in oil, and they're increasingly from Turkey, not Italy. (This is OK, Jenkins said. ''The Turks are sending in good stuff.'')

In a way, though, I'm the one who's seen the light. I love them now, especially at this time of year. In the depths of winter, even though the cellophane-packed pale red Florida tomatoes of my youth have been replaced by bright red faux beauties from the Netherlands and Israel and who-knows-where-else, real tomato flavor is still nowhere to be found.

And there are ways in which sun-dried tomato flavor is better than ''real'' tomato flavor. (I did warn you about the convert thing, right?)

Some of my past prejudices remain. I don't like sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil; I don't like them dried until they feel like shoe leather; and I don't like them costing $20 a pound. (Though in Southern California a couple of months ago I did have some very expensive organic heirlooms, sliced thin and dried without salt, and they ate, out of hand, like candy.)

Happily, none of these is a problem any more: The oil-packed tomatoes are now scarcer than goat cheese sandwiches (another pet peeve, forgive me). And many of the bulk-packed ones — which are quite moist and dried, I would estimate, to about 10 or 20 percent of their original weight — cost $4 a pound. (Think about that: It's the equivalent of fresh tomatoes for 40 or 80 cents.)

According to Jenkins, they're still mostly dried in the sun: Solar power is free, after all. They're still mostly made from Roma plum tomatoes. They're salted and dried for three or four days if in the sun (though you can do it yourself in half a day in a low oven, of course) and nothing else. Since most of them come from Mediterranean climates, they're made from decent tomatoes to begin with.

And their potential is incredible. My little conversion began with a chickpea and sun-dried tomato spread, like a reddish hummus, at Kefi, a fine little Greek restaurant in Manhattan. A party of three reasonably experienced eaters attacked the spread with rare enthusiasm. The next day I was at work trying to duplicate the dish. (The recipe here is my own interpretation.)

Next, I started trying them wherever I might usually toss canned tomatoes (which began to seem lifeless by comparison) or grape or cherry tomatoes, the only semi-flavorful fresh tomatoes in winter.

I never bothered pre-soaking them or anything like that. Sometimes I cut the halves into pieces, sometimes not, but in they went, into just about every sauce, stew, braised dish or soup that I made over the next couple of months.

Mixed in a sauce with olives, garlic and other usual suspects, they were moist, more intense in flavor than even good fresh tomatoes, and had a satisfying, meaty chew. Cut into bits and sauteed with other aromatics, they took on the texture and some of the character of chopped prosciutto, chewy and salty. In a stock, they added character that lasted right through the making of soup or risotto. It got to the point where I was using them for a kind of instant tea (akin to miso; good with a dash of soy sauce).

I will calm down, I'm sure. But it's nice to discover something that everyone else knew about 20 years ago.

HUMMUS WITH SUN-DRIED TOMATOES

1 cup dried chickpeas (garbanzo beans)
1 cup sun-dried tomatoes (not in oil)
Salt and pepper
2 cloves garlic, more to taste
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tbsp. pimenton (smoked Spanish paprika), more to taste, optional
Lemon juice to taste
Pita chips or raw vegetables, for serving

If time allows, soak chickpeas in water to cover overnight; if not, boil in water to cover for 2 minutes, then soak for 2 hours.

In a pot, combine chickpeas and tomatoes in water to cover and simmer, partially covered, until chickpeas are very tender, adding water if necessary. Drain, reserving a little cooking liquid.

Combine in a food processor with salt, pepper, garlic, oil, pimenton if using and reserved cooking liquid as necessary to get machine going. Puree, then add lemon juice to taste, along with more oil, pimenton or salt if desired. Serve with pita chips or raw vegetables. (This will keep, refrigerated, for about a week.)

Makes 12 or more servings.

PASTA WITH DOUBLE
SUN-DRIED SAUCE
Salt
1 cup sun-dried tomatoes, each cut in half (not in oil)
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1 dried chili
20 to 30 oil-cured olives, pitted
1 lb. long pasta, like linguine
Freshly ground black pepper
Chopped fresh parsley leaves

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Mince 1/4 cup of the tomatoes.

Put oil in a large, deep skillet or casserole over medium heat and add garlic, chili, minced tomatoes and olives. As soon as mixture sizzles, lower heat a bit and continue to cook.

When water comes to a boil, add remaining tomatoes to it; simmer for a minute, then scoop them out with a slotted spoon and add to skillet, along with about 1/2 cup water. Simmer while pasta cooks in same pot tomatoes were cooked in.

When pasta is tender, drain it, but leave it wet; reserve a little cooking liquid. Add pasta to skillet and toss with solids, adding a little reserved cooking liquid (or more olive oil) if needed. Add salt if necessary, a lot of black pepper, and serve, garnished with parsley.

Makes at least 4 servings.

SHRIMP WITH
SUN-DRIED TOMATOES
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
Several sprigs thyme
1 tbsp. minced garlic
1 cup sun-dried tomatoes, roughly chopped
2 tbsp. capers, drained if necessary
1/2 cup fish stock or dry white wine
16 to 24 large shrimp, peeled
Salt and pepper
Chopped fresh basil

Preheat broiler; rack should be 2 to 4 inches from heat source and the heat as high as possible.

Put oil in a large, ovenproof skillet over medium heat and add thyme, garlic, tomatoes and capers. Cook just until mixture sizzles, then add stock or wine; raise heat and bring to a boil. Cook for about a minute, then add shrimp, turning them in sauce.

Put skillet under broiler and cook until shrimp are done, 3 to 5 minutes, turning once. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, garnish with basil, and serve hot or warm.

Makes 4 to 6 servings.