When Gesshin Claire Greenwood was twenty-two and fresh out of college, she found her way to Toshoji, a Buddhist monastery in Japan, where she eventually became ordained as a Buddhist nun.
While at the monastery, she discovered she had a particular affinity for working in the kitchen, especially at the practice of using what was at hand to create delicious, satisfying meals. Her book, Just Enough: Vegan Recipes and Stories from Japan’s Buddhist Temples is based on the philosophy of oryoki, or “just enough.”
From perfect rice, potatoes, and broths to hearty stews, colorful stir-fry dishes, hot and cold noodles, and delicate sorbets, Greenwood shows how food can be a direct, daily way to understand Zen practice.
With her eloquent prose, she takes readers into monasteries, markets, messy kitchens, and 4 a.m. meditation rooms while simultaneously offering food for thought that nourishes and delights the body, mind, and spirit.
One of the youngest people to ever receive dharma transmission (meaning the authorization to teach Zen) in the United States, Greenwood is also a skilled vegan cook and feminist.
While this is first and foremost a vegan cookbook with over 30 recipes, it’s also a food-writing memoir, and a dharma/spirituality book — essentially it is a book about transformation. Drawing on the philosophy of oryoki, or “just enough,” Greenwood empowers readers to bring the simplicity of Japanese cooking into our more hectic Western lives and find a beautiful balance between wealth and simplicity, relaxation and rigor, and greed and selflessness.
We hope you enjoy this excerpt from Just Enough by Gesshin Claire Greenwood ©2019 New World Library, reprinted by permission.
At Toshoji, we would eat all meals in silence at a table. I remember how hard these meals were for me when I was a layperson, still struggling to adjust to the tastes of Japanese food and the rhythms of oryoki. At Buddhist monasteries you are required to eat whatever is put in front of you — whether you are a vegetarian, whether you hate certain things like fish or pumpkins or mushrooms. I often struggled to finish my meals, but I did.
One lunch I was served a food I liked, and I was happy (it may have been cold vegetables with tofu dressing, but I don’t remember). I heard the monk beside me munching away and looked over at him. Had he been served more food than me? Suddenly my pleasure turned to jealousy as I saw what I suspected to be a larger serving in his bowl.
The abbot of the monastery looked at me from the head of the table. When the meal ended he spoke to the whole group of assembled monks and the lone American girl.
“Dogen said not to look in other people’s bowls. Just focus on your own food.”
Three years after returning to America from Japan, I have made a small, strange life for myself. I live with my husband and our two dogs in a tiny, overpriced apartment in San Francisco. We have a living room with a white couch, a green rug, and lots of Japanese calligraphy, including the one I gave him when we first met.
We have a small porch overlooking our backyard, with a modest view of downtown and the ocean. I have my own study, which is filled with books on Zen and Japanese history, contemporary novels, and poetry. I sometimes sit there in the morning, but mostly I work full-time with children on the autism spectrum.
I am in my second master’s program in three years, training to be a marriage and family therapist. I love this program, the rich connections I have made with classmates, and the readings on human emotion, aliveness, and relationships.
And I still suffer. When I look at social media, I see my friends from college buying houses, having children, or making partner in their law firm. I have done none of these things. I feel behind, perhaps to the point where I can never catch up. I have no retirement to speak of. Sometimes when I type out my résumé, I have to laugh. Five years training as a Zen nun. Special skills: chanting, cooking, sweeping.
My pain increases when I compare myself to others, when I look into their bowls. Comparing myself to my peers, I feel like a failure. I do not have their money or their things. I don’t have their job titles. But if I can stay still in the unique un- folding of my own life, if I can focus on my own meal, then I do not feel this type of pain.
Knowing my life for what it is, I understand that although I am not rich in money, I am rich in love and struggle and seeking. I have valued truth and placed it at the center of my life. My family is near me. I have a refrigerator stocked with food, and a comfortable bed.
Sometimes I am caught breathless at how beautiful this city is. San Francisco is my home, where I was born, where I had my first kiss, where I was married and now live. I love my city — how the light reflects off skyscrapers and the ocean, how the roses look and smell on my block, the way the countless Chinese markets and taquerias beckon.
I remember walking through the countryside in Japan and marveling at the simple beauty of the houses, the bamboo on the hillside, the rich, deep brown of autumn leaves. I remember feeling fierce joy at the sun above me, at the flowers, and at how the mist gathered in the valley below my teacher’s mountain temple. I remember loving those mountains. I love my city with the same fierce joy, even as it changes around me.
It is said that when we make this very place our own, our practice becomes the manifestation of truth. This path, this place, is neither big nor small, neither self nor others. This is why we focus on our own bowl, on our own food, on our family and city.
This path, this place, this bowl of food is enough.
Just Enough: Vegan Recipes and Stories from Japan’s Buddhist Temples
is available wherever books are sold
10 QUESTIONS with Gesshin Claire Greenwood,
author of JUST ENOUGH
Why did you name your book “Just Enough?”
I named the book Just Enough because I thought it encapsulated my philosophy both on spirituality and on cooking. A very basic skill in cooking is being able to add just enough salt, for example, but knowing how much salt is “enough” is actually quite hard for people! It’s also subjective.
When I began writing this book I was also reintegrating into modern, secular society after many years in the Japanese monastic system. I was taking a real look at how my life had been on these poles of extremes: first hedonism and luxury as a young person in the West, and then self-abnegation and discipline as a Buddhist nun. When I started writing this book I was clear that neither extreme worked for me any more. So an underlying theme in the book is how to arrive at balance or moderation in our personal and spiritual lives.
You trained as tenzo (head chef), serving traditional Buddhist vegan and vegetarian food to temple members and guests. What did that time cooking and serving teach you about your life as a woman, a Buddhist and a Vegetarian?
Cooking is a great joy. I always loved working in monastery kitchens because it illuminated to me how spiritual practice is not separate from daily life. Daily life is spiritual practice. What else is there to work with? Oftentimes we think of meditation or spirituality as this rarified, special thing. But there’s nothing rarified about peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots.
Training as head chef did not change my views on being a woman, other than to clarify for me that I love cooking. I’ve always been a feminist and there is a current of thought in contemporary feminism that recognizes how women have been confined to domestic spaces, to activities like cooking and cleaning. I agree with this and also am aware that I will always love cooking. It’s not contradictory to be a feminist and a home cook. I think what’s contradictory is if you are cooking primarily from obligation and expectation rather than genuine interest.
You’ve trained as a cloistered Buddhist nun and you have also been a Buddhist teacher living out in the “bigger world.” What are the pros and cons of monastery life? Should everyone spend some of their lives in a monastery?
It is much easier to practice Buddhism in a monastery. By this I mean the schedule and institution is set up to include meditation, chanting, etc. You are also surrounded by people who hold the same values and priorities, and who encourage you to follow the Buddhist precepts (ethical guidelines). As opposed to working in a capitalist structure, Buddhist communities value qualities other than productivity and earning money. While hard work is valued, money is not the goal. This really shifts ones relationship to work, self, and value. I found that when I was in a monastery I felt ok being poor. Poverty didn’t matter to me because I was in an environment that prioritized spiritual practice over the accumulation of wealth. The monastic container allowed me to focus on my own heart and mind in a way that other environments do not.
There are many wonderful things about not living in a monastery. Romantic love, for example, is a really wonderful part about being a layperson in society. So is building and raising a family. There is more freedom of thought and emotional expression outside of the monastery. When I left the monastery, I felt like the lid was blown open on my heart. I couldn’t find anywhere to land or rest. On the other hand, I had everywhere to go. The world was open to me. It was terrifying and liberating. When I was younger, the infinite possibilities of the world scared me. I needed limits. I needed my options to be restricted for me. Now I am strong enough that I can look at the world and answer fairly confidently, “Who do I want to be in it? What sliver of consciousness am I going to inhabit? What communities do I want to be a part of?” I don’t need to be in a monastery any more to give me a sense of purpose and belonging; I can create that wherever I am.
If you have an urge to go to a monastery, then go. You don’t need to go, but if you have the longing, then honor that. If you don’t have that desire, then stay where you are. Both are valid.
What did practicing with other Buddhist nuns teach you about gender and all-women spaces?
That is a big question! I suppose the biggest takeaway for me was that women’s spaces are important. When Buddhism came to the West in the 60’s and 70’s, we were quick to want “equality” of the sexes and never established women’s communities. But those are so important. There are a few all-women meditation retreats around the country, but it’s not the same as living residentially with other women.
Practicing with Buddhist nuns also expanded the definition of womanhood for me. So often in spiritual spaces, womanhood is tied with children and motherhood (think of “mother nature” or even “the mother of all buddhas”). But for most nuns, children don’t factor into the equation, marriage doesn’t factor into the equation, yet they are still women. Or not. Days and weeks would go by in the monastery where I wouldn’t see a man. If there are no men, can there really be women? Lots of us stopped thinking of ourselves as women, or we would transition in and out of thinking we were women. It wasn’t a big, explicit identity crisis, but it was something we definitely talked about.
What is your favorite recipe from the book and why?
Marinated fried eggplant is a favorite. I dream about it. Of course, this isn’t my recipe. It’s a common Japanese side dish, and I learned it from the Japanese nuns around me. I enjoy that recipe because so much of it is about transforming the vegetable. You need to score the skin with a knife. Then you deep fry it. Then you put it in broth. Then you add toppings.
And, it tastes really, really good.
How has the rise of secular mindfulness impacted Buddhism and meditation in the West?
I think of secular mindfulness in the same way that I think about Starbucks. On the one hand, it’s a big corporation designed to make tons of money. On the other hand, the coffee is really good and has a lot of caffeine in it. My father recently noticed that when a Starbucks moves into a neighborhood, it forces the local coffee shops to up their game. They start making better coffee.
I think secular mindfulness has had a similar effect on American Buddhism. More traditional Buddhists now have to reconcile the surging popularity of secular mindfulness and figure out ways to compete. Not to sound like a capitalist (I’m not I swear!), but I think this kind of competition is good for Buddhism. We need to adapt and address the needs of average people. Mindfulness is a billion dollar industry and it’s not from nothing. It’s because it helps people, often quite profoundly.
Of course there’s going to be people who complain that Starbucks is ruining the local coffee culture, or that mindfulness is ruining Buddhism, but I sort of feel like if an artisanal coffee shop is good enough, it’s going to stay in business no matter what. The same is true with traditional Buddhism. If it meets the needs of people, it will survive. If it doesn’t help the community, it will die out. Secular mindfulness and Starbucks can seem impersonal and heartless, but they do some things very well and very effectively, and we ignore that to our own detriment
What does Buddhism need to do to include more women, queer people, and people of color?
This question is flawed to begin with. People of color invented Buddhism, and women have been a part of it from the beginning. The black, queer feminist Mia McKenzie writes about how often people ask her, “How can feminism include more women of color?” She argues that this is the wrong question, and it’s the same with talking about diversity in Buddhism, I think.
Riffing off McKenzie, I often say that the question should not be, “How can we include more people of color,” but how can white people be worthy of Buddhism? That is a better question for me to grapple with. How can I, as a white woman, be worthy of this tradition? It means a lot of unpacking and personal work, to be honest. A lot of reading, and being challenged, and finding blocks in myself that need to be unlocked. It means working with my own shame, it means figuring out how I want to do reparations in this culture.
With regards to queer people in Buddhism, I am a queer woman married to a man. Something I’ve noticed is that lots of Buddhist spaces are very resistant to talk about sex and sexuality. This makes sense; Buddhism is grounded in a philosophy of celibacy. But for many queer people, sex-positivity is crucial to our sense of wholeness and vitality. I would like to see Buddhist communities address sex and sexuality in a better way. We have a lot of growth to do in this area.
Can non-Buddhists, atheists and agnostics still enjoy your book?
Of course! It is a cookbook first and foremost. Really, it’s two books for the price of one—a cookbook of vegan Japanese food, and also a meditation on the philosophy of “enoughness.” You could just read the narrative parts, or just use it as a cookbook. It’s designed to be both.
You’ve described yourself as “A fiery, insatiable, and rebellious feminist.” You often write articles for major magazines and you have a significant presence online. What has it been like to be an out feminist on the Internet and social media?
I often write feminist pieces or slightly angry pieces because no one else is saying what I’m thinking. For example, I was one of the few Buddhist teachers to write about Noah Levine (a famous Buddhist teacher who was accused of sexual assault) publicly. Everyone else seemed to be holding back, not making any statements. I understand that it was a tricky issue legally, but I still felt that I had an obligation to say that what he was doing was wrong.
Of course there are trolls or men who disagree with me. The old adage “don’t read the comments” is very, very true. When I published my article “Enlightenment is a Male Fantasy,” it went sort of viral and I made the mistake of reading the comments. That was disheartening. I try not to do that anymore.
On my own personal Twitter and Facebook accounts, I have zero tolerance for bullshit. My page, my rules. If you’re rude to me, I will name that and tell you to stop. If you’re invasive or verbally abusive I will block you. I think I’ve sort of trained my audience not to mess with me in certain ways.
I try to have good boundaries while also observing Buddhist precepts, especially right speech. It is a practice. Some public feminists like Roxane Gay are great role models for how to have boundaries online, but some of the things she says I would never say. I will never insult male commenters, for example. That’s her prerogative and I think she’s brilliant, but I have a different style. The phrase “What you’re doing is not acceptable to me” is one I employ a lot.
If readers could take one thing away from reading Just Enough, what would that be?
Salt is your friend. More salt than you think you need. But not too much.
Gesshin Claire Greenwood is the author of Just Enough and Bow First, Ask Questions Later. She also writes the popular blog ThatSoZen (thatsozen.blogspot.com). Ordained as a Buddhist nun in Japan by Seido Suzuki Roshi in 2010, she received her dharma transmission (authorization to teach) in 2015. She returned to the United States in 2016 to complete her master’s degree in East Asian Studies. A popular meditation teacher, she lives in San Francisco, California. Find out more about her work at Gesshin.net.
Note: The photos of the beautiful bowls and plates shown towards the top of this post are part of the decor at Noodies Thai Kitchen in New York City.
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