Ichibutsu Zentai: Zero-Waste Cooking
- Eiten
- 1 day ago
- 5 min read
Ichibutsu zentai is the second principle of shōjin ryōri. Rooted in the understanding that everything is fundamentally equal, there is no better or worse parts of an ingredient. From root to leaf, each part is brimming with potential. We just need to train ourselves to see it.
My simple translation of it is this: use everything, waste nothing. It is the concept of zero-waste cooking. In the monastery kitchen there is no such thing as “just turnip greens” or “only the stems of the mushrooms.” Everything is viewed indiscriminately, and, as such, is handled with the same level of respect, reverence, and gratitude.
Being a monk, I understand that nothing in the natural world is superfluous, and that all things are at their core level Buddha Nature. On the surface there seem to be differences that allow for us to pass judgements and make distinctions between this and that, or right and wrong. But that is not reality. Reality is that everything that we experience and observe is simply a different form and expression of a greater whole. It is the teaching of interdependence in action. Everything is a part of something bigger.
That same truth shows up on a restaurant’s profit & loss statement too. It’s not just a spiritual concept. It is a matter of economics. Full utilization and decreased waste are two factors that can make or break a restaurant depending upon how well they are managed. It is what allows us to keep the lights on, extending hospitality to our guests and providing a means by which our employees can earn a living for themselves and their families. Or not.
The levels of obligation are extensive, and as we start to reveal and understand them it becomes clear that Ichibutsu zentai is not just an approach that we can take. It is the approach that we must take. Anything less would be disrespectful and irresponsible to ourselves, others, and the planet.
The Problem of Mottainai: Wasted Food, Wasted Potential
According to the Food and Agricultural Organization, roughly one-third of all food grown for human consumption never reaches a plate (FAO, Global Food Losses and Food Waste, 2011). That is a staggering amount of waste. And it extends well beyond the plate. Along with the food, we also discard the fresh water, cropland, fertilizer, fuel, and labor that went into growing it.
There is another Japanese term that often accompanies Ichibutsu zentai: mottainai. It means, “what a waste,” and refers to missed opportunity and squandered potential of something. When we trim and discard broccoli stems, toss away daikon leaves, or peel ginger into the garbage bin, that is mottainai. But more than that, we are worsening a global crisis.
Food waste now rivals the aviation industry in annual carbon output (WRAP, November 2024). It claims nearly a quarter of the world’s agricultural land while squandering the resources required to farm the land and produce the crops. Yet, while farms overproduce by the millions of tons, more than 700 million people face chronic hunger. Mottainai.
The math paints a stark picture: if we used what we already harvest—peels, stalks, and all—we could drastically cut methane-emitting landfill masses, while freeing up enough calories to feed entire nations. Discarding “unusable” parts isn’t just a minor kitchen oversight; it is a systemic leak that limits our ability to nourish everyone on the planet. Period. Think about that.
The Solution: Ichibutsu Zentai
Whole-ingredient cooking is therefore not a niche virtue but a necessary response to climate stress, water scarcity, and global food insecurity. Embracing Ichibutsu zentai turns every decision to use the entirety of an ingredient into a conscious and deliberate act of conservation and compassion.
Ichimotsu zentai is not simply a technique. It is a philosophical and moral position. It is a commitment to defending the world’s resources, its eco-system, and its inhabitants. It implores us to slow down and ask the question, “How can I honor this ingredient fully?”
In shōjin ryōri the answer is to use every edible part. Not just for the sake of our personal economy, but because in doing so we are acknowledging the interconnectedness of all things. Our decisions not only impact us, but the world around us as well. With each decision we are deciding what the world of tomorrow will look like.
From Principle to Plate: Zero-Waste Cooking in Practice
Starting to put this into practice isn’t difficult. It is a matter of setting the intention to take action. It’s that simple. My only advice, as always, is to start small.
Take a humble bunch of turnips for example. I was testing a recipe for kikka-kabu no amazu-zuke (sweet and sour turnips). The recipe requires trimming down the turnips significantly, so that they can be cut to look like chrysanthemum blossoms. That meant that I had all of the greens plus the peelings.
It is an extremely beautiful presentation, but also potentially wasteful. I think that when I weighed it there was something like a third of the weight of the initial bunch leftover in the form of trimmings. This presented a perfect opportunity as I was writing this to put the principle to practice in order to demonstrate its full power.
In the end I got three complete dishes out of one bunch of turnips that cost around $4:
an entire batch of kikka-kabu no ama-zuke
a wonderfully full-flavored and pungent miso soup made from the turnip peels and just a touch of the greens
a quick salt-cured pickle made from the remaining turnip greens
Literally not a single fiber was wasted. Better yet I had enough food for my wife and I for two back-to-back meals. All we had to do was cook a batch mugi gohan to eat with it all.
Your Turn: One Ingredient, Two Meals
Try that yourself next time you go to the market. Buy one thing, like a bunch of turnips or asparagus. Before you start cooking think about what it is that you are going to make initially. Then think about what will be left after the prep for that dish is done.
Now ask yourself the most important question: what you can do with the leftovers? Often we discard things, declaring them inedible. But the truth is, most parts—especially of fruits and vegetable—are edible. The trick is to start seeing things with clear eyes, rather than act out of habit.
Practicing Ichibutsu zentai doesn’t require that you work in a professional kitchen or live in a monastery. It requires awareness of the full potential of things. It is an invitation to live fully. To waste less. To appreciate more. And to remember that when seen clearly, each part contains the whole.
Starting with this simple intentional act, you will notice a change. A change in the way that you cook. The way that you eat. The way that you relate to the world. Perhaps this is the deepest teaching of Ichibutsu zentai: not to just honor the turnip greens, but to also honor the part of you that is learning to see reality with clear eyes.
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