Shōjin Ryōri Plant-Based Eating: Three Timeless Principles to Simplify Your Transition
- Edward Higgins
- Jun 15
- 10 min read
Updated: 20 hours ago
In my last post, I shared the mindset that's guided my own plant-based transition: a long-term commitment to progress over perfection, grounded in compassion and mindfulness. I also offered some practical strategies for making this shift both realistic and sustainable—for regular people like you and me.
Whether you're juggling a busy schedule and a tight budget, looking to optimize your health, or seeking deeper ethical alignment between your values and your daily food choices, you're not alone in choosing to make a positive change.
But as many of us quickly realize, transitioning to a plant-based diet isn't just about what we remove from our plates—it's also about what we add. What do we invite into our lives and meals to replace what we've made the choice to leave behind?
For me, the answer lies in shōjin ryōri: an 800-year-old culinary tradition still practiced in Buddhist temples throughout Japan. In this post, I’ll give a brief introduction—exploring what it is (and what it isn't), its history in Japan, and share the three simple yet profound principles at its core—principles that are easy to adopt and can immediately simplify your own plant-based journey.
Let’s get started.
Pathway to Hiei-zan Gyōin in the Yokawa Area of Enryaku-ji・Shiga Prefecture, Japan
What Is Shōjin Ryōri?
Shōjin ryōri (精進料理) literally means “devotion cuisine". Its origins are rooted in the practice amongst Buddhist monks of using food as a means of spiritual cultivation. It is much more than a diet—it is a philosophy of living—one that brings together simplicity, mindfulness, compassion, and deep reverence for nature and its offerings.
The tradition arrived in Japan over 800 years ago, at the same time that Zen, or Chan, Buddhism came across the Sea of Japan from China. Dōgen Zenji, the founder of the Japanese Sōtō Zen School of Buddhism, is believed to have brought it with him when he returned home in 1227. There is some indication that it was already in the country for several hundreds of years, but its prevalence in the culture was heightened after Dōgen's return, especially following the publication of his guide for the lead cooks of Zen monasteries, Tenzō Kyōkun (典座教訓), or Instructions for the Cook, as it is commonly translated in English in 1237. In Instructions, Dōgen emphasizes the spiritual significance of the preparation of food, and makes it clear that the simple act of cooking—in fact anything if performed with single-minded focus—is nothing short of enlightenment itself.
The shōjin ryōri diet is born from the teaching of non-violence and is thus plant-based. It is more or less vegan, though there are some that make exceptions to the use of mayonnaise and other animal derivative products that don't involve outright killing. Exceptions aside it does not utilize meat, fish, eggs (except in the mayo!) and dairy.
There is also a prohibition in place that excludes the use of what are known as the gokun (五葷), which are essentially all of the alliums—chives, garlic, leeks, onions, and scallions. There is quite a bit of debate as to why this is. The most common belief is that these vegetables overstimulate the practitioner, simultaneously arousing violent and sensual feelings, and, thus, are not conducive to either mindfulness or compassion. I accept this as the basis for the prohibition, and as a professional chef would add that they tend to be a bit overpowering, and would disrupt the subtle balance of flavors that is the end game of most Japanese cooking, shōjin ryōri being no exception.
At this point, it's important to pause and clarify: shōjin ryōri is not a rigid system of dietary rules. While there are some guidelines, they are meant to foster mindfulness and intention, not denial. It is about celebration, gratitude and connection: connection to nature and the passing seasons; connection to our local community; and connection to our own mind, body and spirit.
This is where this philosophy becomes extremely helpful and relevant to anyone navigating the transition from a traditional Western diet to a more plant-based one. Shōjin ryōri offers a holistic approach: first by helping create the proper mindset, and then providing a clear path. A path that is principled, that creates the opportunity to eat with both integrity and joy.
The path is easy to implement and consists of three core principles:
Shun (旬) – Eat in Harmony with the Seasons
Ichibutsu Zentai (一物全体) – Utilize Ingredients Fully
Shindo Fuji (身土不二) – Cook What is Available
These three principles are not only foundational to shōjin ryōri, they are immediately actionable steps that we can all take. They offer clarity in the often confusing diet advice space, inviting us to return to the natural rhythm of life and allow the rest to take care of itself.
Shun (旬): Eat in Harmony with the Seasons
Shun refers to the precise moment when an ingredient is at its peak in terms of flavor, energy and nutritional value. If you have ever eaten a tomato out of season (and we all have), you get it. Think of a tomato that has been grown in a greenhouse under artificial light in the dead of winter, picked extremely underripe to allow it to withstand the process of packing, shipping and selling in a supermarket often hundreds of miles away. Compare that to one that is ripened under the summer sun, bursting with flavor, grown locally, and eaten fresh from the vine. The difference is beyond taste—it is vitality.
With a little effort to identify the local grocers and farmers markets in our surrounding area, we can eat better for less. Food when it is abundant and in-season is cheaper, fresher and more nutrient dense. Every dollar spent is a dollar spent on the value of the ingredient for our health and wellbeing, not unnecessary and environmentally suspect packaging or transport.
Couple that with the financial support that we give to our neighbors and community when we make a conscious decision to choose to go ever so slightly out of our way to find these local gems. It's a win-win.
Ichibutsu Zentai (一物全体): Utilize Ingredients Fully
This is obvious, but food shouldn't be wasted. It is a gift from nature, and for those of us fortunate to live in a time and place where we do little more than drive to a store to purchase it, it is a privilege in many respects. There are those living elsewhere who have to try harder, work longer and even then barely find that they have enough to get by. It is a matter of respect for them; for nature and its resources; and the people that work with those resources to all but give us the food that we eat. Honor it. Don't waste it.
When I was the Executive Chef at a luxury international hotel chain in Tokyo, we hosted a dinner with a Japanese chef who ran a Michelin restaurant in the south of France. One evening he prepared a simple dish that had only two components: Wagyu beef and locally sourced grilling onions. The onions stole the plate: they were bold, beautifully charred and whole, with their roots in tact. When I asked why he made the decision, the answer was equally as simple as it was profound: because it's edible.
Often we give ourselves a free pass to feel good about our near fanatical commitment to composting or other such socially aware efforts to reduce waste. I am not suggesting composting is not something we should all be doing. But it can breed an insidious sort of complacency if we don't give it a second thought. It allows us to bypass the challenge of asking ourselves how we could utilize the 'lesser' parts of ingredients instead of tossing them into our green compost bins and patting ourselves on the back.
Ichibutsu Zentai teaches us that there’s no such thing as a ‘lesser’ part of the plant—only an opportunity for deeper connection and creativity.
Shindō Fuji (身土不二): Cook What is Available
Cooking with what is available is my take on this. But a direct translation would be something to the effect of, "body and earth are inseparable," which is a reminder that we are a part of the environment, not the overlords of it. We need to exist in harmony and collaborate with it, rather than attempt to subjugate it to our external control.
That starts by realizing that there is a rhyme, rhythm and reason to the seasons and the changes that they bring. When we start thinking of the earth as a partner rather than a resource, we start to see the food that it produces differently. It is no longer a matter of taking what we want, but taking what we need.
Understanding when we have taken our full share, we intentionally leave the rest for others, ensuring that we can all survive and thrive—including the animals that we share the environment with. Up on the mountain, one of my favorite practices (remember everything is practice!) was taking the food that was removed from the various altars and bringing it to a perch that was constructed at the edge of the forest. We spread the food out as part of a ritualistic offering to the birds and animals living alongside of us. Nothing went to waste, and we got a moment to reflect on our obligation to steward the planet and its resources, providing for others without having to be asked.
There are two things that I think we can take away from this principle of shindō fuji. The first is to eat as hyper-locally as possible. This is not only economical, but a sound nutrition strategy, as local food is fresher, tastier and more nutrient dense that its industrial analog. The second is to develop a deep connection with our surroundings and all of the living beings—of all shapes, colors and genuses—that we share the planet with.
Shindō fuji brings us back to the land, encouraging us to eat the food available to us right here, right now. Not because it is trendy to do so, and it makes for a great social media post. It isn't just metaphorical rhetoric or grandstanding for the sake of a few views and likes. It is literally an opportunity to make an authentic connection meal by meal.
Shōjin Ryōri Plant-Based Eating: How to Put it into Practice
To get started, you don't need to go and throw out everything in your pantry and start from scratch. Or learn the latest shock technique trending on TikTok.
When I made the decision to start the transition to a more plant-based diet, the first thing I did was cook my way through the remaining items on my kitchen shelves. It was there because I at some point made the conscious decision to buy it, with the intention to cook it and eat it.
Regardless of the new leaf I was turning, I first had to fulfill my obligation and duty to the efforts of everyone that made those things available for me to purchase in the first place. I could have made a donation to a local food bank, I suppose. That just didn't sit right with me though. I couldn't come to terms with the idea that it wasn't good for me to eat, but it was somehow good for someone else.
Assuming that your pantry is a better place to start than mine was, begin by employing the principles as you do your meal planning for the week. What is in season now? Shun. Springtime? Maybe there is locally grown asparagus at the markets. Shindō fuji. Break the more fibrous ends of the stalks away, and gently peel the tops. Steam the perfect spears and have them for dinner tonight. Keep everything else for tomorrow. What can you do with it? A simple pureed vegetable soup is the first thing that comes to mind, but the more you consciously engage in the practice of seeking out a practical use for every last part of the ingredients you have on hand, the possibilities become endless. Ichibutsu zentai.
Eating isn't entertainment, though it is at times pleasurable and fun. It’s a meditation on seasonality, wholeness, and place. Don't waste the food or the opportunities it offers.
Why This Matters
These principles of shōjin ryōri plant-based eating are simple, but they are new. Like anything new it will take some time to adjust, to build consistency. But you will learn, and you will adjust. During the initial stages just remember to set aside time each week to think about what you accomplished up to now, and build on that momentum by starting to plan the coming week's meals.
Here is a simple list of questions to help you to avoid overwhelm, gain clarity and make sustainable change, rooted in wisdom:
What's in season? Buy that.
What often gets discarded? Use that.
What is growing nearby? Eat that.
Eating this way will become second nature in no time. No need to worry about time and money; you will learn that it is actually easier than you think, and one ingredient can often yield two meals in little more time that it takes to produce one. The increased sense of wellbeing knowing that you are making better decisions for your own health and the environment will foster feelings of joy and gratitude as you cook away in the kitchen. Something much larger than food is at play. You aren't just building a repertoire of dishes, you are building a new understanding of eating and a new relationship with food.
A Gentle Invitation
Each meal is an opportunity to practice compassion, mindfulness and devotion. It's just a matter of how you chose to see it. How you relate to the practice of eating and to the principles I outlined. I encourage you to simply start now, wherever you are and begin to let them guide you along the path forward.
In the next few posts I will be looking a bit closer at each principle one at a time. As I do that, I will be sharing a bit more about what I am cooking personally as the spring gives way to summer here in Hokkaido. The food will be a bit different at times, but the principles are timeless and borderless.
I would love to hear from you in the meantime. Is there a specific principle that resonated with you the most? How are you planning to start putting it into practice in your kitchen? As always, please feel free to drop me a message below or DM me on Instagram if you care to share your answers or if you have any relevant insights from your personal experience that you think would add to the conversation.
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