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[title]Buddhist cuisine, or shojin ryori, is not something you often encounter in Tokyo. The cooking style was introduced to Japan along with Buddhism back in the sixth century, became popular during the 13th century with the advent of Zen Buddhism, and has been adapted to local ingredients and tastes over time.
Its main characteristic? Virtually no animal products are used, keeping with the Buddhist tenant of ‘not taking life’. On top of that, root vegetables such as onions and garlic are prohibited too, as they are said to ‘excite’ and thus interfere with a monk’s virtues. Vegetarian-plus, if you will, bordering on vegan.
Until now, for a taste of shojin ryori in Tokyo, you have to be lucky enough to stay at a temple which feeds you, or splurge for a high-class interpretation at a top restaurant. Luckily, you can now try making it yourself at Chagohan Tokyo, a cooking school based in western Asakusa.
Chagohan's Hirano-san (left) and head priest Kakuho Aoe (right) cooking away – mindfully
The menu here was created in collaboration with Kakuho Aoe, head monk at the nearby Ryokusenji. Aoe-san used to be in charge of cooking for all the monks, and still hosts the occasional ‘Blind Restaurant’ nights at his temple, where guests are invited to taste his works while blindfolded to eliminate any preconceived notions. Lucky for us, he tagged along during our course at Chagohan, extolling some of shojin ryori’s finer points along the way.
In a few hours, you’ll be expected to make quite a bit of food: tororomushi (a steamed mix of grated daikon and Japanese yam), vegetarian pressed sushi topped with ‘egg’ (made from tofu), deep-fried vegetable skewers, and sautéed seasonal vegetable steaks, plus the Japanese meal requisite, miso soup.
While cooking alongside Chagohan’s Hirano-san, who made sure to explain things step-by-step while letting us get our hands dirty, Aoe-san interjected with some nuggets of wisdom on shojin ryori. The miso soup, for example, is made with dashi (stock); ‘but dashi usually uses katsuobushi, or shaved bonito flakes. So instead, we only make it with kombu (seaweed)’, Aoe explains.
Similarly, when we tried to shake off the excess oil from our skewers after deep-frying them, we were told not to do so: ‘If it sticks, it was meant to be. We need to show thanks for what we received and to the ingredients themselves, so if that means there’s still some oil, so be it.’ The same goes for what we put on our skewers: it included the kombu used for the dashi, as you’re not supposed to create any unnecessary waste.
Even the excess juice from this yam-daikon mixture can be used later on to make a topping for the steamed tororo
Indeed, shojin ryori is sometimes defined more by how you approach the meal rather than what you’re specifically cooking. ‘You can have Italian shojin ryori, Japanese shojin ryori – it’s not limited to one place’, Aoe-san notes. As long as you’re not using prohibited ingredients (mainly animal products and selected root vegetables), any cuisine could be adapted to fit Buddhist cooking. However, you also have to be fully present while cooking and eating, stay calm while doing so, and always appreciate and be grateful for what you’ve been able to receive. Now that’s something to munch on.
The final result
Of course, Aoe-san may not be present during all the courses at Chagohan, but Hirano-san and his wife are more than capable to incorporate his (food) teachings into the lesson. That being said, Hirano-san does admit that the menu ‘may be a bit more elaborate than your average shojin ryori served at a temple – I don’t think that they eat this much in one go.’ Considering our rather tasty end result (and a newfound appreciation for grated yam), we’re beginning to see the appeal of this little known cuisine.
Interested in taking the shojin ryori cooking class, or prefer to explore some of their other courses? Find out more about Chagohan Tokyo here.