Tenzo Note 9: Unveiling the Tenzo - Zen Tradition's Culinary Activist

Discover the captivating world of the Tenzo, the revered cook in Zen tradition. Valerie Duvauchelle shares the magic of food activism and its power to shape our unique narrative of self. 

In this post Mark Watson from the Dark Mountain project asks 8 intriguing questions, exploring the Zen origins of this culinary practice and its relevance in our modern reality. Embark on an inspiring journey of self-discovery and culinary wisdom! 🍲🌿🧘‍♀️

Could you please share a bit about your approach to food and the world as a Tenzo? What kind of space does it occupy, for example?

The essence of this question carries its answer, as it revolves around the concept of space, an openness that intertwines with the ever-advancing movement of life within us, toward us, and through us. This approach is inseparable from the practice precisely because it is rooted in movement. It is a wholehearted engagement of body and heart in every aspect of life, be it in the kitchen or in our mundane activities. It is about cultivating a relationship that stems from fully committing ourselves to everything we do. As a Tenzo, one practices the art of being present with the situation as it is. While cooking, for instance, the Tenzo simply cooks, immersing themselves in complete openness to whatever unfolds. Throughout the activity, the Tenzo cultivates the presence of "Beingwith": the space, others, ingredients, smells, and sounds. Ultimately, the Tenzo becomes realized, activated, and manifested through all of this, bearing witness to every phenomenon encountered. This space is akin to the dynamic stillness of contemplation, an active absorption where, in the receptive posture of an upright but tension-free sitting, we allow ourselves to be breathed, to be seated, to be lived by everything that arises, including emotions, sensations, and our inner turmoil. Everything is invited without judgment or rejection, and thus, everything is embraced, realized, and attested.

Is being a Tenzo a specific role you adopt, for example, during a Zen practitioner's meeting, or is it a full-time approach to life and the world?

The practice of being a Tenzo is not limited to a particular role or time. It encompasses a way of life that transcends both monastic and secular contexts. The Zen practice is as much applicable to the life of monastics as it is to the secular world. It embodies the dynamic contemplation through which we live (the term "zen" derives from "dynana," meaning contemplation or absorption, and "na," signifying activity or movement, which evolved into "chan-na" in China and "zen" in Japan). It leads us back to the source of our compassionate being, liberated from fears or at least tolerant of our shadow, thus opening the space for connection ("religare" in Latin) spoken of in all religious traditions. The Zen path involves cultivating a deep relationship with who we are and what is, and the practice of "Beingwithness." Whether in meditation or in the kitchen, on the subway or in the temple chanting a sutra, whether engaging in mundane or ritualized religious activities, we cultivate an open space for whatever arises and give rise to actions that align with the ever-changing circumstances. While there may be special moments during communal retreats where we fully immerse ourselves in this space, these moments hold meaning only when we integrate them into our daily lives.

Can you speak about the importance of color and flavor for the Tenzo when preparing food?

The term "Tenzo" comprises two kanji characters that mean "ordering the seats," which refers to giving each thing its proper place. The Tenzo's primary role is to help everyone find their place, which is harmonizing and organically adjusting to what is, being in accord with all phenomena as they arise. It is the place of the interconnected self, even within separate bodies. The Tenzo's contribution is to create porosity in our environment, allowing us to feel deeply touched by everything we encounter. In the act of cooking, the Tenzo reflects what is happening, using seasonally appropriate ingredients as well as incorporating emotions, joys, and tiredness to balance and nourish, in the true sense of the word. This nourishment contributes to a state of readiness for each individual to taste life as it is at that precise moment. The practice entails not favoring one flavor or color over another and caring for all flavors with varying intensities according to the situation (e.g., red and bitter in summer, green and acidic in spring, orange/brown and salty in autumn). Different cooking techniques (raw, cooked, boiled) reflect the diverse offerings, while preserving a calm neutrality amid the assembled polarities. By avoiding binary eating (e.g., salty or sweet), we prevent our minds from becoming binary (liking or disliking) and experiencing frustration. Through the various flavors, textures, and colors, we touch the center space, the silent taste that mysteriously soothes us. However, it's essential to remember that this cuisine can also be as simple as a bowl of rice with a few salted sesame seeds. It is primarily about the practice of being present in each situation and not a culinary dogma. While certain ingredients may be omitted during periods of introspection, such as retreats or funerary ceremonies, in our daily lives, we simply maintain an open conversation with what is present.

In a buffet style where meals are served on plates, the Tenzo keeps the 3 element base with the variety of colors, texture and savors that each season offers.__

Is it easy to become and be a female tenzo? Are there any gender-related challenges?

In the Zen monastic tradition, there is no distinction in terms of enlightenment between men and women. However, there are separate monasteries for women and men. Interestingly, there is a strong lineage of female Tenzos in Rinzai nunneries that impeccably convey the finesse of completeness, akin to the gastronomy of male chefs. In contrast, male Tenzos in Soto temples (another branch of Zen) may prepare heartier meals reminiscent of those cooked by grandmothers. In France and Japan alike, the practice mainly centers around the three qualities of simplicity, freshness, and cleanliness (san toku). One tries to incorporate all six flavors (rokumi, including awami or blandness) following the principles outlined by Master Dogen in his book "Instructions for the Zen Cook" (Tenzo Kyokun). While during communal retreats or ceremonies, the meals may be more elaborate, there is no discrimination based on gender, except, perhaps, in socio-economic contexts. In Japan, female temples often lack land and cemeteries and rely primarily on their culinary offerings. Personally, as a French practitioner, I have chosen the path of secular practice and my intention is to expand this practice to anyone who wishes to approach cooking as they approach life—with openness, without attachment to identity, without rigidifying things, and to realize that each act of cooking can be a temple, the most precious one, the temple of our own life, beyond any consideration of gender.

Can you tell us about ōryōki, what the bowls represent, and the ingredients they contain, both physically and on other levels?

Ōryōki refers to the "vessel of the just measure," with the prefix "Ō" signifying the continuous flow of this food, the circularity between nature, the Tenzo, and the practitioners who eat, and the never-ending stream of life that flows through us. It emphasizes the constant cycle of washing the bowl, making us better able to receive and give. Ōryōki is essential to the Zen food practice, harking back to the original act of almsgiving when Buddha's disciples would carry their bowls to beg for food. This practice embodies the experience of life's circularity. By begging, we position ourselves to receive, and by completely surrendering to this posture, we give others the opportunity to activate their generosity freely.

In China, under Confucianism, this practice found its way into temples, particularly because begging was not accepted by society. The cold mountains also contributed to the rise of monasteries and transformed the way this practice was expressed. The use of bowls is said to have emerged in the 8th century to recreate the spirit of abandon in almsgiving and extend it to the continuity of sitting meditation. Ōryōki also facilitates the practice of "the accorded measure," the intimate exploration of need and trust: each person decides what they require with awareness of others, and this awareness enables us to cultivate an understanding of our needs in our lives on Earth. Ōryōki is an embodiment of the body, be it in the unfolding of the ōryōki during monastic unpacking (small bundle) or in the ingestion of food, alternating between bowls. For the form, one bowl is sufficient, but in Japan, monks often use three to five bowls. The first bowl (representing the Buddha's skull, our awakened nature) holds unseasoned cereal, the second contains the main dish, which can be a simple miso soup with sautéed vegetables and tofu (or beans), and the third may include pickled vegetables, preferably lacto-fermented ("tsukemono"), but not necessarily. Animal products and liliaceous vegetables (such as garlic and onions) are not used in temples. This framework gives rise to a different sense of satiety, touching the heart with a feeling of deep contentment, as if one has been thoroughly nourished and is at peace.

What benefits can laypeople, who do not practice Zen, derive from this approach to cooking and food? How does it help the world?

It is essential to clarify that this practice is not limited to monastic or secular contexts but can manifest in various formal or informal ways. There is only one practice, one path—the path of Buddha, which accompanies us on the journey of deconditioning within conditioning, liberation within illusion, an eternal continuum of deconstruction and reconstruction of our water and cloud-like identities. This dance can be practiced in monasteries as well as in everyday life. When we engage in cooking or eating with the heart of the activity, we open the space of inclusion. It is not a concentration that separates but rather an openness, a complete availability to what is. When we cut an apple without any other intention than cutting an apple, we become present to everything that happens, and we allow ourselves to be moved by it. This way of living life, being fully present in every task, creates the space for freedom. We are no longer elsewhere, caught in fears or regrets, no longer manufacturing scenarios based on linear thinking. By cultivating this presence, we break the chain of causality. From this space emerges the intuition for right action, speech, or movement. We no longer react to the projections of our fears, which often express themselves as anxiety or anger, but instead, we act from the very source of our life. It is a form of activism—the dynamic contemplation that gives rise to a calm action, not a linear reactivity to our own narratives.

Of course, there will always be conditioning in all our actions, and this conditioning is necessary for us to see through our illusions. By cultivating the space of presence while doing, we detach ourselves from the fiction of a fixed identity that claims to know how to think and act differently. Practicing food and meals when feeling angry or sad allows us to gather ourselves and return to the core of our life. From this peaceful space, we act with tranquillity in the world, integrating all polarities into one taste, just as a Tenzo does. This helps us liberate and refine our actions. By surrendering to this practice, we cultivate mysterious joy and clarity, allowing ourselves to be guided by the vitality of life. I believe that we need to change our beliefs, to let the world save us instead of exhausting ourselves trying to save it. Reconnecting with the spontaneous sense of our actions and their enthusiastic impulse requires no effort but intention and commitment, making us more effective in our desire to contribute to the world.

Can you suggest a (simple) practice that everyone could do to connect with living systems, to connect with life, alone or in a group?

Everything in the Zen food practice invites us to be fully present with life:

Sit: Be at the heart of the sitting, fully engage with what is constantly happening.

Cook: Adapt to the situation, reflect what is, avoid waste, protect the silent taste (awami).

Contemplate : Recite the Five Contemplations before meals:

I contemplate all the energy and efforts required for this food to reach me.

I contemplate how I give back  in my life from  what I receive from food. 

I contemplate how this food protects me from greed, anger, and the illusion of separateness.

I contemplate how this food nourishes my body and maintains my health.

I contemplate how this food awakens my life together with all.

Simply eat. 

Wash your bowls. 

You can also read the final text of Mark Watson from Dark mountain publication online or in the last published version of Dark kitchen book .

You can read Tenzo Note 8 The Path of the Cook here

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