The Kitchen as a Spiritual Path
For me, Wabi Sabi in the kitchen is far more than just a place to prepare food.
It is a sacred space — a soul’s laboratory. Here, the invisible becomes visible. Every gesture, no matter how small, begins to matter.
Lately, I’ve found deep inspiration in Tenzo Kyōkun — Instructions for the Zen Cook — by Eihei Dōgen, the 13th-century Japanese Zen master and founder of the Sōtō school.
This short but profound text elevates the role of the temple cook (tenzo) to a path of spiritual practice. In the monastery, the cook is not a subordinate servant, but a person entrusted with manifesting the Way through mindful, embodied action: washing the rice with attention, selecting vegetables with care, arranging food with clarity of heart.
Even the most mundane kitchen gesture becomes sacred when approached with presence.
If you read Italian, I recommend the translation and commentary by Yūhō Yokoi in the book Tenzo Kyōkun—Instruzioni a un cuoco zen.
Principles of the Wabi-Sabi Kitchen
The philosophy of wabi sabi teaches us to appreciate the beauty of imperfection, as well as impermanence, and simplicity: rooted in Zen Buddhism, this aesthetic values what is weathered by time, what is incomplete and modest.
Firstly the kitchen, this becomes more than a visual choice — it’s a way of being. It’s an invitation to choose seasonal ingredients, humble but meaningful materials, and recipes that honor memory and presence.
However in order to go deeper a deeper understanding of this worldview, Leonard Koren’s Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers by Leonard Koren an essential reference.
Here, wabi sabi becomes not only a visual code but a lived ethic — one that welcomes asymmetry, roughness, earthiness, and the calm that arises when we let go of striving for perfection.
Furthermore Wabi Sabi kitchen is not minimalist for aesthetic sake — it is pared down so that space can breathe, so that what matters can shine through.
In the kitchen, this approach translates into preparing dishes with seasonal ingredients, often humble yet rich in memory and meaning. It’s an invitation to find beauty in the most modest details: chipped plates, soaking legumes, ancient aromas that inhabit the home.
Rituals and Memory: The Kitchen as Heritage
So, the kitchen becomes a place of emotional transmission. Repeated gestures become rituals; recipes become diaries passed down.
In Japan, this attention to the everyday is linked to a beautiful word: Yō no Bi (用の美), meaning “the beauty of everyday things.” It’s an aesthetic that recognizes the value of objects that accompany us in life, precisely because they are marked by time and function.
This concept, introduced by the thinker Yanagi Sōetsu, suggests that functional objects become more beautiful through time and use. Such is the case, for instance, of a ladle worn smooth by years of stirring, or of a chipped bowl, beloved for its history.
This idea resonates deeply with me. I don’t believe beauty is reserved for the new or the untouched — I find it in the objects marked by life.
The Wabi-Sabi Kitchen Through the Seasons: Autumn as a Time for Reflection
Each season brings its own textures, colors, and flavors — but autumn, in particular, feels aligned with the Wabi Sabi kitchen.
It’s a season of slowing down, of cooking food that is “dense with time,” to borrow a phrase I find both poetic and true.
Chestnut soup. Charred radicchio. Stewed cabbage leaves.
These are not just recipes — they are invitations to be present, to prepare food slowly and to align with the rhythm of the earth.
In Japan, the traditional cuisine known as Washoku (和食) honors this seasonal sensitivity. Recognized by UNESCO as intangible cultural heritage, Washoku emphasizes respect for natural cycles, harmonious presentation, as well as deep gratitude for nourishment.
Ceramics and the Wabi-Sabi Kitchen: A Natural Union
As a ceramic artist, the kitchen is never far from my thoughts — it’s where my objects come alive.
Each bowl, cup, or plate I shape is not made to be admired from afar, but to be used.
Their lines emerge from my own gestures of serving, offering, and containing, while their surfaces reflect the dialogue between hand, earth, and time.
A Wabi Sabi kitchen doesn’t seek flawless perfection, celebrating instead the glaze that runs slightly off center, the edge that bears the memory of a thumb.
Each mark is a trace of presence.
The Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie (一期一会) — “one time, one meeting” — reminds me that each use of a ceramic piece is unique.
Every meal, every setting, every moment at the table is unrepeatable. There is grace in this.
Aesthetics and Functionality: The Wabi-Sabi Table
Designing a table in the Wabi Sabi spirit means seeking the perfect balance between function and form.
As Yanagi Sōetsu writes in The Unknown Craftsman “True beauty is born from the hand that serves.” not from the one that flaunts.
That philosophy guides my ceramic work.
My soup bowls have high walls to retain warmth; my salad bowls open gently to invite light; my plates expand modestly, leaving room for food to breathe.
Nothing is superfluous. Every detail is intentional.
These choices are not technical. They are poetic.
They are born from observing how people eat, how hands move, how light falls.
The Wabi-Sabi Kitchen in Daily Life
My daily rhythm isn’t structured by rigid routines.
Rather, it moves like a spontaneous choreography — between dough and clay, between baking and wheel-throwing.
In the sensitive chaos of my atelier, things happen.
There is no fixed program. I follow what wants to emerge.
And in the kitchen, just like in art, every day is different. Every dish is a new opportunity to come back to presence.
To cook is not a separate activity from creating. It is creation.
The materials may differ — flour or porcelain — but the gesture is the same: listening, shaping, offering.
My Wabi-Sabi Ceramics in Sale & Pepe
I’m delighted that some of my bowls appeared in the November issue of Sale & Pepe magazine, in the feature “Contemporary Pastas.”
The magazine’s new restyling gracefully embraces the Wabi-Sabi spirit: natural materials, intimate settings, seasonal ingredients.
In this feature, my bowls host chestnuts, pumpkins, ancient grains, legumes.
It’s the poetry of the everyday — shaped by earth, carried by hand, warmed by fire.
Conclusion: Embracing the Wabi-Sabi Kitchen
The Wabi-Sabi kitchen is an invitation to live with attention and gratitude; to recognize that even cooking can be meditation; to prepare a meal for oneself or others with presence, love, and care; finally, to use hands with respect, honor the material, celebrate simplicity.
As Dōgen writes, even washing rice can become a sacred gesture if done with a clear spirit.
