We live surrounded by food in a way no other generation has. Grocery aisles stretch endlessly, filled with choices that shift from season to season. Restaurants advertise innovation rather than nourishment. Social media multiplies these messages by turning every plate into an image, where food is judged by how it looks on a screen rather than how it sustains the body. Eating, which should be a natural rhythm, has become a performance.
Within this environment two patterns dominate. On one side there is indulgence, where meals are layered with too many ingredients and too many courses, each designed to impress. On the other side there is the fast solution of instant and processed food, cheap and convenient but hollow in nourishment. Both paths share the same flaw: they separate eating from the simple act of living well.
Against this backdrop an old Japanese phrase carries a quiet power. 一汁一菜 (ichijū issai, literally “one soup and one dish”) describes the practice of eating rice, soup, and a single side dish as a complete meal. Rather than rely on the literal translation, which feels too bare in English, we can call it rich simplicity. This captures the essence: a meal that is modest in appearance yet abundant in nourishment and meaning.
The Origins of Rich Simplicity
The roots of this idea reach back to temple life in Japan. Zen monks practiced shōjin ryōri, a form of cooking that excluded meat and emphasized balance and restraint. Meals were not elaborate, because the purpose was clarity of mind. A bowl of soup, a side dish of vegetables or tofu, and rice provided enough energy to sustain long hours of meditation and work.
In later centuries, particularly during the Muromachi period (14th to 16th centuries), the elite developed the more formal structure of one soup and three side dishes. This became the model for banquets and refined dining, symbolizing cultural status. Yet for everyday life, many households returned to the simpler pattern. A family did not need three sides every night. A single dish, prepared with care, was sufficient when paired with soup and rice.
In modern times the idea was revived by the food writer and teacher Yoshiharu Doi. He argued that rich simplicity was not a relic but a living practice that could ease the burden of contemporary households. Especially for those who felt trapped by the expectation of elaborate meals, this approach offered freedom. A meal of soup, rice, and one side was not a failure of effort but a sign of wisdom. It was enough, and in being enough it was beautiful.
The Crisis of Indulgence Today
The relevance of rich simplicity becomes clearer when we examine the current state of food and health culture. We live not only with too much food but with too many illusions of what we supposedly lack. Supplements are advertised as if ordinary meals can no longer provide basic nutrition. Bottles of pills and powders claim to add energy, extend youth, or enhance strength. They are marketed less as tools and more as necessities, convincing people that their bodies are defective without them.
For women, this pressure often appears in cosmetics and diet products, many of them expensive and promoted with promises of transformation. The underlying message is consistent: your natural self is inadequate. For men, the pressure arrives through bodybuilding culture and competitive sports. Muscles once admired as the sign of vitality now often depend on steroids and chemical enhancement. Instead of inspiring health, many professional athletes reveal the cost of extremes, facing chronic injuries or shortened lifespans.
The paradox is sharp. Those who look healthy or beautiful often live in unhealthy ways to maintain the appearance. What society calls discipline is often obsession. What appears as strength is sometimes a form of slow destruction. Indulgence wears the mask of vitality, but underneath it erodes both body and mind.
Rich Simplicity as a Modern Update
In earlier times, rich simplicity was not always free of risk. A diet of soup, one side, and rice could lead to deficiencies when variety was scarce. Zen monks accepted such hardship as part of their discipline, and ordinary people endured it as the condition of life. Longevity was shorter, and many suffered from nutritional gaps that they could not avoid.
Today, the situation is different. Modern nutrition science has given us the knowledge to compose simple meals that still meet every essential requirement. With seasonal vegetables, tofu, fish, or beans, a soup and one side can cover proteins, vitamins, and minerals. The simplicity no longer means deprivation. It can be designed as a form of completeness.
This is what makes rich simplicity so relevant now. It resists the extremes of indulgence and convenience alike. It gives dignity to home cooking without demanding extravagance. It allows families to step away from the exhausting cycle of constant variety and novelty. A bowl of miso soup with seaweed, a side of grilled fish or stewed vegetables, and rice can be both healthy and satisfying. The strength of the meal lies not in its complexity but in its proportion.
Learning from Kenji Miyazawa’s Poetry
The writer Kenji Miyazawa (1896–1933) embodied the spirit of this approach to life. He was a poet, a teacher, a farmer, and a devout Buddhist who sought to unite literature with service to his community in rural Iwate. In his most famous work, Ame ni mo Makezu (Be Not Defeated by the Rain), he sketches the portrait of an ideal person: strong in body, humble in spirit, devoted to others, and content with little. Among the details of this figure’s daily life is a diet of unpolished rice, miso, and vegetables.
For Miyazawa, the meal was not just food. It was a symbol of humility and resilience, an image of a life that was modest yet full of compassion. His words have inspired generations of readers who see in his vision a reminder that greatness does not require excess. Strength can be found in what is ordinary, and beauty in what is plain.
Yet his reality must also be remembered. He lived in an era of hardship, when scarcity was unavoidable. To copy him literally would mean embracing deprivation that is no longer necessary. What we can do instead is learn from his values. We can carry forward the humility and sufficiency he praised, while also using the knowledge available to us today. In this way, his vision becomes a guide rather than a command, pointing us toward the dignity of enough.
A Philosophy of Sufficiency
Rich simplicity is more than a culinary idea. It reflects a philosophy of sufficiency that appears in many traditions. In Buddhism, there is the teaching of 知足 (chisoku), which means “know when enough is enough.” In Confucian thought, there is the principle of the mean, which avoids extremes and honors balance. These teachings converge on the same truth: excess does not bring freedom, while sufficiency often does.
When we eat simply, we are practicing this truth in daily life. We are resisting the constant voices of consumer culture that tell us we are lacking. We are recovering the ability to say, “this is enough.” That ability then extends beyond the meal.
The same principle can shape how we approach possessions, reminding us that freedom often comes from having less. It can influence how we use technology, encouraging us to avoid the trap of constant upgrades. It can even inform how we understand relationships, where depth matters more than quantity. In all of these areas, rich simplicity becomes a living symbol of balance.
A Way Forward
The lesson of rich simplicity is that healing comes from proportion, not from accumulation. By recovering this older wisdom we can steady ourselves in a culture that constantly pushes toward excess. We can choose meals that nourish rather than overwhelm. We can refuse the illusion that health and beauty come from endless supplements or artificial enhancements.
To live with rich simplicity is not to deny ourselves joy. It is to discover that joy is already present in enough. A simple meal can be abundant if prepared with care. A balanced life can feel rich without being extravagant. What matters is not the number of dishes but the spirit in which they are shared.
The invitation of rich simplicity remains gentle but powerful. It calls us to rediscover sufficiency as a form of richness. In a time when indulgence has become the new form of poverty, this ancient wisdom offers a way to live more freely. Rich simplicity does not ask us to return to the past, but to carry its wisdom forward into the present. To live richly by living simply.
Image by THAM YUAN YUAN
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