Yes, I was a teenage vegetarian. Originally, it started when I read Frances Moore Lappe’s Diet for a Small Planet in the early 1970s and was awestruck by her straightforward explanation of how much grain it takes to produce one pound of meat. I remember the ratio being something like 10:1, and was floored by the seeming insanity.

Though my efforts started off in a noble direction, I have to admit that I also discovered that being a vegetarian had a golden perk for a teenager: the ability to irritate adults!

My parents both grew up in the Depression and viewed the ability to put meat on the plate as an important symbol of well-being, so it was next to impossible for them to understand why I wouldn’t eat it. Of course, their frustration made it all the more possible for the fourteen-year-old me to refuse a nice, juicy lamb chop – no matter how badly I wanted it.

It was also really fun for me and my friends to go into Burger King during their “Have It Your Way” era and order a Whopper … with no meat. The look on the face of the poor server who had the misfortune of having to take our order was always worth a juvenile giggle, however, a "veggie Whopper" was not only a little bit cheaper, but also actually quite tasty.

I remained a quasi-vegetarian – I ate chicken and the annual hamburger – until my mid-30s, so obviously, I had to learn to cook like one. Though my mom was a great cook, vegetables were always considered a side dish, so preparing them as an entrée was something I was going to have to find out for myself.

These days, vegetarian and vegan cooking are front and center in culinary conversations, but it certainly wasn’t always so. However, if you made the effort to learn more about vegetarian cooking, one of your early touchstones was probably Edward Espe Brown.

In the 1970s, the lentil-colored covers of Brown’s Tassajara Cooking and The Tassjara Bread Book were almost as de rigueur in vegetarian kitchens as the legumes themselves. He further cemented his reputation as vegetarian guru in 1985 with The Tassajara Recipe Book, and in 1987 when he co-authored The Greens Cook Book with the founder of the influential San Francisco restaurant, Deborah Madison. In 1997 came his book Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings, and he appeared in How to Cook Your Life, a critically acclaimed feature-length documentary directed by German director Doris Doerrie in 2007 (available on DVD).

Last year, in 2009, Brown – who is an ordained Zen priest – unveiled a new title, The Complete Tassajara Cookbook: Recipes, Techniques, and Reflections from the Famed Zen Kitchen (at Tassajara Zen Mountain Center outside Carmel, the oldest Zen monastery in the United States). This latest book includes several new recipes, as well as rewritten and revisited ideas from the Tassajara books and Tomato Blessings, so “it’s really a culmination of a life’s work.”

Recently, I was fortunate enough to be able to interview Brown in advance of a book-signing trip to Morro Bay, and when I asked if he saw himself as being ahead of the curve of vegetarian cooking, Brown quickly laughed and said, “You tell me!” Such a comment is indicative both of the man and of his approach to cooking. Though his baking book was once dubbed the “Bread Bible,” and a scrubbed press release from an earlier project lauded him as someone who “will teach even inveterate meat eaters how to produce vegetarian masterpieces,” Brown shuns such authoritative pronouncements.

“Many cookbooks and self-help books convey the attitude that ‘if you do what I tell you, everything will work out’,” observed Brown. “That really reflects more towards the author than you because it suggests that there’s always someone more expert than you, that you’re the proverbial child. Why not be the adult? A true adult can be both adult and child.”

Indeed, Brown’s books have the tenor of someone guiding you through the practice of cooking, much like a parent patiently teaching their child to ride a bike. Trial, error, and hopefully some fun along the way, eventually result in that moment of success when the parent can let go of the bike and watch their kid sail down the street.

“What cookbooks rarely mention is that, yes, cooking can be stressful and can be challenging, but you have to nurture the activity and learn it for yourself,” Brown said. “With anything you care about there going to be fiascos -- that’s what’s interesting, so if you want to cook, start cooking!”

Such a statement may sound overly simplistic, especially coming from someone who’s both an accomplished chef and a Zen priest, but Brown is the very first to admit, “I’m a human being.” In fact, he even wanted to name his 1997 book Tomato Fiascos and Radish Teachings because “it can be refreshing to find out that you have the same problems and concerns as the so-called expert.”

With its encouraging voice and engaging anecdotes about both successes and setbacks in the kitchen, The Complete Tassajara Cookbook is a perfect match for the beginning and/or anxious cook. Though many recipes purposely omit exact measurements to encourage experimentation with your own tastes and preferences, other chapters and sections go into significant detail about such basics as slicing techniques, pans and bread boards.

When asked what this new cookbook might have to offer more experienced cooks, Brown offered an answer both simple and sublime: “support and encouragement for fully embodying the art of cooking.” He asks of all of us, regardless of culinary expertise, “What does it mean to really cook? Cooking isn’t something that should grab your attention; it’s something to which you should give your attention. The gift of attention is a gift that’s so pivotal to our lives, whether it’s in cooking, in relationships, or in life.”

In other words, “when you wash the rice, wash … the … rice.”