Until last month, I’d never in my adult life had a meaningful encounter with a bean sprout. Usually, I wolf them down, a healthy afterthought crowning the spring mix. I hadn’t noticed the jauntiness of the leaves and the stems. Like most things, I’d caught them out of the corner of my eye, on the way to someplace else.

Our meeting occurred at a Buddhist meditation dinner. I’m no Buddhist, but I am highly curious. And I couldn’t resist test-driving the dinner in silence offered at a local church auction.