During the month of October, Soleil Ho is only reviewing vegetarian restaurants. Have a suggestion? Let us know: food@sfchronicle.com

When driving through East Palo Alto, it’s easy to miss Chua Giac Minh, a buttercream-colored pagoda tucked into a residential street behind Ikea. The Vietnamese Buddhist temple, the oldest in Northern California, isn’t much taller than the nearby houses. I showed up one Sunday based on a reader tip; until I spied the building’s curved eaves, I was worried I had wasted an afternoon on a plant-based goose chase.

I was searching for Vietnamese temple cuisine, a Mahayana Buddhist tradition that has refined its own plant-based versions of fish sauce, chicken wings, pork belly and seafood over the course of 2,000 years. As someone who didn’t grow up Buddhist, I was curious about how Vietnamese food, a cuisine that is notorious for fish sauce and beefy banquets, would translate to a vegan paradigm. In the Catholic church wherein I was raised, post-service meals appeared on festival days: trays of vermillion- and green-tinted sticky rice, glazed barbecue chicken wings and spring rolls filled with pork and canned crab meat.

At Chua Giac Minh, the offerings proved to be an absolute treasure trove of delights, a must-visit for vegans, Vietnamese food lovers and anyone in between. The audience for Chua Giac Minh’s meals is definitely the temple’s adherents, but random people who just want to eat lunch (like your intrepid food critic) are welcome to join in. The recipes are generated by the volunteers as well as the nuns, and many of the ingredients are sourced locally or grown on-site.

I have to admit, though: Religion kind of scares me. As I wandered into the temple kitchen with the tentativeness of a child looking for a midnight snack, a follower waved me down. I cringed, expecting to be asked what I was doing there or told what I was doing wrong.

But she smiled and asked if I needed help.

That question carries a lot of weight in a house of worship, but I nodded and she showed me the ropes. When I sat down with my food, she came over to talk to me. She told me that when she first visited the temple with a friend years ago, she was habitually spending her evenings partying at bars and just floating along, living for herself. But she was welcomed despite being a complete stranger and has been a loyal follower and volunteer ever since.

Until my visits to this temple, I hadn’t entered a religious space for years and was a little worried I’d burst into flames as soon as I crossed the threshold. But what I didn’t realize going in was just how drastically my attitude toward veganism, weighted down and muddled by press releases about the Impossible Burger and pseudoscientific influencer rhetoric, would shift.

Here, everything — the food, the sense of community — is rooted in a culture of care.

In efforts to welcome guests of all persuasions, Buddhist missionaries and clergy have historically crafted foods that would appeal to the masses. At this temple, that tendency comes through clearly in dishes like the soy-based mock fish, which cleverly uses sheets of nori to imitate the skin of a fish filet. Strips of tofu skin, steamed together in the nori, are dead ringers for the fibrous flesh of a tilapia. The texture was, in a word, stunning.

Chua Giac Minh 763 Donohoe St., East Palo Alto Hours: 10 a.m.-3 p.m. Sundays. Accessibility: No steps to dining area, but entry to the temple’s upper level requires climbing a flight of stairs. Gendered multistall restrooms that run narrow. Noise level: All outdoors in the courtyard; quiet, but more raucous on major holy days. Meal for two, sans drinks: $15-$20. Donation based; cash only. What to order: Braised tofu skin roll, spring rolls, braised fish, bao. For dessert, be sure to grab che bap ($1.50), a thick corn-and-tapioca pudding covered with a layer of coconut cream. It’s sweet in the way a perfect can of corn is, with the lusciousness of a creamy corn potage. Plant-based options: Everything is vegan except for the yogurt. Drinks: Fresh-pressed sugar cane juice available; sometimes with additional fresh fruit juice. Transportation: On the 281 and 296 SamTrans lines. Private parking available. Best practices: You’re welcome to eat lunch with the temple’s worshipers at the communal tables. Carry-out is also an option, but go early in the day before they start running out of items.

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The minced tofu and mung bean noodle “chicken” ($3 for 5, baked or fried), hefty and moist like thigh pieces, came complete with lemongrass “bones” and tofu skin. The imitations were clearly imitations, less like uncanny meat changelings and more like the Dionne Warwick impersonator at your friendly neighborhood drag bar.

For many Buddhists, the practice of eschewing meat, and sometimes alliums like onions and garlic, is an integral part of their religious lives. Onions and garlic are considered by devout followers as aphrodisiacs, making them inappropriate for temple food. Most lay followers are vegetarian on holy days, while the diet is a daily requirement for clergy. (Though I came into this with the hope that vegan Vietnamese food would be excellent in its own right, it was the exclusion of onions and garlic that really impressed. Somehow, I didn’t miss them.)

While certain sects vary in their rationale, the general practice of vegetarianism in Buddhism resonates with secular environmentalism: Both are about recognizing the myriad ways our actions reverberate outside of private acts and using that knowledge to minimize harm. For them, what we eat has an inherent philosophical significance beyond its plain function. While some people may take issue with the idea of infusing food with so much meaning, I didn’t pick up on much anxiety or stress while eating at the temple with its followers. They were all in this together, and it just felt normal. To that end, Chua Giac Minh also serves food to homeless people in Redwood City once a month, though the volunteers tailor the menu to their audience with a broader range of foods like spaghetti, fajitas and cookies.

Here’s what it looks like in the moment: Every Sunday, a team of nuns and volunteers at Chua Giac Minh cooks food underneath the elevated temple, mainly for community members who are attending the weekly morning service. When the service ends, usually at 12:30 p.m., the temple offers each person a free bowl of noodles, vegan takes on classic soups like bun bo Hue or bun rieu. The latter is a particularly inspired rendition, and I realized how well it took to a vegan preparation: fluffy clumps of tofu absorbed the juicy sweetness of the tomato-scented broth and took on the same delicate texture of the eggy meatballs in the omnivorous version. Annatto oil and thin shreds of shiso and rau ram added so much character to the broth.

In addition to the free noodles, which change each week, the temple provides a selection of vegan dishes for people to take home in exchange for donations, in a practice that will seem familiar to anyone who’s been to a church fish fry or bake sale.

When you go, head past the steps leading up into the temple and make your way into the courtyard. You’ll find someone crushing fresh sugar cane for juice ($5 for a pint). Flavorings are seasonal; mine was floral and bright with kumquat juice and zest. The cane is chopped and run through a hand-cranked press. In the Caribbean, this juice would go on to become rum, but the Vietnamese way is to consume it fresh.

The kitchen, where you’ll actually be able to buy food, is underneath the temple in an enclosed space. In the center of the room is a stall laden with food: glistening fried tofu flavored with minced lemongrass; Styrofoam trays of chow mein; a mushroom- and taro-stuffed bao with a perfect dough-to-filling ratio; and banana leaf-wrapped banh bot loc filled with tofu, minced carrot and wood ear mushroom. The banh bot loc, a dumpling made with steamed tapioca flour, is akin to fresh-made har gow and slip-slides down your tongue.

The spread varies week by week, but the fare is always vegan and allium-free, with the exception of the yogurt, which the nuns make from cow’s milk and sell in plastic cups. There are about 15 savory items and five dessert items on the menu, ranging from $1 to $8. The prices are suggested minimum donations, but you are free to donate more if the spirit moves you. (There’s a lot of single-use plastic and Styrofoam in play here, but you can bring your own containers.)

The dining area includes communal tables with plastic chairs and a central hub for flatware and napkins. If you decide to eat here rather than grabbing everything to-go, a volunteer will load up a plate for you of whatever you choose. Some of the tables are reserved for worshipers who are commemorating special occasions, but the tables without settings are available.

Spring rolls ($1 for two), filled with wood ear mushroom, mung bean noodles, jicama and dried daikon radish shreds, are savory and grease-free. They somehow taste just as rich and complex as my grandmother’s, and they’re well-seasoned enough to be excellent even without the customary fish sauce dip. Your order will be tucked into a brown paper bag, toasty and warm like a handful of roasted chestnuts. They’re nice to nibble as you browse the rest of the selection.

If you’re lucky, you’ll find a seared and soy sauce-braised tofu skin roulade ($8) filled with wood ear mushrooms and lily buds. It’s a shareable, burrito-size monster that the volunteers will cut up for you. I loved the tender layers of tofu, which had absorbed the slightly sweet and five-spice-tinged braising liquid and taken on the springy texture of thin wheat noodles.

The ingredients are wholesome and clearly very local: On a recent sunny afternoon, the staff was drying bowls and trays full of jujubes, shiso leaves, lime leaves and shredded daikon in the courtyard. Around the temple grounds, you can spot dragonfruit plants, collards, pomegranates and citrus trees. This is “plant-based” cuisine made concrete, with dishes from plants that had absorbed the same sun and oxygen that you’re enjoying in that moment.

The binary political stereotype of the liberal, hippy-dippy Californian often includes vegetarianism as a pejorative, but the religious aspect of occasional meat-free eating seems strangely distant from that conversation. In some Catholic regions, abstaining from meat on Fridays is considered a charitable or pious act. Jains have long considered food containing meat, fish or eggs as one of the religion’s four maha-vigai, or great perversions. Within Judaism, some have argued for pro-vegetarian interpretations of the Torah and kosher laws. The conflation of meat-free diets with morality and self-discipline has a long history.

Vegetarianism here feels less like self-discipline and more like indulgence. It’s not my community or religion, but I appreciate the reminder that our actions do have an impact on our personal karmic debts and on the world at large — and that we don’t truly live in isolation.

Soleil Ho is The San Francisco Chronicle’s restaurant critic. Email: soleil.ho@sfchronicle.com. Twitter @hooleil.