HAVE PAN, WILL TRAVEL : For some people, staying home is better than going out. That’s because they have cooks. These are a few of those cooks. Their stories and--their recipes--begin on H11. : ROBERT CROUSE : Bland Doesn’t Mean Boring

Six days a week, Robert Crouse cooks the main meal of the day--lunch--at the International Headquarters of the Theosophical Society. “Basically,” he says, “I don’t make anything you couldn’t eat after stomach surgery.”

Despite this warning, I made the drive one clear Thursday morning, up Christmas Tree Lane in Altadena, to visit Crouse as he cooked. Crouse, after all, has cooked as a private chef for Mr. and Mrs. Leonard Goldberg, Herb Alpert, the David Murdocks and Mr. and Mrs. Gradow of Pasadena. (Mrs. Gradow is perhaps better known as Ms. Barbie Benton.)

The grounds of the Theosophical Society are green and well-groomed and remarkably quiet. In the living room, well-worn Persian carpets and atmospheric plein aire paintings evoke California in a more rustic and genteel era. I find Crouse, an XL-sized man with white hair and twinkling blue eyes, in a large, bright kitchen.

“You’ll never guess what we’re having for lunch today,” Crouse says as he presses the water out of blocks of tofu to firm it up. “Leftovers!”

He pulls out pots and pans of meat loaf, carrot loaf, corn chowder and stewed garbanzo beans and arranges them in the gas ovens and microwaves. Friday is Crouse’s day off (and the Theosophists traditional hamburger day; the same man has been barbecuing them each week for 25 years) so on Thursday’s he likes to use up the weeks’ leftovers. With today’s leftovers, Crouse will serve the tofu, freshly fried.

Theosophists study world religions and the writings of the 19th Century mystic Madame H.P. Blavatsky. The men and women of the group do not consider themselves part of a religion, and thus do not proselytize. They choose to eat simply for discipline. For Crouse, that mean no reduction sauces, not even any capers, peppercorns or--heaven forbid--garlic. And he never makes dessert.

Crouse has cooked for the Theosophical Society for six years, which is the longest he’s stayed at any job. “In fact,” he says, “it’s only the second place I worked long enough to earn a vacation.”

But Crouse has had a long and varied cooking career. As I sit on a stool and watch Crouse dip tofu slices in egg and then seasoned breadcrumbs he tells me how he first started cooking in high school because his mother had become ill.

Later, Crouse catered parties and put himself through the first half of the catering course at L. A. Trade-Technical College. After a period of wanderlust in Spain and West Africa, he began taking jobs as a private chef with the likes of Mr. and Mrs. Gradow. But after a few years he found himself becoming less and less tolerant of the demands of the job. “I may have been living in Malibu,” he says, “but I was working the kind of split shifts that left me no time to enjoy my life there.”

Finally, he quit. “I had just about eroded my financial base,” he says, “when I got a call from a friend of mine about the job up here.”

Six years later, Crouse is perfectly content. “I have made no effort to learn what the Theosophists are about,” he says. “But they’re awfully nice to work for. And they’re not ungenerous.”

Crouse moves to the stove and fries the breaded tofu in oil. I ask him if he misses flexing his talent, showing off what he can really do with food.

“It’s true, I don’t make terrine de foie gras ,” he says, “but what I do make is well-received, and . . . I don’t know, all the other extravagant cooking was fine, too, but some of my employers made too much of it. They were too focused on what they ate.”

So, I ask, it was a moral question?

Crouse giggles. “Almost,” he says. “I have to admit, though, I may never fully settle down to the limitations of cooking here. I wish today that this tofu was good, fresh bufala mozzarella to be served with fresh basil. But the main focus here is something worthwhile. I’ve found that I can get used to doing without if it seems like I’m making a contribution.”

At 12:20 p.m., Crouse lines up the pots and pans of hot food on a counter top, distributes serving utensils and sets out a stack of Melmac plates. At exactly 12:30 around 20 men and women--the usual weekday number--lineup to fill their plates and take them to the sunny dining room.

I dip into the corn chowder, the garbanzo bean stew, a reheated meat loaf and the recently fried tofu. Everything is delicious.

Later, when Crouse is out of earshot, I remark to one of the young men at the table: “You know, Robert downplays his cooking here, but he really makes quite good food, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes,” he says, “we all love Robert. Over the years, more and more, he’s managed to work his flavors in.”

ROBERT CROUSE’S WHITE BEAN SALAD

2 cups dry white beans

4 to 6 cloves garlic, peeled

1 tablespoon minced garlic

1/4 cup minced parsley

4 ounces diced pimiento

1/2 teaspoon Vege-Sal seasoning (or use seasoned salt)

Chopped celery leaves

Coarse-ground black pepper

1/3 cup walnut oil

1/6 cup olive oil

1/2 cup Japanese seasoned rice vinegar

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

Pick over beans, wash and drain. Cook beans according to package directions, adding whole cloves garlic. Do not overcook beans. Drain carefully, keeping beans whole.

Mix beans with garlic, parsley, pimiento, Vege-Sal seasoning, celery leaves and pepper in large bowl.

Combine walnut oil, olive oil, rice vinegar and mustard. Pour over warm beans and toss gently. Allow salad to cool to room temperature and serve. Makes about 8 to 10 servings.

Note: Salad keeps well and tastes best if refrigerated and then served at room temperature the following day.