For their Zócalo Sketchbook, Pérez Espinosa has rendered images of California flora and fauna on top of local store receipts. The vibrant colors and undulating lines of the art joyfully overwhelms the substrate of humdrum commercialism.

Of their work, Pérez Espinosa says, “I’m delving deeper into understanding systems of care and Indigenous knowledge in regard to nature, and how essential they are to healing ourselves. I drew different sprouts representing my feelings on tending, renewal, learning, interconnectedness, and coastal life.”

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Food can connect us to the earth, our community, and ourselves. But first, we need to open a space to listen to and be in exchange with the ingredients.

As a professional chef, I have spent years learning to do this with the plants I grow and cook with. This practice has profoundly changed the way I think about my work and the world around me.

Looking back, one of my most important teachers on this journey, in the kitchen and in life, was the tomato.

Growing up, I struggled with my relationship to this beautiful plant and its magic fruit, even as I found myself drawn to it. It was only after I learned how to truly listen to tomatoes and give them what they need to thrive, that I experienced the true magnificence, amazing flavors, and powerful energy they have to share with us all.

The first dish I ever learned how to make was salsa. I was 5 years old, and I can still remember picking the juicy tomatoes, serrano chilies, and fragrant cilantro from my parents’ garden in Ojai, the Southern California valley at the base of the Topatopa Mountains. I kept tasting the salsa over and over again, adding a little more chili, then a little more salt, then a little more lemon. Adjusting and experimenting with the balance of flavors until it tasted just how I wanted it: delicious.

But a tomato on its own? That grossed me out. Now I know that the culprit was store-bought tomatoes—pink, mealy, store-bought tomatoes. I still cringe when I think about their watery, bland flavor. The worst were the slices that sat goopy and soggy in my sandwich, waiting to be eaten in my lunchbox at school.

What I didn’t realize then was that these weren’t a proper reflection of the tomato family. They were the industrialized representatives. There are actually more than 10,000 types of tomatoes out there—way more than the two to three varieties you see in the average grocery store.

The revelation that there was a whole other world of tomatoes out there came to me when I went away to San Diego for college and started working at my first fine-dining restaurant, NINE-TEN. I’ll never forget the heirloom tomato salad on their menu. Who knew tomatoes came in so many colors and variations? I took my first bite, and the bright, sweet, sharp flavors of their tomatoes opened my eyes to what high-quality ingredients can do for a meal, and how limited my understanding of the plant had been up to that point.

After college, I returned to Ojai, where I got focused on growing my own food. With my mom as my mentor and advisor, I started to develop a deeper relationship with plants, and saw how they could thrive when they received the love and nutrients they needed.

The work thrilled me. Every morning, I woke up early to check on the land, inviting friends to come and garden with me. We planted all kinds of vegetables in the beautiful soil we created by composting our food and garden scraps.

Through gardening, I learned that all food needs good food and good vibes to flourish. The same can be said for humans. For years I hadn’t been taking my health as seriously as I should have, and it was around this time that I realized I needed to make some drastic changes myself if I wanted to feel strong and capable in my body and keep doing the things I loved—like surfing, playing in nature, and growing my garden.

At this point, I had been growing over 40 varieties of heirloom tomato plants. I had been so excited to see them fruit, and find out what it would be like to cook with them and how they would taste. Unfortunately, after a few weeks of chowing down on them, my chiropractor recommended that I take a break from eating plants from the nightshade family, as they can be inflammatory.

Author Evan Rilling. Photo by Natalie Karpushenko.

It was a total bummer to stop eating tomatoes after we’d come so far together, but by overindulging in them and then cutting them out of my diet, I actually became even closer to tomatoes. The experience taught me to listen to my body and find out how to develop a healthier relationship with the plant that worked for me. I can now eat tomatoes freely when it feels good for me to and know when to stop when I need to. I recommend this exact method to clients who really want to understand how food affects them. It’s true, I tell them, after you take some time away from an ingredient, try going all in if you truly want to understand how the food is affecting you. Even junk food: I dare you to eat a whole bag of Doritos and see how you feel! I bet you won’t be going back for seconds.

I am grateful to tomatoes for all of the gifts they’ve shared and the lessons they’ve taught me, and am honored to now share these teachings with you.

Here’s how anyone can connect to ingredients in a deeper way:

First, choose an ingredient that you feel called to and would like to build a stronger connection with.

Then place the ingredient in front of you. Look at it. What did you see?

Touch it. What did you feel?

Listen to it. What did you hear?

Smell it. How would you describe it?

Taste it. How would you describe the experience?

How have you worked in harmony with it?

How could you work in harmony with it?

These teachings will expand your abilities and awareness of what you eat.

Developing your own relationship with any plant or ingredient—whether you’re cooking, gardening, applying a wellness technique, or working with them for healing—can be powerful, not to mention fun.

But before you try this process, I invite you to take a moment, center yourself, and let yourself be open to the possibilities that may present themselves to you. Because by letting yourself truly connect and listen to a plant, you may find it has many lessons for you, just like the tomato has had for me.

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Like everyone, food for me starts with my family story. My parents, both vegetarians, came from India to the U.S. in the 1960s; I was born here and grew up in Boston in the ‘70s and ‘80s. My parents wanted me to fit in as much as possible, so they let me adopt a standard American diet that revolved around meat and dairy.

My mother, a dietician by trade, told me to limit my consumption of red meat, but poultry and dairy became part of my daily routine. As an athlete in high school and college, I wasn’t concerned about my weight or health. My two-plus hours a day practicing basketball, baseball, or soccer kept me in shape without having to think much. My wife, a vegetarian who grew up in India, asked me after we got married if I could ever give up meat and my answer was a quick “no.” It was something that was hard to fathom. When she made a veggie-based meal like lentils and rice, it felt like something was missing, so I’d heat up chicken wings to satisfy myself. I realize now that my mind had been programmed to desire meat, and without it, meals didn’t seem as satisfying.

But getting back to my evolution, by my mid-30s—which I hit in the middle of the last decade—I fit the profile of an average 37-year-old health-conscious guy. I rarely ate red meat and started most days off with a bowl of Raisin Bran, sliced banana, and 2 percent milk. Lunch usually consisted of a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, cheese, and mustard. Dinner varied—chicken burritos were a staple, pizza here and there, eggs and toast, tuna sandwiches, and various chicken dishes all made their appearances at different occasions. I tried to have fruit every day and indulged in desserts on the weekend.

Guacamole with peas from Veggie Grill.

I still worked out three or four days a week and ate no red meat, so I thought I was living a healthy lifestyle, but I was 20 pounds above my college weight. My cholesterol was above 200 (the danger zone for heart disease). At first, I chalked up my cholesterol warning to the greasy scrambled egg breakfast from the hospital cafeteria I’d eaten right before giving blood. My run times were getting slower and slower—old age, I thought. My “healthy” diet surely couldn’t be a factor.

Coincidentally, my professional life was in a state of transition. In 2004, I stepped away from an Internet technology company I had co-founded. That gave me a blank slate to start thinking about the next chapter of my business life. It struck me that there were no healthy, convenient, and delicious dining options out there. After some research, I became convinced the country really needed this. So I set out to see if I could figure out a solution (as an MIT engineer by training, I like to solve problems).

I decided to visit every healthy restaurant I could find, some of which happened to be vegetarian and vegan. I had never set foot in a vegetarian restaurant—a reflection of my standard American diet and outlook. While some of what I tried fit my stereotypical view of unsatisfying veggie fare, I also really enjoyed some hearty and flavorful plant-based meals. I took friends to these restaurants to confirm my judgment. Who knew veggie-based foods could be this good?

So I started doing more research. I read several books and reports from major health organizations that highlighted the benefits of following a plant-based diet. The studies were astonishing to me. Plant-based diets prevent chronic diseases, reduce cholesterol, and provide more than enough protein.

I decided to make the transition. Cereal with soymilk. Veggie burritos, no cheese or sour cream. My wife’s meatless Indian dishes of rice, beans, lentils, and veggies without the supplement of chicken. Meat-alternative versions of “comfort food” like burgers satisfied my cravings for my old American favorites. Within a week of initiating my new diet, I started feeling lighter and more energetic. Pretty soon I could see a difference in my midsection. I was getting leaner, but not losing any strength. My workouts were getting easier. After three months, I was down 20 pounds, back to my college weight, and my cholesterol reading was below 140. I also learned more about the ethical and environmental issues surrounding industrialized animal agriculture (“factory farming”). My passion and belief cemented, I wanted to help more people discover the beauty of plant-based foods. A little more than a year later, I helped launch the first Veggie Grill.

Soup and asparagus from Veggie Grill.

At first, I saw it as my role to evangelize for plant-based diets. I didn’t win many converts—it was like trying to change somebody’s religion. That was a crucial lesson for the business: I learned we had to make the food and experience as delicious and fun as possible. Show, don’t tell. That worked well. Veggie Grill now stands at 28 restaurants across the West Coast, and we’re about to start heading eastward. Personally, I follow the same approach: if friends want to learn about my eating approach and success, I am pleased to inform them. But I refrain from telling them what to do.

Fortunately for the health of Americans and the planet, I think the future is bright for plant-based eating. We’re past the tipping point for millennials on plant-focused eating being considered a smart and thoughtful approach. The transition is harder for GenXers and Baby Boomers, who have spent their lives eating in certain ways. Some will be able to re-program their eating habits and mindsets, other won’t. It’s a hard challenge. Veggie Grill is here to help without any preaching or judgment.

People often ask me what I think of paleo, low-carb, gluten-free, and other diets that gain popularity. While I am a believer in and can make a strong argument for plant-based eating for both health and environmental reasons, I have come to accept that there are different strokes for different folks. Family, culture, habits, genes, etc. all play a role in what eating pattern you can adopt, stick to, and thrive on. If something gets you to eat more good stuff and less bad stuff, and you can stick to it, that is a step in the right direction.

Part of the reason there are so many approaches is that there is no one proven, definitive way to eat. I always point to Dan Buettner’s book The Blue Zones, about the places where people live longest. People in these different locales eat a variety of different things. The one commonality, and what I’ve adopted as my “truth” to healthy eating, is that the diets common in these regions all primarily feature whole foods and a plant-based approach. Mostly plants. Truth is one, paths are many.

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