Rastafarians Are the Original Gwyneth Paltrows of This World

Organic farming is a pressing political topic in Jamaica right now. With the clusters of glitzy, coast-hugging resorts who only import food from the states, being a farmer of chemical-free Jamaican crops is no walk in the park. But across the island, farmers, chefs, and campaigners are pioneering Rastafarian Ital farming practices, hoping to change the way fruit and vegetables are eaten.

One fifth of Jamaicans are employed in agriculture. I'm told this by Dool, who wants to keep his real name under wraps ("It makes me cooler, nah?") as we stumble our way down a treacherously steep path on his farm in the Pedro Plains of Jamaica, also known as the island's "breadbasket."

I wanted to meet Dool for a couple of reasons. Firstly, word of the guy's farm dinners doesn't just make its way around uptown Kingston—I'd had his food recommended to me by people in both Brooklyn and London. Apparently, his roasted breadfruit with butter, whole cloves of garlic, shallots, and swathes of sliced scotch bonnets was reason to come to Jamaica alone. Most importantly, though, it was Dool's involvement with the Ital Farmers Organic Association that led me to this grassroots innovator one heavily mosquito-d evening.

Explaining the ital principles, he says, "Everything we grow is organic, as you would call it. To me it's just chemical-free." Despite the terribly polite sounding name, the Ital Farmers Organic Association are creating a social and political fracas across Jamaica—an island where you'll struggle to find pesticide-free fruit and vegetables. Taking its title from 'vital', with the first letter cut off to play up the unity of the 'I', Ital is one of the core practices of the Rastafarian religion. In a move to reject Babylon—the western world—and to keep the body as virtuous and temple-like as possible, the Ital diet consists of fruit, vegetables, grains, the occasional small fish and, often, no salt. They're the original Gwyneth Paltrows.

Founded in the 1930s, Ital was basically veganism before the term was even coined. Way before the days of quinoa granola, chia pots, cold-press juices, and raw zucchini "spaghetti," Rastafarians across Jamaica were eating entirely plant-based, organic diets in order to reject impurities and welcome positive healthy substances. Cannabis, incidentally, is considered a herb in Rastafarian culture. Only in the Nyabinghi division is Ital completely compulsory, though, and it's hard to pin down the exact time and place of its inception. It's generally thought to have come from leader Leonard Howell's interest in the traditions of Hindu servants living on the island, who, in order to avoid disease and uncleanliness, ate vegetables laced with spices.

Dool's farm might be a place of cool activism, but in Ocho Rios (nicknamed "Ochie"), Ital farmers are militant. "We can't find what we need at the markets or in shops," Dino, owner of a place called Reggae Pot Restaurant, tells me. "I work with specialist farms that don't use chemicals and use as much as I can find that's organic—okra, cassava, pak choi, corn, sweet potato, shallots, and spring onions."

The man is boycotting local supermarkets until the Jamaican government takes organic farming seriously. Still, despite his limited resources, Dino's dishes aren't just thrifty, they're incredibly diverse. A standard meal—with fresh juice included (see? Eat your heart out, Gwynnie)—will set you back 400 Jamaican Dollars, which is around £2.50 (around $4.20). Daily offerings include nut soups (referred to as "sips"), roasted garlic callaloo, curried ackee, cassava stewed with beans, pan-fried yam stems, soursop juice and breakfasts consisting of dumplings, sautéed callaloo, and salt fish. Dino's is an endless, virtuous stream of vegan bounty, all served with hard fruit—bananas, potatoes and yams—or rice and peas. It feels like you're eating your way through a farm every time you eat there.

The reasons behind the government's hesitations to ally with Ital farming practice are murky. "They aren't as proactive as they could be," Gyva, a 24-year-old banana farmer told me. "Some of the councilors are progressive, but the movement is really coming from the people." I met a friend of Gyva's, Ricardo, who was one of the most militant Ital cooks I met. "You have to understand that this country is tropical," he says, "and dealing with insect infestations is hard because there's no winter in Jamaica. The insects never die!" Presumably it's cheaper for most farmers to grow stuff with pesticides, then? "Right, and the government know that. A lot of the farmers are very poor, and, with just a quick spray, you're able to put food on the table for your family."

Almost everyone in the Ital world sees sustainable farming as a challenge. Blue Mountains resident and Ital cook Charlie talks of an agricultural system that most farmers find hard to implement. "Ital farming is a really complex structure," he says. "If you think of the farm as a body, you're trying to get it fit but starting from scratch. It's a lifestyle commitment, but, if you do it properly, you get better crops for your whole life."

Charlie was one of the only Ital chefs who entertained the idea of me entering his kitchen. After much persuading I was allowed in, but not before addressing what he called "a likkle problem." I was inappropriately dressed. I entered the kitchen wearing Charlie's hand-me-downs—a t-shirt bearing the face of Haile Selassie, an icon of the Rastafarian religion, and a Rasta cap in the colors of the Jamaican flag. Charlie was a no-bullshit man and I was eager to impress. In the kitchen, the stove bubbled with pots of coconut and vegetable broth, some leftover peanut porridge from the morning, and a pan of simmering tomato sauce. There wasn't a Ting (Jamaica's most popular soft drink) in sight—juices are Charlie's specialty. His favorite? Beetroot, cucumber, and sage.

If you want to experience the haute side of Ital, downtown Kingston is the place to go. I visited a place called Dr. Spice, where tofu-wrapped in pak choi leaves and kidney bean loaf with courgette and honey sauce are served on fancy plates and eaten by cosmopolitan Kingstonites. Interestingly, I met a group of people—women and men­—outside a beauty salon who told me they regularly 'go Ital' to slim down for parties and special occasions. Obviously the temporary appropriation of virtuous diet principles isn't just a western thing.

Most international Ital cooks take their lead from Kingston. Ram, owner of Ital'N'Vital restaurant in London's Tottenham tells me that Ethiopia is home to many Ital cafes and restaurants, and that London has a significant number of vegan Rastafarians. Back in his hometown of St. Mary, Ram started a farm because he "couldn't find chemical-free vegetables." In London, he favors Dalston's Ridley Road market. As any Londoner who has ever walked through Ridley Road's mazes of exotic produce will attest, there is nowhere better.

Back in Jamaica, food prices and a widespread lack of nutritional education means that many people will still choose deep-fried meat over callaloo stew. But revolution has to start somewhere. With Ital farmers and chefs constantly striving to keep their food organic, healthy, and authentic, there is a real sense—at least in Kingston—that consciousness is starting to shift. And god knows they're not going to give up. "I'll always cook Ital," grins Charlie. "It's the Rasta life."