Cooperation among chefs — not the competition that is the norm elsewhere — is central to a thriving food scene, he said. “These cities have to be places where people want to live and work after graduation, and one of the things they want is good food,” he said. “Otherwise, the brain drain to the coasts will just go on.”

Although nobody in this verdant region much likes the label “Rust Belt,” Mr. Sawyer has adopted “Rust Belt Revival” as shorthand for what he’s trying to do there. (It’s also a Twitter hashtag he uses often: #rustbeltrevival.)

He was nurturing that revival on a recent spring morning in the farmland south of Cleveland, tramping through fields, listening to experienced farmers and offering advice to new ones. Since 1999, the National Park Service has been fostering sustainable farming inside Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Through a program called Countryside Initiative, a dozen farms — most of them more than 100 years old — have been restored, then leased to people who are willing to live there and work the land sustainably.

Daniel Greenfield, who grows produce for the Greenhouse Tavern, has been farming there for seven years. In his past life, he was a teacher and has a Ph.D. in environmental education. “Now it stands for post hole digger,” he said ruefully, referring to the fences he spends much of his time on, fending off predators from his alluring blueberry bushes.

But with steady demand from chefs and the 100 members of the farm’s Community Supported Agriculture program, Greenfield Berry Farm has proved that a small farm can support a family and also a big-city restaurant.

At the next stop, Mark Trapp had just begun turning over the soil on his brand-new farm, driving a team of draft horses that he bought from a nearby Amish family. (The numerous Amish communities in the region are a resource for newcomers who want to reintroduce traditional farming methods here.) He plans to grow grains like spelt and farro alongside more traditional crops like onions and beets. Between the rows, spikes of a thick weed called hog cress poked up. “We pay $5 a pound for that at the restaurant,” Mr. Sawyer said encouragingly. “But don’t wait too long, because it turns bitter in the heat.”