It is odd to see David Craig in the kitchen of his new cafe, all dressed up in chef's blacks.

I'm more used to seeing him surrounded - nay, dwarfed - by 20ft tall tomato plants under the greenhouses at Clyde Valley Tomatoes in Carluke. Readers will know that the business he revived two years ago with partner Scott Robertson folded in January despite its high profile and the support of supermarkets, garden centres and farmers' markets across Scotland.

Each retailer had sold its own exclusive - and to my eyes innovative and exciting - selection of the 14 varieties grown by Craig, and the pair were so encouraged by customer demand they launched Clyde Valley Kitchen, a range of soups and condiments using their own tomatoes and fresh produce grown on nearby farms. But in the end they couldn't get the figures to stack up, and called it a day.

It still find the unquestioning acceptance of this sad news a bit strange. It seems to me that hardly anybody batted an eyelid when the brand disappeared from the shelves; there was no outcry or campaign to bring them back. Craig says customers posted their surprise and dismay on Facebook and Twitter, both Waitrose and Scotty Brand said they were saddened and disappointed, and at least one chef declared it a blow that he could no longer name-check Clyde Valley Tomatoes on his menu.

Mostly, though, people were understanding - and, by inference, resigned to the fact that Scotland's long-standing history of large-scale commercial tomato growing is truly at an end (the industry in the Clyde Valley was once so massive they had to export produce to England). Two smaller commercial growers remain in the Clyde Valley and Ayrshire, but they only grow traditional classic round tomatoes for the Glasgow fruit market at Blochairn.

I hate to say it but this worrying lack of reaction suggests to me that consumers don't really care about buying local at their supermarket; if they don't see the distinctive CVT logo, they just move onto the next best thing - most likely from Holland. I'm holding out hope that when farmers' market customers realise they've gone for good they'll hold a belated tomato wake.

It could be, of course, that the increasingly discerning Scottish consumer simply didn't think the Clyde Valley tomatoes were tasty or special enough to justify a small premium. Were they? Weren't they? I'd be interested to know what people think.

Craig himself hasn't wasted much time in finding an outlet for the knowledge and valuable experience gained from his big adventure. He's now a food consultant, with an enviable gig as head chef at the Kelvingrove Cafe in Glasgow's ultra-hip Finnieston quarter, helping steer the menu towards a local, simple, fresh ethos paired with small-batch local botanical gins, vodkas and artisan beers - and away from burgers, chips and lager. And, for the first time in ages, he's properly smiling.

Though the new menu was launched only two weeks ago - a range of small plates and platters using locally sourced ingredients like Botanist gin-cured salmon, smoked duck, baked Dunlop Aiket cheese, soused mackerel, home-made parsley gremolata, whole roast garlic heads and home-baked foccaccia - they've already got through three large venison salamis, and say the demand for chips and burgers has dramatically decreased.

Customers, typically a younger demographic, are staying longer to graze and chat, and at different times of the day. Eating while they drink, as is so common place in other European cities, is helping encourage a more responsible attitude to alcohol consumption - vital in the new era of stricter drink-drive laws.

Craig and KG's owner Barry Oattes reckon they're helping change and modernise the city's lamentable eating-out culture for the better by focusing on the "simplicity of terroir".

Craig says being here is "therapeutic" and that it's good to be part of the new foodie movement in this particular part of Glasgow, where trendy new independent restaurants run by passionate young men hell-bent on showcasing the best of Scotland's natural larder with expert cooking and great service have been opening to rave reviews - and healthy bookings. Between them, Crabshakk, The Finnieston, The Gannet, Ox and Finch, Porter & Rye and Kelvingrove Cafe make up what was recently described as the "powerhouse of good cooking not only in Glasgow but in the whole of Scotland".

He said he was glad he called it a day at Clyde Valley Tomatoes when he did. He and Robertson were so exhausted they simply could not have worked any harder; they were living in a caravan on-site for two years and the relentless regime was "killing" them, he says. When they left and arrived at David's uncle's house on Glasgow's south side, it was like going into a safe house on a victim support scheme. In other words, sheer bliss.

He doesn't regret giving it a go, and would do it all again if he could. Which makes it all the sadder that if this energetic, resourceful and connected pair can't manage it, then the industry in Scotland at this scale is well and truly finished.

I just wonder if customers will ask what type of tomato he's cooking with at Kelvingrove Cafe.