This month’s Congressional Award for Culinary Courage goes to Jeremy Fox, former chef de cuisine at Manresa in Los Gatos, who has left the calm surrounds of the South Bay suburbs and ventured into the line of fire. If ever a restaurant risked a fusillade from satirists and cynics, it’s Ubuntu, in downtown Napa, which offers not only lunch and dinner, but also a quiet spot for downward-facing dog.

Ubuntu is Zulu for “humanity towards others.” Downstairs, its namesake operates as a “vegetable” restaurant. Upstairs, it’s a yoga studio. Fox News commentators would have a field day. Even sentient beings, hearing of this very Left Coast concept, could be forgiven their sudden urge to tune in Bill O’Reilly, toss a veal chop on the fire, and quadruple their consumption of fossil fuels.

What spares Ubuntu from self-parody are the same factors that make it a swell place to eat. As a vegetable restaurant, it proves that meatless meals can be both bountiful and beautiful, and that forgoing fauna needn’t be an exercise in pious self-denial. There are no holy gestures of asceticism, but also no excuses or apologies. Dishes aren’t asked to pass for things they aren’t: no seitan “burgers,” no couscous “chicken fingers.” This is a restaurant built on produce, glorious produce (OK, plus some eggs and a fair amount of cheese), the offshoots of Eden, plucked and prepared for the worthy fallen offspring of original sin.

The restaurant, which belongs to Sandy Lawrence, a Napa winery owner, relies on some ingredients from its own organic garden, but depends more heavily on the artistry of Fox, who divides his menu into categories (bites, cool plates, hot plates, eggs) presented in ascending order of heft. Items meant for grazing, like salted marcona almonds with lavender sugar and lightly fried sunchokes with a peppery romesco, give way to richly imagined salads of sharp, contrasting flavors and vivid colors. A salad spreads out on a plate like a Picasso, with lush orange moons of sliced persimmon, spiced cashew nuts, slivers of salsify, and starbursts of reddish-purple pomegranate seeds—all splashed with a light shower of sherry vinegar and maple syrup. Plump marinated beets bask like sunbathers in a shallow pool of Asian pear purée, flanked by fragile greens and shadowed by a cloud of whipped Point Reyes blue cheese.

At certain fleeting moments, diners at Ubuntu may feel as if they’re eating like very wealthy rabbits (or, in the case of a cauliflower entrée seasoned with a curry spice called vadouvan and served in a tiny cast-iron pot, as if they’ve ordered a side dish posing as a meal). But Fox has a remedy for those reactions. His hot plates, for the most part, have heart and substance, with the kettle warmth of wintry comfort food. French pumpkin soup, though creamless, shows off a sweet, round, Botticelli body, delicately perfumed with lemongrass and basil. The chef tops off the bowl with bundles of bok choy, stuffed with rutabaga and kohlrabi: rich, green-wrapped root vegetable dumplings that could sate any carnivore’s craving. Speckled grits, meanwhile, combine the luscious sweetness of thick corn grounds, rendered in the consistency of crunchy pudding, with the smoky flavor of hickory-roasted Brussels sprouts, celery root salad, and tangy housemade barbecue sauce. It’s a creative take on a Southern staple, a belly-filling dish infused with an Eastern sense of balance.

The other kind of balance at Ubuntu plays out in a single room upstairs, where, during the day, yogis in mid–sun salutation can be seen through the studio glass. At night, though, it’s all about the restaurant, an airy space with high, warehousey ceilings that say South of Market and exposed stone walls that say wine country chic. A long communal table runs through the middle, bordered by four mildly unsettling, ashen-looking statues that call to mind the victims of Pompeii.

Unlike so many spartan vegetarian restaurants, Ubuntu fosters a festive mood and offers a diverse wine list with a wide selection under $40. But this being Napa, many diners turn up with their own bottles. On a recent evening, the restaurant filled with flocks of bearded guys in blue jeans who could have been physics geeks gone cowboy, but, more likely, were gentlemen vintners on an evening out.

A friend and I were seated at the bar that night, ringed by this gathering of good spirit while we divvied up one of Fox’s wild nettle–and-kale pizzas, enriched with garlic cream and brightened with the sunny splash of a fried egg. By the time dessert arrived (an autumn fruit float with cranberry sorbet and quince–jasmine flower soda, and a mild cheesecake trapped in a Mason jar and topped with sweetened pine nuts and sour cherries), the dining room echoed with clinking glasses, and the place fairly sung in celebration.

That this liveliness sprang from such an earnest-sounding concept made it all the more enjoyable. A vegetable restaurant and a yoga studio? Turns out it’s not too much of a stretch.