I Leave a Piece of My Soul on Every Plate

I didn’t plan on hearing from David.

Fifteen years is a long time to go without a conversation. Long enough to forget certain memories, long enough to convince yourself that maybe your words, your presence, your effort didn’t leave much of a mark.

But then, tonight, he reached out.

And what he said hit me like a freight train:

“Confidence and self-assuredness had never been my strong suit, but you made me feel like I could be great.”

And I just sat there. Letting those words land. Letting them fill something in me I didn’t even know was still empty.

I told him:

“Anyone has it in them to be great. Sometimes we just need someone else to shine the light on our greatness for us to see it.”

And he replied:

“You were always excellent at showing us our potential… and pushing us to exceed it.

I never got to thank you for all that you taught me. Not just about cooking.”

Let me pause right there.

This wasn’t about being recognized.

This wasn’t about being thanked.

This wasn’t even about being seen.

This was about proof.

Proof that I didn’t give up on people.

Proof that I didn’t walk away from who I was, even when it felt like the world didn’t give a shit.

Proof that believing in someone — over and over again — matters.

Even when you’ve been burned by it more times than you can count.

David reminded me of a phrase I used to say in the kitchen:

“Adapt or become obsolete.”

He didn’t just remember it. He carried it. That line became part of his DNA.

And then it hit me —

David was that cook.

The one who came into the kitchen reading a review someone wrote about our food.

I remember it like it was yesterday — he had the paper in his hand, reading aloud:

“There must be some sort of mad scientist in that kitchen.”

David looked up at me with that huge grin and said:

“Chef! The dude called you a mad scientist!”

And that was it. The nickname stuck.

Not because I was chaotic.

But because I saw food differently.

Because I pushed the boundaries.

Because I challenged every line cook, every sous, every dishwasher to look at themselves and ask:

“Is this my limit? Or is this just where I stopped believing in myself?”

He remembered that.

He held onto it for 15 years.

And tonight, it came back full circle.

🗣 Then came this conversation…

He told me about his loop and what it was saying to him.

I suggested to him…

“Stop listening and do it.”

He said “I felt seen in your kitchen”

I said “Because you had someone that saw you. Now you need to make them see you.”

I told him about the time I met James Beard Award-winning chef Chintan Pandya. Harvard speaker. The name of his company?

Unapologetic Indian.

I told him:

“That name — that’s a mission statement.”

And then I said:

“Me? I’m about Craveable now.”

“I want my food to make people feel something. Like a fucking moment.

That’s how you get people to see you. Do you.”

“Be unapologetic.

Don’t hold back who you are.

Be proud of the talent you have. Let people see you.

Fuck the haters — they just hate because they wish they could be you.”

He fired back:

“That’s exactly what I want.

To give an experience to every person at every table.

That lets me go home happy.”

Then he said the thing that leveled me:

“I haven’t gone home happy from work in a very long time.”

That’s when I gave him Keith’s line — a mantra that belongs in every kitchen:

“Cluttered mind, cluttered plate.”

“Clear your plate and your mind.

Stop looking for the shit — turn around and look for you.”

And then I hit him with this:

“Where are you right now?”

Not metaphorically. Literally.

“Where. Are. You.”

He said:

“That was a great line.”

Then added:

“In the moment… or just letting it pass to the next moment.”

I told him:

“Being present is the gift.

You pour time, passion, and pain into your food —

And you can’t even be present with it?”

“I literally mean — ‘I’m in the kitchen about to break down this ribeye.

I’m going to pick up my knife and…’

That’s it.

I didn’t think about prep, orders, nothing.

My energy was on one task.”

He replied:

“Something I need to be conscious of.

I’m usually thinking of six other things I have going on.”

And that’s when it all clicked.

This is what mentorship really is:

Not teaching techniques.

Not barking orders.

Not being the loudest voice in the room.

It’s showing up, even when you’re broken.

It’s holding the line, even when no one holds it for you.

It’s seeing something in someone — especially when they can’t see it themselves.

Mentorship is belief with teeth.

I’ve been burned by that belief more times than I can count.

But I’ll never stop giving someone a shot.

I’ll never stop trying to see the best in someone —

because I know what it feels like when no one saw it in me.

So, no — this wasn’t validation.

This wasn’t about being thanked.

This was proof.

Proof of where I was.

And where I am today.

That’s what #justonevoice means.

That one conversation, one phrase, one moment of belief — it can change everything.

And tonight?

That voice echoed back.

And it sounded like David.

— Jeffrey

#justonelife #madscientist #adaptorbecomeobsolete #craveableobsessed

#mentorshipmatters #cheflife #foodheals #mentalhealthintheindustry

#culinaryleadership #clutteredmindclutteredplate #whereareyourightnow