Chef Life Radio

Chef Furqan Meerza cooked at Mugaritz and Noma, ran R&D at the Basque Culinary Center, and now works as a senior innovation chef at Kraft Heinz. The thing that changed his health most wasn't any of those jobs. It was having friends who don't work in a kitchen. This conversation is for any chef whose whole social life fits inside the Monday they have off. Register for the free monthly Culinary Leadership Lab "You do not know the four hundred who just ended up burnout and worse." - Furqan Meerza Too Close to the Computer, Too Far From the Flames Furqan grew up in Bombay, a city of 27 million people, and took the standard route in: a hotel-management degree. About eight hours a week of it was cooking. The rest was front office, housekeeping and tourism. Graduates like him got pushed into junior sous chef and management-trainee jobs at 20 or 21, writing menus and counting inventory, never near the flames. It felt wrong, so at 19 he moved to Spain for a stage at a restaurant in the south that had been open for four months. It holds three Michelin stars today. Adam picks up the thread from the other side. He's hosted visa students from India, Malaysia and Indonesia in big resorts, and he thinks that broad hospitality education serves a chef over a career, especially next to the task-only training many American cooks get. A Translation Layer Between Science and Food At the Basque Culinary Center, Furqan spent four years doing research for companies and governments. One project sent him to Jamaica, Korea, Japan, Mexico and India to work out what "hot and spicy" means. A sensory scientist can measure the compounds. Only a chef notices that cooks in Mexico add the habanero to a stew without letting it burst, because they want the floral aroma and not the seeds. Then he went inside one of the companies chefs are taught to hate. At Kraft Heinz he found people making the choices, and a European ketchup made of tomatoes, salt, sugar, vinegar and spices. His mother in Bombay can't explain Noma to the relatives. Ketchup, she can. San Sebastián and a Restaurant With No Staff San Sebastián became home after Furqan had lost touch with any sense of one. He describes six-year-olds refusing a microwaved tortilla, weekend festivals for ham and red beans, and gastronomic societies: member clubs where you pay a monthly fee for a professional kitchen, cook for your friends, stack the plates and go home. Adam talks about his mother's Castilian roots, a trip to the Canary Islands, and Bourdain's advice to travel while you're young. His version: it's never too late, and there's nothing wrong with a culinary sabbatical. Every time he stepped away from his career, he came back more present. The Four Hundred Fugitive Chefs started because Furqan needed it himself. Mugaritz closed every winter, and he used one to intern at Noma. Two weeks in, they offered him a job. In 2022 Denmark's immigration system pushed non-Europeans down the line, and he had to leave. Back in Spain, refusing to give up his evenings again, he got his R&D job through a single conversation with Mugaritz's R&D chef. No CV, no LinkedIn. So he bought a recorder and a mic for about €500, and four years later he's had 90 conversations with people who built careers beyond the line. His warning for anyone chasing burnout because they think success comes after it: you've heard four stories. You never hear about the four hundred. Armor, and the People Who Write Back Furqan's biggest surprise is how approachable people are. He emailed Dan Giusti, the former head chef at Noma who now runs Brigaid, the same week Giusti was on David Chang's podcast. Giusti said yes. Adam names why we don't ask. We came to this craft with open hearts, then put armor on to survive it, and forgot that hospitality also means being hospitable to ourselves. Furqan adds the lesson he's taken from the show: when you have several good options, pick the one you'd regret skipping. Elders Want to Be Asked The free Fugitive Chefs community runs on WhatsApp groups, and it puts culinary students in the same room as chefs a year from retirement. Furqan was surprised that the senior people are the hungriest to mentor. Adam ties it to how the industry ages people out of kitchens and loses what they know, and to the way his mountain community showed up for each other after Hurricane Helene. Friends Outside the Kitchen When Adam asks about his wellness, Furqan says he chose to step out of restaurants in his twenties rather than his forties. He also points out that a cook eating fryer scraps off a beer crate isn't eating well. Cooking takes time. His biggest awakening, though, was friends outside his workplace. The first Saturday he walked into a café as a customer felt strange, because he'd only ever gone out on Mondays. You can only count on people if you've been there for them, and a schedule with no room for them makes that impossible. Adam closes with his own version: he was 40 before he consciously made a friend outside his family and the industry. Chapters 00:00 — Welcome to Episode 250: Chef Furqan Meerza 03:43 — From Bombay Hotel School to Spain at 19 07:59 — The Basque Culinary Center: What Does "Spicy" Mean? 11:12 — Inside Big Food: Heinz Ketchup and the "Bigger Evil" 16:20 — San Sebastián and Basque Food Culture 20:36 — Travel, Spanish Roots and the Culinary Sabbatical 23:55 — Why Fugitive Chefs: Mugaritz, Noma and a Visa 30:13 — The Four Hundred You Never Hear About 36:14 — Community, Mentorship and Hurricane Helene 46:56 — Wellness: Friends Outside the Kitchen Brigaid MAD Basque Culinary Center Noma Mugaritz San Sebastain Fugitive Chefs on TT Fugitive Chef on YT Furqan on IG Furqan on LinkedIn Fugitive Chefs Podcast The Recipe For Your Success NewsletterRegister for The Leadership Lab Stay Tall & Frosty and Lead from your Heart Chef Adam Lamb Chef Life Media LLC

Chef Darin Leonardson spent years as a cook by night and a father by day. Kitchen Confidential after service, then home to a newborn, telling his kids to do the opposite of what he was doing. This conversation is for any chef who's gotten good at being one person at work and another at home, and is starting to feel what that split costs. "I felt like I was living a lie." Register for the free monthly Culinary Leadership Lab @ https://thecheflifebrigade.com/thelab A Checkered Past, Told Straight Darin doesn't open with credentials. He opens with McDonald's at fifteen and a half, a childhood spent harvesting radishes and selling his dad's Japanese pears outside Seattle, and a father who introduced great chefs as "cooks." By the time he got to culinary school he was, in his own words, a weed-smoking kid with no direction. He worked eight hours at Elliott's Oyster House on top of class and flunked his first semester by a single point. The instructor was happy to tell him to drop out. His dad had given up on him. His mom slipped him some cash and said, "I believe in you." He went back, and the second time through, the fundamentals finally stuck. That's why the honesty matters. As Darin puts it, he'd rather hear from someone who's authentic about their mistakes than someone with no bumps or bruises at all. Why Kitchens Hook Us, and Why We Hide in Them Adam tells the story that got him into this work: fifteen years old, washing dishes at The Big Wheel in Hammond, Indiana, when a door swings open on two cooks moving around each other through the steam without a word. "Whatever that is, I'mma gonna get me some." Then he names the other side of the same pull. A kitchen is a great place to hide. If you can handle your station all night, nobody cares where you came from, whether you tested well, or what you're carrying. That works until the day someone hands you the keys and you're supposed to read a P&L and manage personalities you were cutting fish next to yesterday. Chef Overnight Darin's promotion came the way a lot of ours do: someone else got fired. His executive chef had a family wedding and handed him a 350-person banquet plus two restaurant lines. Pull it off and the job is yours. He did. The next morning he was told to redesign the entire banquet menu around one rule, the primary food colors, which still shapes how he writes menus today. Adam's point here: nobody sits you down and says you're no longer just an employee; you're now the face of this company. The transition isn't taught or even talked about. You're expected to snap into it. The Double Life This is the center of the episode. Darin read Kitchen Confidential and lived it: partying after service, drinking, smoking, then walking in the door as husband and dad. "I lived a double life," he says. It caught up with him. He almost lost his marriage. Raised Christian but never really following it, he hit the edge and made what he calls a dare: "If you're real, and you can turn this around, I'll serve you the rest of my life." He listened to the other voice, did what it told him, and things got better. Then he got specific about what changed: he'd been telling his kids not to swear while doing the exact opposite of what he taught. He'd been living a lie. Whatever you call the bigger thing, the practical lesson is the same. Running two identities is expensive, and for Darin the bill came due at home first. Laid Off, No Plan B, and Romans 12:2 Darin fell into senior living by accident; he thought the building was a boutique hotel. His chef friends warned him off. He fell in love with the residents instead. Then he got laid off with no warning and no plan B, and the family sold jewelry to make the mortgage. His wife told him to start consulting. He built Transformed Culinary Solutions around Romans 12:2, "do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind," which is also his only tattoo. And he's honest that opening the company is when the work starts: seven years of moonlighting before it fully supported his family. Today his three kids work in the business with him. The Battle Suit Adam asks the question most kitchens never do: what's it like to be a person of faith on a pirate ship? Darin admits he still struggles to share his story. He doesn't doubt it; he lives with a constant fear of failure, of being disliked, of being talked about. In a kitchen, he says, we put our coats on like a battle suit, and nobody wants to get emotional in a battle suit. Adam's answer is the most useful two minutes of the episode. Will people talk behind your back? Will they dislike you, ignore you, try to bring you down? *Absolutely, yes.* So then what? Do it anyway. Some of us won't change until we hit the wall, because we're trained, shamed and conditioned to keep carrying the weight until our back breaks. From "Fired" to "What's Going On? Darin walks through how each stage of his career trained him: fast food taught him to show up on time, fine dining taught him to compete. An Elliott's chef told him how to move up: never stand around, and pick up every shift your chef needs. A sous chef once threw a knife that stuck in the wall beside his head, and he thought that was normal. Senior living felt like a cakewalk by comparison, and it's where he grew up as a leader. When a cook couldn't make a shift, he started asking whether it was daycare instead of writing them up. "If I was the chef before, I would have fired your ass." Adam calls it what it is: becoming a mature professional. Failure, criticism, and competition can all be good, but only with loving challenge underneath them. The Line Cook Who Walked Her Home The episode closes on two moments from Darin's first senior living opening. Too busy running it like fine dining to meet anyone, he stayed late one night and watched his line cook take an elderly resident by the arm. "He walks her to her third floor every night," the saucier told him. Darin didn't know a single resident's name. The next day he sat down with a 94-year-old retired doctor who showed him a second apartment full of his paintings, and said he hadn't picked up a brush until he was 78. Darin's takeaway is the one we end on: it's never too late to start. Chapters 00:00 — Welcome Back, Chef Darin (Round Three) 01:32 — A Checkered Past, Told Honestly 02:27 — Define What Success Means to You 03:19 — McDonald's at 15½ and Growing Up in the "Garden of Eden" 06:08 — Flunking Culinary School by One Point 07:06 — "Your Dad Gave Up. I Believe in You." 08:29 — The Dream of the Dance 11:16 — Did You Actually Choose This Career? 12:42 — The Kitchen Is a Great Place to Hide 13:52 — Becoming a Chef Overnight 15:17 — Nobody Teaches You How to Be the Chef 16:14 — Kitchen Confidential and the Double Life 17:34 — "Fine, I'll Test This" 18:11 — Falling Into Senior Living 20:05 — Laid Off With No Plan B 20:46 — Starting a Consulting Company 23:53 — Romans 12:2 and the Birth of Transformed Culinary Solutions 24:53 — Seven Years of Moonlighting 26:18 — Transforming Senior Living & Healthcare Dining 27:33 — Why Fundamentals Matter 28:27 — The Primary Food Colors Rule 32:04 — Living a Lie: What Actually Changed 34:22 — Faith on a Pirate Ship 36:08 — Fear of Failure and the Kitchen Battle Suit 39:20 — Facing Your Fears Is the Sweet Spot 40:47 — Yes, They'll Talk Behind Your Back. Do It Anyway. 43:25 — Trained, Shamed and Conditioned 44:24 — Fast Food to Fine Dining: How to Move Up 46:18 — Thrown Knives and Muscle Memory 47:17 — Senior Living and Asking the Right Question 48:25 — Why Failure Is Good 48:45 — The Glace de Viande Heist 50:47 — Falling in Love With the Residents 52:31 — Selling the Story, Not Just the Plate 53:48 — The Line Cook Who Walked Her Home 54:39 — A 94-Year-Old Painter: It's Never Too Late 56:25 — Wrap & Where to Find Darin 57:35 — A Blessing for the Audience Stay Tall & Frosty and Lead from your Heart Adam AB Technical College | Culinary Program Carolina Health & Wellness Register for The Leadership Lab The Recipe For Your Success Newsletter Chef Life Media LLC

Chef Dean Harrison describes spending 14 years working as a yacht chef after starting in restaurants at age 15. He says he was drawn to yachting because it offered travel, better pay, and a different lifestyle than restaurants, rather than Michelin-star ambitions. He recalls an early dangerous crossing from Brisbane to Fiji on a 100-foot boat during a cyclone. The vessel lost stabilizers after the hydraulics overheated, the captain hand-steered for about 48 hours, and Harrison says he was sure the boat would capsize. Harrison explains that large yachts have a clear divide between guest and crew areas. He says crew quarters are smaller and less comfortable, often involving bunk beds and shared cabins, while the rest of the yacht is reserved for guests. He describes a typical week-long charter as requiring heavy planning and over-ordering, especially in harder supply regions like the Caribbean. He says food orders can total about $50,000 a week on a 280-foot yacht, and unused food is usually reused for crew meals rather than discarded. He outlines three work arrangements in yachting: temporary contracts, full-time contracts, and rotational contracts with alternating weeks on and off. He says the industry is regulated under MLC rules, which require crew accommodation, food, insurance, and basic safety standards. Harrison says the lifestyle has given him travel, cultural experiences, and financial stability, but also required sacrifices such as missed weddings, strained relationships, and burnout. He says confidence took him years to build, and he now advises new chefs to prepare carefully, avoid ego, and learn multiple cuisines and skills. He also says he now works in recruitment and coaching, where he tries to improve chef salaries and help people understand the realities of yacht life before committing to it. His main concern for the industry is mental strain and burnout among chefs.

"I like that it's hard. I just don't think it needs to be harsh." Chef Duane Keller spent a year turning around the kitchen at Bellmead Country Club in Thomson, Georgia — cutting cost of goods in half and nearly doubling sales — while running on a leadership philosophy he calls gentle pressure. This episode also brings in his sous chef Damon and general manager Josh Morris, so you get the same turnaround from three different seats in the room, and the answer to a much bigger question: what a year of consistent, unglamorous pressure actually costs and returns. Registration for the free monthly Leadership Lab is open — a live working space for chefs ready to lead without losing themselves — @ https://thecheflifebrigade.com/thelab The Slicer Story Chef Duane didn't walk into Bellmead with a five-year plan. He walked in and asked one question: do we have a slicer? The answer was yes — sitting unused in the storeroom, while the kitchen kept buying pre-sliced deli meat instead of prepping from scratch. In his own words, there had been "no effort, and therefore no results." Twelve months later, cost of goods was cut in half and sales were nearly double what they'd been. Turnaround leadership, it turns out, rarely starts with vision. It starts with somebody finally asking the obvious question nobody else bothered to. The Pathology Report Nobody Read Then the conversation turns, and Duane tells you something he didn't have to. He survived two cancers at the same time — worked through it, radioactive pill and all, taking $3,000 shots every day while running full food-and-beverage operations. The nurses administering them didn't even know what they were for. It later came out that his own doctors had sat on his pathology report and forgotten to read it — the report that could have caught things sooner. He almost died from an administrative mistake, not the disease itself. He doesn't tell this story for sympathy. He tells it because it's the actual foundation under everything else he says about leadership. "I look at every day as a gift," he says. Not as a slogan — as the thing that happened to him after he nearly lost the option to have any more of them. Trust But Verify Sous chef Daymon didn't come up through culinary school. He spent ten years running a Bed Bath & Beyond location before the company folded — cooking was his wife's idea, not a childhood dream. When Duane's first sous chef left, Damon didn't get handed the job because he was next in line. Duane made him earn it: testing his menu ideas, watching how he communicated, waiting to see if the commitment was real. Damon's own framing for it, borrowed from a saying he picked up in a military family: trust, but verify. He got the promotion. More importantly, both of them learned they could rely on each other before either one had to find out the hard way. Cashing In the Boardroom General manager Josh Morris used to just be a member here — then a board director, then the guy who "cashed in the boardroom and headed to the administrative office" when the GM seat opened up. A year later he calls it a brand-new club, a brand-new vibe. He's also honest that it's been "way harder than I thought it was gonna be," and that the cost has been real — time away from a three-year-old daughter chief among it. He credits Duane's collaborative style directly: "It's not a y'all and me. We're all gonna be a team." Cook With Your Heart Ask Duane what he wants his legacy to be and he doesn't reach for a résumé line, even though he's got plenty to reach for — James Beard recognition, cooking for three sitting presidents, a feature in Golf Kitchen. He says it plainly: anybody who believes they can cook with their heart. "Because all that is, is caring." Most of us armor up somewhere along the way in this industry to survive it. The chefs worth working for are the ones who stayed soft enough underneath the armor to still mean it. The Gentle Pressure Method Put it all together and you get Duane's actual operating system: invest in your people daily, give feedback constantly, his own number is ten times an hour, seventy percent praise — bring people along instead of demanding instant mastery, and let trust compound for about a year before you shift into more warmth. None of it is complicated. All of it requires doing it every single day, without exception, without theatrics. "A little bit every day, a little gentle pressure. That's how people improve." Chapters 00:00:00 — Gentle Pressure Introduced 00:02:42 — Club Turnaround Story 00:07:51 — Career Growth and Future 00:08:21 — Cancer and Gratitude 00:10:38 — Mentorship and Learning 00:14:40 — Damon's Kitchen Journey 00:18:41 — Earning Trust in the Brigade 00:23:58 — Passion Beyond the Hustle 00:27:40 — Perspective Shift After Illness 00:31:55 — Memorable Events and Math 00:35:55 — Teaching Through Food 00:37:47 — Leading with Heart 00:42:12 — Legacy and Softness 00:45:22 — Josh's Club Background 00:47:46 — Measuring Renovation Success 00:50:41 — Collaborative Leadership 00:53:41 — Self-Care and Delegation 00:55:49 — Weather and Membership Growth 00:58:46 — Wellness and Family Time 01:02:13 — Gentle Pressure Philosophy 01:04:49 — Advice for Young Chefs Research Links Belle Meade Country Club Chef Duane Keller Subscribe to The Recipe for Your Success Newsletter Learn more at Chef Life Coaching Follow Chef Life Radio Stay Tall & Frosty. And Lead from the Heart. —Adam.

Chef Keiona Jackson became the first African-American and first female executive chef in Oxford, Mississippi; then walked away from six figures and a kitchen she loved when her body finally said what her mouth wouldn't. This episode is for anyone who's ever been praised for their grit and never asked what that grit was actually costing them. ------------- Registration for the free monthly Leadership Lab is open — a live working space for chefs ready to lead without losing themselves — @ https://thecheflifebrigade.com/thelab -------------- "You have to value yourself and your worth more than a title or two accolades — or appeasing somebody, or a credibility, whatever the driving force is behind doing something that your intuition told you not to do." Standing on a Sugar Bucket Chef Keiona's story doesn't start in a professional kitchen. It starts in Mississippi, five years old, standing on a gallon sugar bucket next to her grandmother so she could reach the counter. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Everybody in the neighborhood knew that if you were hungry, you could find a plate at her grandmother's house — any part of the day. She didn't set out to chase titles. She started an aviation mechanic job for Jeep and accidentally built a catering company on the side — business cards from Vistaprint, an EIN, no idea she was technically operating illegally. All she wanted was to feed people and watch them smile. That was the whole plan. The plan changed because other people kept seeing something in her that she wasn't looking for. Becoming the First — and Paying the Tax Nobody Talks About In 2018, Keiona became the first African-American executive chef and the first female executive chef in Oxford, Mississippi. She calls it an honor. She's also honest that it wasn't celebrated the way it should have been, in a town she describes plainly as racist-centric. She was in kitchens with the "good old boys" who told her she wasn't good enough to be anything but a prep cook or a dishwasher — after she'd already worked her way past those positions. She was, more often than not, the only woman and the only Black woman in the room. She had to earn respect from men who didn't extend it by default, just so they'd do their jobs. She didn't do it to be a trailblazer. She did it because she wanted the next person who looked like her to have an easier path than she did. "I didn't want to be the only African-American executive chef," she says. "I want to mentor people to come in that look like me to take that position." What Actually Surprised Her About the Job Ask most people what it's like to become an executive chef and you'll get a story about pressure, pace, plating. Ask Keiona and she'll tell you about systems and processes — the invisible infrastructure most kitchens don't have, and the reason so many restaurants fail long before anyone notices. "As an executive chef, you are a mother, a mentor, a leader, a cook, a paper pusher," she says. She still has employees from 2018 who call to check on her. She leads by example — if she asks someone to deep clean, she's on her knees next to them, because she doesn't want to explain what she wants. She wants to show it. That instinct comes partly from her master's in psychology, which she never formally used as a career — she uses it every day with her team instead. Her coaching philosophy is simple and hard to actually practice: "You have to humanize the experience." Take the business logic out of the moment when someone's struggling. See them as a whole human being, not a pair of hands on a schedule. The Cost of Being the One Who Can Do Anything Here's where the episode turns. Because being that reliable, that skilled, that willing to carry the kitchen on your back — it works, right up until it doesn't. A company that bought the hotel she used to run in Oxford asked her to come back and restore it. She still had a heart for that place. It was home. Against her own discernment — the part of her that was telling her not to go back — she said yes. She got the property back into Marriott compliance. She stood up a rooftop restaurant short-staffed, in the slow season, while corporate told her they were "solely dependent on her expertise" — and then micromanaged every decision she made. Seven days a week. Twelve to fifteen hours a day. Her body started keeping score before her mind admitted anything was wrong. Memory loss. A stutter that came and went. And one day, trying to get on an elevator at work, she pushed the button — and her feet simply wouldn't move. Her brain sent the signal. Her body didn't answer. People were behind her trying to get off, and she couldn't make herself step forward. She resigned October 7th. It took nearly six months to be restored, mentally and physically. Can Resilience Actually Be a Hindrance? We asked her directly: can endurance and resilience — the very traits that got her here — actually be a bad thing? "It's absolutely a hindrance," she says, without hesitating. That's the hammer of this episode. Not that resilience is bad. That resilience without a boundary attached to it isn't strength — it's a slower, quieter way of disappearing. You have to value yourself and your worth more than a title, more than an accolade, more than the credibility of proving you can do it again. Whatever the driving force is behind ignoring your own intuition, you have to value yourself over it. Putting Her Brain on Paper Since then, Keiona has spent months doing something that sounds unglamorous and is actually the whole turnaround: she wrote it all down. A thousand Google Sheets and docs. Fifteen years of operational knowledge that used to live only in her head — the reason she was always the one everyone called — finally on paper, so someone else could actually step in. "It was a heavy weight," she says, "and I can feel it lifting from my chest when I submitted the last document." That's what delegation actually looks like when it's not a productivity buzzword. It's relief. It's the difference between being needed and being trapped. Boundaries, Routine, and the Discipline of No These days, her mornings start with prayer and meditation. She's in the gym regularly. She reads for the pure pleasure of it again, because that's a version of herself she'd lost. And she names the one skill that changed everything: learning to say no. "No is the biggest thing for me," she says. "The ability to say no and to understand that you don't have to accept everything." In the past couple of years, she's walked away from more deals than she's said yes to — a hard reversal for someone who used to jump on every opportunity out of fear it wouldn't come again, and who's been burned by people who took her ideas because she gave too freely, too fast. What She's Building Now Keiona isn't stepping back from the industry — she's rebuilding it from underneath. She's launching the Mississippi Culinary Reentry Program Initiative, training and placing returning citizens in culinary jobs. Seeds to Skillet brings kids in her hometown of Oakland, Mississippi into the kitchen and the garden, teaching them to grow their own food and eventually cook a graduation dinner for their community. And she built the Operator's Playbook — an app that puts real restaurant SOPs, costing sheets, and P&L education in front of small operators who can't afford a consultant. All of it traces back to one line she repeats twice in this conversation, once for herself and once for anyone still building without a map: "I want to be that person that I didn't have." Chapters 00:00 - Cold Open: The Elevator That Wouldn't Move 01:45 - Welcome, Chef Keiona Jackson 02:14 - From a Sugar Bucket in Mississippi to Culinary School 04:42 - Becoming Oxford, Mississippi's First Black and First Female Executive Chef 08:08 -The Mentors Who Believed First 10:42 - What Nobody Tells You About Running a Kitchen 13:19 - Humanizing the Team, Not Just Managing It 16:13 - The Bolognese Test: Chasing Validation in Italy 17:34 - Living With Imposter Syndrome 20:04 - Building What She Didn't Have: Reentry Program, Seeds to Skillet, the Operator's Playbook 27:47 - Can Resilience Become a Hindrance? 29:44 - The Elevator That Wouldn't Move (For Real This Time) 34:16 - Boundaries, Delegation, and Putting Her Brain on Paper 36:59 - The Power of No Chef Keiona Jackson AB Technical College | Culinary Program Carolina Health & Wellness Register for The Leadership Lab The Recipe For Your Success Newsletter Stay Tall & Frosty. And Lead from the Heart. —Adam. Podcast Copyright — Chef Life Media LLC