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For a long time, David Neinstein didn’t think he’d end up in a restaurant.After building a career in marketing and completing his MBA, he found himself asking a simple question: if you won the lottery, what would you do? The answer came quickly - he’d open a restaurant. So at 30, he did exactly that.It wasn’t the expected move. Surrounded by a network of professionals in more traditional careers, David was the outlier stepping into a world he had no formal training in. But instead of following a passion for a specific cuisine, he approached it analytically. He looked at gaps in the Toronto market, and barbecue stood out.What followed was an immersive education. David moved to Oklahoma, worked in BBQ kitchens starting at 6 a.m., competed on weekends, and spent months eating his way through over 100 restaurants across the U.S. Along the way, he began to question the category itself - why did barbecue have to be so heavy? Why couldn’t it be refined?Barque BBQ became his answer. A place that pairs traditional smoking techniques with fresh, seasonal vegetables, full-service hospitality, and a dining experience that feels intentional rather than indulgent. Even the name reflects that thinking, a nod to both the “bark” of barbecue and the craft behind it.In this episode, David shares how competition BBQ shaped his attention to detail, why he made the controversial move to eliminate tipping, and how he’s tried to create a restaurant where both guests and staff feel respected. He also reflects on his time advocating for small businesses in Roncesvalles, and why showing up for others in the industry matters more than ever.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

Andrea Christensen didn’t set out to build a cookie business - it found her.When the pandemic hit, Andrea suddenly had time. What started as baking for fun (something she’d always loved) quickly became an obsession with one goal: creating the perfect soft-baked cookie. As a self-taught baker with a science-minded approach, she leaned into experimentation, testing, and refining until every detail felt right.She began sharing her cookies on Instagram with friends and family. Then strangers started asking for them. Within months, she launched a website  and what had once been a hobby quietly turned into something much bigger.The process wasn’t simple. It took two years to develop her recipes at home, and moving into a commercial kitchen meant starting over again. There’s no secret ingredient - just high-quality components, technique, and an almost obsessive level of intention. Andrea won’t put anything out into the world unless she truly loves it.That same mindset shaped her business. A rotating menu came from necessity - simplifying operations, reducing waste, and creating excitement week to week. What began as a solo operation has grown into a team of nearly 60 people, multiple locations, and a community that shows up not just for cookies, but for the experience around them.Andrea shares what it means to build something from instinct, how flavour development became one of her favourite parts of the process, and why learning to let go as a leader might be the hardest step yet. This is a story about patience, precision, and finding your path - even if it wasn’t the one you planned.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

Not only is Golden Turtle one of Toronto’s oldest Vietnamese restaurants, it’s a story that stretches across continents, generations, and the quiet work of keeping something meaningful alive.For Linda Nguyen, the restaurant was part of her childhood long before it became her responsibility. Her earliest memories are behind the counter: folding napkins, serving customers, and watching her parents run a place that taught her the meaning of hard work, teamwork, and care. Family, she learned early, wasn’t just the people you lived with. It was also the people you worked beside every day.Her parents came to Canada carrying their own histories of survival and resilience. Born in a Malaysian refugee camp during the Vietnam War, Linda grew up understanding that losing track of family could mean losing track of yourself. Food became the thread that held everything together.Years later, despite studying retail management and cognitive science and never imagining herself in the restaurant industry, Linda realized the restaurant meant more than her original career path. Five years ago, she and her brother Michael stepped in to carry the legacy forward - preserving the same pho recipe that passed from her grandmother to her mother, and now to her.In this episode, Linda reflects on leadership, family, and what it means to carry a legacy responsibly - nurturing her team, welcoming new neighbours on Ossington, and showing her daughter that leadership rooted in care is something to be proud of.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

Lake Inez was never meant to be static.When Zac Schwartz met Dennis Kimeda and Patrick Ciappara, he wasn’t planning on becoming a restaurateur. He was paying his way through university. He wasn’t a lifer in the industry. But when Dennis - who had already built The Wren - asked him to partner on a new venture, Zac made a choice that would change everything: he gave every penny he had to something that didn’t exist yet.From the very first night Lake Inez opened, Zac felt something different. When he bent down to pick up a napkin off the floor, he realized he wasn’t stepping into someone else’s concept - he owned it. Every decision. Every risk. Every success. Every failure.Named after a small lake Zac’s grandparents once bought in Michigan - a sacred place rooted in love - Lake Inez became a space built not around culinary pedigree, but around creative permission. None of the three owners were chefs, but they believed there had to be someone out there waiting for carte blanche. Enter Robbie Hojilla, a second-generation Filipino chef trained in high-end European kitchens, who was given full freedom to cook food closest to him.That philosophy stuck. Today, Lake Inez is less about continuity and more about evolution. Menus shift. Dishes come and go. Fermentation programs emerge. Darlings get killed. The constant isn’t the food, it’s the culture. A place where individuality is celebrated, neighbourhood energy is amplified, and creative freedom is the thread that binds it all together.This is a story about risk, ownership, reciprocal gratitude, and believing that if your sensibilities change, your output should too.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

When COVID threw a wrench into Michael Lam and Eric Chow’s plans at Ascari, they were left with a choice.They could go their separate ways, or they could figure out how to keep working together. What they shared was a mindset, a standard for hospitality, and a deep trust built from long days inside a 140-seat restaurant where nothing worked unless everyone moved in sync. Choosing each other became the starting point.Good Behaviour was the result — not because either of them dreamed of opening an ice cream shop, but because ice cream felt like a way to still connect with people. It was familiar. Comforting. A reward in a moment when good behaviour meant staying home, seeing friends at a distance, and getting through something hard. And despite neither of them having a sweet tooth, ice cream became the vessel for hospitality.But winter was coming and ice cream alone wouldn’t keep their team. At the eleventh hour, sandwiches entered the picture. Three days after the idea surfaced, subs launched and sold out every day for a month. What began as survival quickly became a pillar of the business and a way to keep people employed, motivated, and excited to show up.Michael and Eric talk about building trust with guests, learning systems in real time, and how discipline — especially learning when to say no — became as important as creativity. They share how menus are designed collaboratively, why every new item has to compete with the best seller, and how consistency doesn’t mean boring.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

For Nicolò Marchisio, food has always been the way love shows up.It’s the universal feeling of coming home and being greeted by your nonna — not with questions, but with a list of everything she made just for you. And only later, as an adult, do you realize what that really meant: the shopping trip the day before, the hours spent cooking, the way she never sat down to eat because she was too focused on making sure you were happy.Nonna Lia’s is built on that feeling.Nicolò grew up between Italy and Canada, surrounded by food but never planning to work in it. At 19, he skipped out on an office job, flew to Japan without telling his parents, and was promptly called home by his dad to work a summer at the family clothing store — where a closed-down pub downstairs became an accidental restaurant. Helping design the space and menu changed everything.Years later, knowing how to make tiramisu better than anything else, Nicolò began quietly obsessing over the idea of turning it into a business. The idea sat untouched for four years — until the pandemic forced stillness, experimentation, and a return to what mattered most.What followed was relentless refinement. Learning from his mother. Translating recipes with no measurements into something consistent. Solving for transport, shelf life, and balance. Reworking every component — again and again — until it felt right. Even now, Nicolò says they’re only 90% of where they want to be.In this episode, Nicolò talks about the responsibility of representing Italian food with honesty, why hospitality matters as much as the recipe, how he responds personally to every complaint, and why taking care of people — customers included — is non-negotiable.This is a story about patience, pride, and the kind of love that shows up quietly, every day.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

Not knowing what success looked like turned out to be the greatest advantage Nick Genova and James Carnevale had.James was already deep in kitchens, drawn to the technical, almost scientific side of gelato. Nick was a freelance videographer and creative jack-of-all-trades, trying to find his footing. When James decided he wanted to make gelato, Nick was simply there — and when nothing else was quite working, he figured: why not?What followed was a partnership built on complementary skills and radical openness. James brought precision, balance, and an obsession with texture. Nick came in as a blank canvas, with no preconceived notions of how a food business should work. James liked that. Nick learned everything by doing, asking questions, and trusting James’ instincts — a dynamic they jokingly compare to Walter White and Jesse Pinkman.They started with almost nothing: a few tools, four or five bars, one soft-serve machine, and a strange little gelato truck that needed explaining. Instagram was still new. Video wasn’t really a thing. So Nick leaned into what he knew — treating their content like tiny TV ads, shot quickly in aprons, full of humour. “Soft serve, undressed” became a defining campaign, positioning Bar Ape as the antithesis of the overly dressed-up soft serve trend.I had the pleasure of sitting down with Nick to talk about betting on himself at a crossroads, turning down his first full-time job, and how not knowing what success looked like allowed them to keep going when others might have quit. He opens up about running a seasonal business that feels like a brand-new shop every summer, the Tetris of operating in an impossibly small space, and why a tiny, committed team beats an army.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

Mezes began in 1990 at 404 Danforth, started by a man who had no business opening a restaurant — no formal training, no business plan — just a huge heart and an even bigger dream. Vasha Zindros’ father opened the restaurant as a love letter to his mother and his wife’s family, believing that if he could dream it, he could do it.When he passed suddenly and tragically, Vasha’s mother was left widowed at 37, holding a restaurant she never wanted and all of their savings. She didn’t have many choices, but she made it work. And she did it by leading with love.Vasha grew up on the Danforth, inside that restaurant. Homework during service. Sneaking cherry tomatoes in the back. Learning how to lead from her mother, who showed her that no business book could teach you how to care for people the way love does. If Vasha behaved well, her dad would reward her with a Styrofoam cup of tzatziki from Astoria and a spoon — a treat she’d eat sitting in Withrow Park, the highlight of her week.In January 2020, Vasha took over Mezes and by March, the world shut down. As devastating as the pandemic was, it became the moment that clarified everything for her. She had no reason to believe she could do it, but she knew she could. She signed a lease on a corner her father once pointed to on one of those tzatziki walks, crossed her fingers, and hoped for the best.Today, Mezes is a cornerstone of Greektown — not because it tries to be the destination, but because it insists the Danforth should be. With no reservations, long-standing staff who manage each other, and a culture rooted in open arms, warmth, and trust, Mezes is a place people count on. Families take Christmas photos there. Staff have been there for decades. Customers feel the care no matter who serves them or when they walk in.This episode is about grief, resilience, trust, and what it means to honour a dream that never belonged to one person — but to a family, a team, and a neighbourhood that showed up when it mattered most.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

Creole, Caribbean, and Latin cuisines may look different on the surface, but historically, they’ve always spoken the same language.For Alycia Wahn, Conejo Negro wasn’t about filling a gap in Toronto’s dining scene - it was about bringing together cultures that have long shared roots. Raised cooking Italian food, trained in French technique, and shaped by years spent living and working across the American South, Latin America, and the Caribbean, Alycia’s approach to food has always been layered, intuitive, and deeply personal.Add to that Toronto’s Caribbean influence, a Guyanese husband and business partner, and a Uruguayan collaborator, and Conejo Negro became a natural meeting place. Creole cuisine carries West African, French, and Spanish influence. Caribbean food reflects Guyanese and British roots. Uruguayan cooking draws from Indigenous, Spanish, Italian, and Latin American traditions. The overlap isn’t forced, it’s historical.Conejo Negro came together during the pandemic, after a full year of testing recipes, slow-cooking dishes days in advance, writing lists, and asking one grounding question over and over: does this feel right to all of us? Even the name followed that rule. With just a month to go before opening, the team finally landed on Conejo Negro - a choice rooted in intuition, symbolism, and shared agreement.In this conversation, Alycia talks about learning to cook alongside her mother at age 12, why she doesn’t chase trends or titles, and how “home cooking” can still be deeply refined. She shares what it means to run a happy kitchen — one filled with music, movement, and mutual respect — and reflects on being recognized by Michelin with a Bib Gourmand just 10 months in, an honour she didn’t even know existed.The goal was never accolades. It was always simpler: make good food, take care of people, and let the rest follow.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

PAI didn’t start as a restaurant idea - it started as a place.Chef Nuit and Jeff Regular’s story begins long before Toronto, in a small northern Thai town called Pai. It’s where they lived, where Jeff fell in love with Thailand before he even met Chef Nuit, and where Chef Nuit spent years as a nurse, learning to cook the way her family always had — by taste, not measurement, guided by instinct and an understanding of sweet, sour, salty, and spicy.Their relationship began long-distance, built on connection and trust. When Jeff visited Thailand 25 years ago, it was the first time he truly experienced Thai food - something he hadn’t grown up with in Toronto. What followed was a shared belief: if you respect the flavours and use the best ingredients, the food will speak for itself.That belief was tested early. When they opened Sukhothai in 2008, they served just a handful of guests a day and were once told their food “wasn’t Thai” because their Pad Thai didn’t come with ketchup. They were making $50 a day, but they refused to change how they cooked. They believed that people didn’t want restaurants to make food they already liked. They wanted to learn about food from the places it came from.PAI was born from that conviction. Not as a “Thai restaurant in Toronto,” but as an attempt to make guests feel like they’d stepped into Thailand itself - into the streets of Pai, where generations mix, old bars sit beside new ones, and everything feels alive and deeply rooted at the same time. From the bones of the space to the layers of art, personality, music, basketball, and even Spiderman, PAI reflects everything they love.Chef Nuit and Jeff share how respect for flavour became their foundation, why protecting their relationship always came before business, and how cooking with honesty has led not just to full dining rooms - but to guests booking flights to Thailand because of what they tasted.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

For Talia Rana, the restaurant was never just a restaurant - it was home.Before Gio Rana’s Really Really Nice Restaurant became a Leslieville cornerstone, it lived in a family’s daily routine. Homework done in the side room during service. Wiping menus alongside her mom. Sitting on her mother’s lap, being fed fresh ricotta with a tiny spoon - a memory so vivid it’s stayed with her forever.The family’s first restaurant was a hamburger joint in the Beaches, but when Gio opened Gio’s, he wanted something different. He was chasing the feeling of the osterias and trattorias he loved in Italy - unassuming, hole-in-the-wall places that quietly served one of the best meals of your life. No signs. No website. Just word of mouth that led you to a lightning in a bottle kind of experience.The name? That came from Talia. At five years old, standing in a space that had been stripped down to its studs, she tried to comfort her dad and said, “It’s really, really nice.” The irony stuck - a tongue-in-cheek promise of warmth, not white tablecloths or Michelin stars.In this conversation, Talia reflects on growing up surrounded by adults, learning responsibility early, and choosing to step into the front of house inspired by her mother - a straight shooter who made guests feel at home in a way people still talk about decades later. She shares the story behind the now-famous nose out front, the lawsuit that almost ended everything, and the decision to open a restaurant that was fully, authentically theirs.This is a story about family, memory, mystery, and the belief that going out for dinner shouldn’t feel exclusive - it should feel like a way of life.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

Before Burger Drops became known for its smash burgers, it started as something much simpler: Greg Bourolias just wanted to gather people and take care of them. Not in a flashy way - but the way you do at a dinner table, or on a backyard porch, where there’s always too much food and someone telling you it needs more salt.Greg grew up in a Greek household where hospitality meant abundance. Aunts and uncles chiming in, kids crying, his dad manning the grill — food was the language of care. That instinct followed him into the restaurant world, where he started in the front of house, sweating through shifts, learning discipline from his dad, and understanding that the real reward wasn’t money - it was responsibility.Burger Drops was born from that mindset. An all-you-can-eat burger experience for $15 (a terrible financial decision, by his own admission) but one that delivered exactly what he cared about: generosity, connection, and memory-making. Burgers became the perfect canvas - simple, familiar, and powerful enough to secure a moment in someone’s life.In this conversation, Greg talks about why smash burgers aren’t new, why simplicity matters, how turning off delivery apps during busy moments is an act of respect, and why the most important thing in any restaurant is the people who walk through the door. This is a story about leadership, nostalgia, and creating food with freedom and honesty - because when you feed someone well, you give them a memory.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

For Sam Davis, the dream was simple: to have the keys to his own space. But the road to Primrose Bagel was anything but straightforward.After living in New York City and falling deep into bagel culture, Sam found himself back in Toronto - where bagels were already in his blood. His cousins owned United Bakers, and long before Primrose existed, Sam was biking around the city delivering bagels to friends for fun, donations, and practice.Everything changed the morning Grant van Gameren ordered three dozen bagels. Sam baked as many as he physically could out of his home, biked them across the city, and woke up to a video that helped set everything in motion. Soon after, doors opened (literally) and Sam was offered spaces to bake.Primrose takes its name from Sam’s grandfather’s garment company, a piece of family history rooted in Spadina’s Jewish garment district. The original stationery from that business still lives on today, forming the backbone of Primrose’s visual identity. It’s a continuation of legacy - not just in name, but in spirit.In this conversation, Sam shares how bagels became a ritual, why they had to be good enough to eat plain on the walk home, what United Bakers taught him about listening to customers, and why the people who clock in at the start of the day and clock out at the end are the most important part of the business.This is a story about bread, belonging, and building a neighbourhood ritual - one sesame bagel at a time.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

When childhood friends Adrian Ravinsky and Dave Stewart first worked together at 16, neither could’ve guessed their early restaurant shifts would one day shape how they saw Toronto or inspire a business built around the city’s diversity.Growing up in the early 2000s, Toronto was coming into itself. There was pride, identity, attitude - yet Adrian and Dave kept asking one question: Why isn’t Toronto’s food identity celebrated for what it truly is?Toronto might not have one “national dish,” but its culture is food - hundreds of cultures layered together on one plate. Their first idea was a multicultural sandwich shop, but after Adrian’s life-changing trip to San Sebastián where pincho bars spill out into the streets and snacks fuel connection, the idea evolved into something different.416 Snack Bar became a place where Toronto’s mosaic shows up in every bite. A menu that changes based on which cultures feel underrepresented that week. No forks or knives - just hands, fun, and a little constraint to make snacking feel playful. A space where the lighting, the sound, and the energy matter as much as the food because Adrian has spent over 10,000 hours making sure guests feel good and feel like themselves.This conversation dives into why representing cultures matters, how one snack can make someone emotional, what it means to build a restaurant that reflects the city you love, and the joy of seeing someone light up when they spot a dish from home. (And yes, Adrian’s favourite snack is apples. Criminally underrated.)Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

When Erich Mrak lost his job as a chef during the pandemic, he did what many of us did - he went home and started cooking. What began as homemade pasta for friends and family turned into meal kits, a small wholesale business, and eventually, a tiny 620-square-foot pasta shop that would change everything.The name Tiny Market Co. was born in a dog park, when Erich and Danielle Soule - who was working at the café connected to his rented kitchen - started talking about the kind of business they both dreamed of running. Within weeks, she’d joined him. Within a year, they were running a pasta shop together - and dating.Their story is one of community, care, and connection. From greeting customers on the street to remembering names in a notes app, every part of Tiny Market Co. is built around gratitude. What started as a necessity during the pandemic has grown into a tiny-but-mighty fixture in Toronto’s pasta scene - known for its handmade dishes and pasta classes that sell out week after week.This conversation with Erich and Danielle is about small beginnings, shared passion, and the butterfly effect that can turn a rented kitchen and an idea in a dog park into something extraordinary.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

It all started with an email.One day, Calvin and Graham Reid’s dad sent a message to his kids that simply read: “This seems wild, but what do you think about starting a gin distillery?” That single note set the Reid family on a path that turned kitchen-counter experiments into one of Toronto’s most exciting craft distilleries.For the Reids, this wasn’t their first adventure. Years earlier, their parents sold the family home, bought a sailboat, and homeschooled their kids while sailing across the Americas - a move that shaped their fearless, “make mistakes and have fun doing it” attitude.What began with homebrewing and a love for craft beer evolved into a passion for gin, quality ingredients, and community. Today, Reid’s Distillery partners with foragers across Canada, teaches hundreds of hospitality students through a collaboration with George Brown College, and invites visitors into an open-concept “brand gallery” where you can taste, see, and experience the distilling process firsthand.This conversation with Calvin and Graham is about family, risk-taking, and how a single email can change everything - especially when it’s signed “Love, Dad.”Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

When brothers Dustin and Daniel Gelman opened their first burger shop at the height of the pandemic, they thought it would be a one-time thing - a small, simple spot built around good food and community. Five years later, that single location has turned into nine neighbourhood favourites, each one still holding onto that same mom-and-pop feel.Having both spent years working across the restaurant industry, the brothers knew what they wanted to build, which was a place that felt like the diners they grew up watching in movies back home in the Philippines. A spot where people know your name, your order, and where the menu stays true to the classics.Rosie’s Burgers is about connection, comfort, and family - from bringing in their younger brother to run operations, to carrying on their dad’s legacy through the now-viral banana pudding he convinced them to put on the menu. The Gelman brothers have built a business around consistency, care, and community - and they’ve never lost sight of why they started: to create a neighbourhood place that always feels like home.In this conversation, Dustin and Daniel share how they’ve grown Rosie’s one burger, one memory, and one customer at a time - proving that simple done right never goes out of style.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

When David Baxter first dreamed of opening a small retail bakery in Liberty Village, he imagined a cozy 1,600-square-foot space serving locals. Instead, Circles and Squares evolved into something much bigger - a wholesale operation supplying some of Toronto’s most iconic spots, from the Four Seasons to the Mirvish theatres.But David missed one thing: seeing people enjoy what he baked. Over the years, that vision expanded beyond wholesale. Circles and Squares now has multiple cafés across the city, each one serving as a neighbourhood hub where anyone can stop in for a butter tart, croissant, or cookie made with care. From longtime regulars to first-time visitors, every customer finds something that fits their mood because no matter how you’re feeling today, they’ve got an answer for that.Today, Circles and Squares is known across Ontario for its butter tarts - a product David never imagined he’d make 20 years ago. What started as a small dream has become a bakery built on collaboration, creativity, and care. Whether it’s experimenting with 20% of the menu, scaling recipes from a dozen to a thousand, or embracing the lessons that come from failure, David and his team know that baking (like life) is about getting comfortable with imperfection.This week, David shares why teamwork is the true secret ingredient, the grit of a bread maker and how a little care, a lot of precision, and a good scale can make all the difference.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

When Nicole Campbell and her friend Krysta Oben started Grape Witches, there was no business plan. Just a shared love of natural wine, a few wild ideas, and a belief that wine could bring people together in a new way.What began as late-night tastings and “natural wine raves” turned into one of Toronto’s most joyful, community-driven wine collectives - a place where wine isn’t intimidating, it’s inclusive. Grape Witches challenges old-school thinking, celebrates hybrid grapes as the future of wine, and makes the world of natural wine accessible to anyone who’s curious.Through collaboration, creativity, and a few truly chaotic ideas (including renting out Medieval Times for a wine event), Nicole and Krysta have built a brand that proves you don’t have to be perfect to start something meaningful - you just have to start.I sat down with Nicole to talk about how Grape Witches pivoted during the pandemic to open the wine shop of their dreams, how she and Krysta balance friendship and business with the mantra “clarity is kindness,” and why, for them, wine is a vehicle for joy, connection, and community.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram

It all started with an order of 300 banana butterscotch cupcakes with maple buttercream made by his mom. And from there, Ness Levy helped turn Short & Sweet into one of Toronto’s most beloved bakeries.Sixteen years later, their very first customer still comes by, and the shop has become a safe, joyful space for everyone to celebrate - especially meaningful for Ness, who grew up with a nut allergy and wanted cupcakes to be inclusive for all.In this heartfelt episode, Ness shares what it’s like to build a family business from scratch, the lessons learned when you have to “fake it til you bake it,” and the happy dances that remind him why every win matters. And along the way, he shares how one of our conversations even inspired a brand-new cupcake flavour.Follow the podcast on Instagram and TikTokFollow Sam Jen on Instagram