Let me take you back a few years—specifically to 2018—when my wife and I were avidly watching Top Chef (as we do regularly). Among the contestants was this laid-back, mustachioed chef known for his impressive pasta dishes—a talent that immediately stood out to me, given my own growing interest in homemade pasta. His name? Chef Joe.
At the time, I was still trying to perfect my pasta dough. Despite countless YouTube tutorials and trial-and-error cooking nights, I just couldn’t nail the texture or flavor I wanted. So, in a moment that can only be described as a mix of desperation and curiosity, I did what any normal person does these days: I slid into his DMs.
I won’t go into the nitty-gritty of that first message (it was embarrassingly detailed—something like, “Any tips you can send my way for making good pasta?”), but guess what? He replied—the very next day! From that moment, our back-and-forth was a whirlwind of me asking pasta questions and him patiently (or at least politely) answering. It felt like a weird yet wonderful virtual student-chef mentorship. Before I knew it, I was DMing him weekly to troubleshoot my latest kitchen catastrophe. Every message opened with something like, “So I tried making tortellini again...” And somehow, he never blocked me.
My birthday rolled around, and my wife—who found this whole “buddy-chef” situation pretty hilarious—reached out to Joe directly. She wanted to book a private pasta lesson for me as a surprise gift. Next thing I knew, I was face-to-face with the guy I’d been blowing up on Instagram. He’d set up his workstation with fresh ingredients for making tortellini (my favorite). The moment we started chatting, it felt like we’d been friends since high school. We initially bonded over having both been on TV—me for Shark Tank, him for Top Chef—and discovered we shared an entrepreneurial streak. The conversation just flowed.
That day, we kneaded, we rolled (dough, that is), formed tortellini, and talked about the hustle of forging your own path. I left the lesson thinking, “This guy isn’t just a great chef; he’s a genuinely cool person.” We ended up exchanging phone numbers, and soon we were hanging out, cooking together, and trading business tips like we’d known each other forever.
The “Pasta Nachos” Revelation
A few months later, Chef Joe was hosting a pop-up dinner series in Los Angeles called “Tanto Sí” (“so much yes” in Italian—more on that later). One night, he had some last-minute cancellations and asked if my wife and I wanted to fill in. Naturally, we said yes. To start the meal, he served “pasta nachos”—a crispy, delicious revelation that made me question all my snack choices. Imagine puffed pasta pieces loaded with cheesy goodness topped with a bump of caviar. I mean, come on. Afterward, I stuck around to chat, and we all started talking about that dish. Joe casually mentioned he’d dreamed of bringing a version of these to retail someday. Right then, I offered to help.
This might have sounded like an off-the-cuff comment—people say “I’d love to help you with that” all the time. But in my case, I really meant it. I’m an entrepreneur at heart, and I recognized potential in that dish. Over the next few weeks, I kept following up with Joe. He probably thought, “Is this guy for real?” but eventually realized I wasn’t going to let the idea just fade away.
One DM That Changed Everything
Sometimes, all it takes is a little shamelessness to get what you want. If I hadn’t mustered the nerve to message him that day, who knows where we’d both be? I’d still be messing up homemade pasta, and Chef Joe might never have pushed that “puffed pasta chip” dream beyond the pop-up dinner circuit. Instead, we now have “Pasta Nachos”—the beginning of what Tantos would ultimately become.
Looking back, that Instagram DM was a perfect blend of curiosity, timing, and (let’s be honest) luck. It taught me that you have to shoot your shot—the worst that can happen is being ignored, but the best that can happen is you forge a friendship, start a company, and maybe even change the snack aisle along the way.
