High-Test Fuel: Why My Mom’s Soup Still Matters in a Scalable Business

My dad used to say that if you want to do anything well, you have to start by fueling yourself properly. He called it “high-test fuel.” Not fancy. Not complicated. Just real food that gives you what you need to show up.

He believed that deeply. And so did my mom.

In our house, led by hardworking Italian immigrants, food wasn’t just something you grabbed between activities. It was how my parents took care of us and how they showed love. It was how they created consistency in a world that was often chaotic and loud. One of those constants was my mom’s pastina soup—simple, nourishing, comforting, and made the same way every time. Tiny pasta. Rich broth. A recipe that didn’t need improvement, only respect.

Years later, when I started building Salad House in 2017, that soup came with me.

It might sound strange to anchor a growing fast-casual brand to something as humble as a bowl of pastina. But to me, it represents everything I believe hospitality should be about. Food should restore you. It should meet you where you are. It should feel human.

We talk a lot in this industry about efficiency, systems, throughput, and optimization. Those things matter. You can’t scale without structure. But somewhere along the way, many brands started confusing frictionless with soulless. The goal became removing every trace of humanity from the experience—replacing conversation with screens, relationships with algorithms, hospitality with logistics.

I’ve never wanted to build that kind of company.

Salad House was created around the idea that people want to eat well, feel good, and still enjoy their food. You shouldn’t have to choose between nourishment and pleasure. You shouldn’t have to choose between speed and being seen. You shouldn’t have to choose between modern convenience and something that feels familiar.

That’s where my mom’s soup comes in. It’s not a gimmick or a seasonal hook. It’s a reminder—internally and externally—of what we’re actually doing here. We’re feeding people. On their best days and their worst ones. Between meetings. After workouts. During long shifts. When they’re sick. When they’re celebrating.

The soup sits on our menu alongside bold salads, warm bowls, indulgent toppings, and comfort-driven choices because that’s how real people eat. Sometimes you want something light and bright. Sometimes you want something rich and satisfying. Sometimes you want something that feels like home.

Scaling that mindset is harder than scaling a menu.

For operators trying to grow without losing their soul, a few lessons have stuck with me:

Anchor your brand to something real. A story, a recipe, a belief—something that existed before the growth plan. That anchor becomes your compass when decisions get hard.

Standardize values, not personality. Systems should protect consistency, not erase humanity. Teach why things matter, not just how to do them.

Design for care, not just speed. Throughput matters, but guests remember how you made them feel. Efficiency should support hospitality, not replace it.

Let comfort live next to innovation. Not every menu item needs to be trendy. Familiarity builds trust, especially at scale.

Hire for empathy, then train for skill. You can teach processes. It’s much harder to teach someone to genuinely care about feeding others.

Remember that food is fuel—and trust. Every order is a small act of reliance. Treat it that way.

When you grow from one store to many, it becomes tempting to standardize everything into sameness. To chase perfection through control. But humanity doesn’t scale through control. It scales through values.

So we try to hire people who understand that feeding someone is personal. We talk about food as fuel, but also as trust. Someone is choosing us to take care of them for a few minutes of their day. That matters.

My parents never talked about “brand.” They talked about making sure everyone had enough to eat. About sending people out the door stronger than when they came in. About high-test fuel. That philosophy built our family. It’s helping build our company, too.

Momma Cioffi’s pastina is hospitality at its purest form, a warm, comforting, motherly hug that says, “You’re taken care of.”💛