The best founder I ever met closed a seven-figure deal on a Tuesday and then went home and made soup.

Not ordered soup. Made it. From scratch. Stood at the stove with her shoes still on, stirring stock with the same hand that had signed the term sheet two hours earlier, and when I asked her why she didn’t just order something, she looked at me like I’d asked why she breathed.

“The soup is how I think,” she said.

I didn’t understand that then. I do now.

The…