Thoughts From the Fire

What’s up, My Eaters!

I hope you all are well and that you enjoyed your holiday weekend. Ours was full—we had the usual life errands to handle, plenty of cooking, a busy farmer’s market, a few catering gigs, business meetings, church, and, finally, a low-key family barbecue. It was busy, yes, but also productive and worth every minute.

At some point while I was cooking, I started thinking about you all, and about the people who love barbecue but aren’t pitmasters themselves. Producing quality barbecue takes a lot, and while it is labor-intensive, there’s also plenty of downtime—the moments in between where the world slows, and the cook becomes a dance between the pitmaster, the wood, and the fire.

For me, that dance usually begins in the late afternoon. The firebox door creaks as I open it. My shovel scrapes along the firebrick as I clear out the old ashes. A small cloud of dust lifts into the air, only to be replaced by the plume of black coal dust that rises as I pour in fresh lump charcoal. I strike a firestarter and tuck in kindling from Smoak Firewood in Senoia. All of our wood comes from Smoak—unless it’s free, I won’t use anything else.

Once the coals turn ashy white, it’s time to heat the cooker. I stack three or four splits of hickory and oak at a time so they ignite quickly, the coal bed stays strong, and the temperature holds steady between 275 and 300 degrees. Depending on which cooker I’m using, this process can take thirty minutes to an hour.

When the chamber is ready, I begin to load the meat. Everything has been trimmed and rubbed in advance. Each cut is placed methodically, based on type, thickness, and cooking time. Heartier cuts go closer to the firebox, while more delicate ones are set farther away. At high volume, it becomes an act of true choreography—fast, deliberate, and precise. The goal is to move quickly so I don’t lose heat in the chamber. Once the last piece is in place, the heavy steel doors clang shut, and the waiting begins again. For the next several hours, my objective is simple: watch the fire and keep the temperature locked in.

This is the moment I love most—the time when everything slows, and the dance begins. The light fades as the day tucks itself away. Birds quiet down, squirrels retreat, and the steady glow of the coal bed becomes more pronounced. All I hear is the crackling of the fire and, every now and then, the soft sizzle of meat.

All my senses are fully engaged. My eyes track the chimney to make sure the smoke stays thin and almost invisible; too much, and the meat will turn black and bitter. My nose catches the sweetness of sugar caramelizing in the rub, drifting through the air alongside the smoky richness of hickory and oak. Each new log changes the flavor of the air, and I breathe it all in. This is my favorite time of the cook.

In these moments, the world around me fades away. It’s just me, my Smoak firewood, and the fire. I think about airflow, fire management, tenderness, and temperature. I think about what’s coming next—cooling the meat, portioning and packaging it, making sure I’ve cooked enough, wondering how it will sell at the market.

But as the night deepens and stillness takes hold, my thoughts turn to what matters most: my family, my team, and my community. This dance, at its core, is for them.

I think about the freedom I’m trying to build for my family through this work. I think about the sacrificial support my team gives me, and the opportunities I want to create for each of them in return. And I think about my customers and the service I want to give back—not just to them, but to Fayette and Coweta counties. These counties birthed my family and my business. They are the place that raised me, that turned me from a boy into a man, and the place I believe I’m called to serve.

These are the things I ponder through the fire. Every pitmaster is different. We each have our own skills, quirks, and preferences. But I’m certain that when the fire burns steady and the night grows quiet, we’re all thinking not just about the meat in front of us, but about why we’re doing it—and who we’re doing it for.

That purpose is what allows us to keep going. It’s what keeps me showing up for every cook, no matter the weather, the location, the event, or even my mood. Purpose makes me steady, the same way a coal bed keeps the fire alive.

Eaters, these are my thoughts from the fire. For me, it’s barbecue. But I want to ask you: what’s your thing? What slows your world down and pulls you fully into the moment? What demands your attention—and who are you doing it for? Let those be the things that drive you into your own greatness, whatever that looks like.

Thank you for joining me again this week. Remember, you can always find me and my team at the Peachtree City Farmer’s Market every Saturday. If you enjoyed this article, tell a friend. And if you’d like to keep up with all things Eating Chambers, you can subscribe to The Eating Chambers newsletter at this link.

Until next time, keep your fire steady and your smoke clean.