Making Fire the Long Way: A Day One Reflection from Windy City Smokeout
Because when someone’s doing the work, showing up matters.
Chicago greeted me like it always does, breezy, bustling, and brimming with energy. It was Thursday, July 10th, 2025, and technically my second day in town. But for me, the trip really started that morning over a meal shared with a brother in smoke.
I met up with Daniel Hammond, many know him as @yourfavoritepitmaster, at Sweet Maple Café, a Black-owned brunch spot tucked into the soul of the city. The kind of place where Emmett, our server, knows what’s off-menu is better than what’s on it. Pro tip: ask for the cinnamon roll pancake. It’s not printed anywhere, but it’ll change your outlook on mornings. [I sadly was unable to make it, as a storm came through and washed away our prep… but thats a story for another time]
Between bites of a three-cheese omelet and that sticky-sweet pancake, Daniel and I caught up. He shared stories of the work he's doing right here in Chicago, community-focused programs that go beyond barbecue. Like a women’s grilling course that’s not only gaining momentum but building community. Or the cooking classes he leads for students, teaching them the fundamentals, breaking down a chicken, seasoning, and marinating. The kind of skills that stick with you, even if culinary school isn't in the cards. He invited me to one of the sessions happening the next day. I said I’d do my best to show up. Because when someone’s doing the work, showing up matters.
After breakfast, Daniel dropped me at the United Center, right in the shadow of Michael Jordan’s legacy. From there, it was time to get my bearings and reconnect with Jacob as we set the stage for Windy City Smokeout. For those unfamiliar, the Smokeout is where country music and barbecue collide every summer in Chicago. It's been running since the ‘90s, and the crowds show up hungry, for food, for stories, for a good time.
Our menu for the day? Grilled chicken thighs set atop a Ritz cracker, finished with a slather of homemade pimento cheese and hot honey glaze. Simple, but with soul. I’d be cooking on the M&M El Rey, a beautiful Santa Maria-style grill. A big, bold piece of craftsmanship that had yet to be broken in.
That alone gave me pause. You don’t just fire up a brand-new pit and go. There's a rhythm to initiating something new, especially something that holds heat, memory, and meaning like a grill does. So I started slow. Let the bricks warm up. Let the steel adjust to the idea that it was about to become a tool, not just a structure.
But then came the problem. The wood wasn’t right. It had too much moisture, enough that it would’ve smoked up the whole lot in a cloud of thick white haze. With a crowd on the way, that wasn’t an option.
I considered the easy out: go grab dry wood.
But that didn’t sit right. Just a few minutes earlier, Jacob and I had been talking about resilience, how real cooking, real craft, often comes down to working with what’s in front of you. So I took the longer path.
I stripped the bark off some of the damp logs, used that as kindling, and built small, controlled fires. I placed the rest of the wood along the walls and up on the rack of the Santa Maria, letting the residual heat gently dry them out without lighting them up. It took 30, maybe 40 minutes. But by the end of it, the wood was ready, and I hadn’t wasted a single flame.
While the wood cured, we multitasked. Simmered guajillo chilis on the side, those deep red pods soaking up the warmth, to be blended into a sauce Jacob was dreaming up for the next day’s service.
There’s a kind of quiet power in moments like that. The calm before the chaos. The fire not roaring, but building. A reminder that the best barbecue doesn’t just come from smoke, it comes from patience, problem-solving, and presence.
That’s what day one felt like. A slow ignition. A gathering of good people and good purpose. Whether it was sharing breakfast with Daniel, hearing about the ways barbecue is being used to uplift, or easing a new grill into its future, it all pointed to the same lesson: don’t rush the process.
In barbecue and in life, doing it right doesn’t always mean doing it fast. It means paying attention. It means listening to the wood, to the people, to the moment. And when you do, you end up with something more than just a great plate. You end up with something that feeds more than your stomach.
More to come from Chicago. But for now, the coals are lit, the stories are simmering, and the fire is finally speaking back.