When the Fire Fights Back: Lessons from Day Two at Windy City Smokeout

You walk away sharper. Wiser. Hungrier.

If day one was the warm-up, day two came for the smoke, and it didn’t come quietly.

Chicago’s Windy City Smokeout is known for bringing together the best of country music and barbecue. But no one ever talks about what happens when Mother Nature shows up uninvited. And this time? She brought lightning, rain, and one hell of a wake-up call.

The night before, as we wrapped up a strong service, a storm rolled through so severe it shut the venue down for over two full hours. Lightning crackled, rain hammered the asphalt, and we waited and waited, until security finally made even the Pitmasters leave the venue grounds. Eventually, the gates reopened to let Bailey Zimmerman take the stage. He crushed it, giving the crowd exactly what they needed after the long delay.

But just as quickly as things had settled, the skies reopened. Thunder roared, and the rain came harder than before. What we didn’t know then was that by morning, everything, from our woodpile to the Santa Maria grill itself, would be soaked all the way through.

Now, there are two ways you can respond to a situation like that: complain and wait for help, or adapt and get the fire going your damn self.

I chose the latter.

I scrounged for scraps, cardboard, dry bark, anything with potential. Using strips of bark for kindling and cardboard to catch an early flame, I got a starter fire going. The idea wasn’t to cook right away, but to slowly dry the interior of the grill and give the wood a fighting chance. I moved pieces in and out of proximity to the heat. Rotated, checked, shifted. Fire management wasn’t just the job, it was the whole mission that morning.

That’s the thing about cooking live-fire at a major festival: no two days are the same. The crowd doesn’t care if your wood got rained on. They just want to know if it’s good, and if it’s ready. And believe me, it was.

The menu for day two was bold: fire-roasted porterhouse steaks and pork chops over open flame, served with triple cheddar cheese grits and an incredible guajillo pepper chili sauce. We topped it off with a sprinkle of micro cilantro for that bright, herbal finish. A humble dish with layered complexity, rich, spicy, creamy, smoky, and fresh.

We were only supposed to serve 250 plates. That’s what the plan called for. But what actually happened? We more than doubled that, and may have even tripled it. Once the food hit the air and folks got that first bite, word spread fast.

Cooking in the thick of it, after storms, before the music started, while folks strolled the grounds sipping beers and drifting toward the smell of smoke, I was reminded why I love this. Not just the food, but the fire itself. The challenge. The unpredictability. It demands presence. It demands you earn it, every single time.

And despite the chaos the night before, the energy around the festival was electric. Artists rotated through the stages, country tracks floated on the breeze, and everywhere I looked, people were connecting, over music, over barbecue, over stories.

It’s easy to romanticize barbecue. But the truth is, some days it’s a grind. Some days, the wood’s wet. The grill’s cold. The rain doesn’t care that you’ve got a line stretching 40 feet back. But if you keep showing up, keep problem-solving, keep lighting fires, literal and metaphorical, you walk away with something more than just a successful service. You walk away sharper. Wiser. Hungrier.