From Texas brisket pits to Tokyo yakitori alleys — we chase fire, flavor, and the stories that only live-fire cooking can tell.
Every recipe tested over real fire. No shortcuts, no gas grills — just smoke, time, and the patience to do it right.
Twelve hours over apple and hickory wood. A dry rub of brown sugar, smoked paprika, and black pepper. The moment you pull it apart and see that pink smoke ring — that's when you know you've done something right.
Salt-and-pepper bark, 14-hour smoke over post oak. The definitive Texas brisket.
Soy, pear, and sesame marinade. Grilled over charcoal to caramelized perfection.
Slow-grilled over wood embers with chimichurri. The soul of the pampas.
Lemongrass-turmeric marinated chicken, grilled on bamboo skewers with peanut sauce.
Paprika-heavy dry rub, no sauce needed. Smoked over hickory until fall-off-the-bone.
Spiced ground lamb on skewers, grilled over charcoal with harissa yogurt.
True BBQ is not grilling. It's the art of cooking large cuts at 225–250°F for hours, allowing collagen to break down into gelatin, fat to render, and smoke to penetrate deep into the meat. Patience is the only ingredient you can't buy.
"Target 203°F internal for brisket — that's when the probe slides in like butter."
The wood you choose defines the flavor profile. Post oak for Texas brisket, hickory for Memphis ribs, apple or cherry for pork and poultry. Thin blue smoke is your goal — thick white smoke means incomplete combustion and bitter flavors.
"Soak wood chunks 30 minutes before adding. Never use softwoods like pine."
Around 150–165°F, your brisket will stop rising in temperature for hours. This is evaporative cooling — moisture leaving the meat surface. You can push through it, wrap in butcher paper (the Texas Crutch), or embrace the wait.
"Wrapping in pink butcher paper retains bark texture while pushing through the stall."
Bark is the dark, flavorful crust that forms on the exterior of smoked meats through the Maillard reaction and smoke adhesion. A good bark requires a dry rub, proper airflow, and time. It's the most coveted part of any smoked brisket.
"Equal parts kosher salt and coarse black pepper is all you need for Texas bark."
Charcoal-grilled skewers of every imaginable chicken part, from thigh to cartilage. The smoke from binchōtan charcoal is unlike anything else.
Tabletop charcoal grills, marinated galbi, samgyeopsal, and an endless parade of banchan. The most social eating experience on earth.
A cultural institution, not just a meal. Whole animals slow-cooked over wood embers for hours. The asador is both chef and storyteller.
Massive skewers of picanha, linguiça, and chicken hearts, carved tableside at the rodízio. Meat as theater.
Whole lamb slow-roasted in underground clay ovens, or spiced kofta grilled over charcoal in the Djemaa el-Fna. Smoke and spice in equal measure.
Street-side charcoal grills at 6am, serving pork skewers glazed with coconut milk and fish sauce. The best breakfast you'll ever have.
Three days, three legendary pits. We lined up at 7am for Franklin's brisket, ate standing at La Barbecue's picnic tables, and found the most underrated ribs in Texas at Micklethwait. The smoke ring on Franklin's brisket is not a myth.
Samgyeopsal at midnight, galbi for lunch, and a discovery: the best KBBQ in Seoul is not in the tourist areas. We found a 40-year-old charcoal grill restaurant in a basement that changed everything we thought we knew about pork belly.
An Argentine family invited us to their estancia for a Sunday asado. The asador started the fire at 10am. We didn't eat until 3pm. In between: wine, conversation, and the slow education of watching a master work with fire and iron.
When the sun sets over the medina, the square transforms into the world's greatest open-air restaurant. Hundreds of charcoal grills, merguez sausages, kofta, and mechoui — all competing for your attention through smoke and shouting vendors.