The Story of Smoak

Where BBQ and Life Come Together

Cooking has always been my thing. Some people are good with numbers, others have a way with music—me, I’m at home in a kitchen. I never needed measuring cups or recipes. In the kitchen, it all just made sense. You taste, you adjust, you let it ride. If you mess it up, you fix it.

People always said I should go to culinary school or open a restaurant. I didn’t really take it seriously back then. Cooking was just part of my life, something I did every day, mostly for my family. My wife, bless her heart, could burn water—all her words, not mine—but I didn’t mind. The kitchen was my space. It was where I felt useful, where I felt like I got it right.

There’s this movie, Romeo is Bleeding. It’s not exactly a happy story—more like a train wreck. But at the end, the guy winds up alone, running this run-down diner. And I don’t know why, but that stuck with me. It wasn’t the loneliness or the wreckage of his life; it was the idea that he had this place. A little corner of the world he could call his own. Something about that felt... right.

A Long Road to BBQ

Smoak didn’t happen overnight. For years, I worked in film and video, telling stories through cameras and editing rooms. Cooking was just the thing I did when I wasn’t working—feeding my family, trying new recipes, and figuring out how to make something good out of what was in the fridge.

But the idea of a restaurant never really went away. Over the years, I came up with all kinds of ideas. There was the Jewish deli I wanted to call Prime Timmze, the humane bistro called The Deli Llama, and a coffee shop/bookstore called Latte Dah, because honestly, who wouldn’t want to drink coffee and browse old paperbacks?

Those never happened. But when the time came, it wasn’t a deli or a coffee shop. It was BBQ.

The Menu That Tells a Story

Every dish at Smoak comes from somewhere. It’s not just food; it’s a little piece of the road, the places I’ve been, and the things I’ve learned along the way.

Memphis provided the foundation, as well as some ideas. The Rendezvous inspired my own mustard slaw. One and Only inspired my Memphis Dog. Topps was the inspiration for my Burgers, and Elwood's eclectic and crazy menu was an inspiration all on its own.

In San Diego, I had my first birria tacos. They were messy, rich, and came with consommé so good I’d have drunk it straight from the bowl. My version at Smoak uses smoked brisket and pork—my way of blending the depth of BBQ with that unforgettable flavor.

Los Angeles taught me to love ramen. There’s something about the way it balances warmth, spice, and comfort in a single bowl. I couldn’t shake that, so I created Brisket Ramen, a smoky twist on a dish that still feels like a hug in a bowl.

Japan? That’s where I lived on yakitori, fried rice, and kimchi. Those flavors—bold, simple, and balanced—inspired my Spicy Smoked Pork and Noodle Bowl, which hits just the right amount of heat.

In Brazil, churrasco showed me the magic of fire. Watching meat sizzle and fat crackle taught me to respect the basics: good meat, good fire, and patience. And just you wait until I unveil the Smoak'd Brazilian Coxinha.

Why Smoak Feels Like Home

Smoak is a little like that diner from Romeo is Bleeding, but with fewer broken dreams and better food. It’s not perfect—it’s never going to be—but it’s mine. It’s a place where the stories of the road and the smoker come together, one plate at a time.

Cooking has always been my way of connecting, even when I don’t know how to say what I mean. Smoak isn’t about being fancy or flashy. It’s about food that tells a story, food that’s real. And that’s all I’ve ever really wanted.