"The Brisket King" sat in the center of the

d myself. The wood inside was the heart of it all. Rare mesquite and post oak, sourced by my father

moker like a living thing. I talked to it

it and felt nothi

ho had always looked at me with open a

ady, Jocelyn. It'

ice flat. "Get the do

Moving it where? To th

he fire pi

opped. "What

t do

d. The big, circular fire pit, usually used fo

wn by the commotion. His f

in God' s name

ng" and began pulling out the precious, seasoned wood. The wo

sed them into the

perfume that was a mix of mesquite, oak, and my own es

n unbolting the custom parts. The steel plates groaned as I pried them apart.

my arm. His gri

nd? That' s your entry!

anic in it. A deep, barely concealed pani

oked him straight in the ey

with it. The des

e, leaving him standing there amidst

ete this year," I call

the confirmation I needed. My destruction of the smoker