Workshops
A Saturday at the pit. You light it, you tend it, you eat what you made. Six people per session, so nobody stands at the back watching.
Utrecht · since 2019
We teach people to cook over fire, we cater the parties nobody wants to cook for, and we blend the rubs we use ourselves. Three things, done properly.
A Saturday at the pit. You light it, you tend it, you eat what you made. Six people per session, so nobody stands at the back watching.
Company parties, weddings, a fiftieth birthday in a barn. We arrive the night before, because brisket does not care about your schedule.
Four blends, mixed in batches of twelve kilos. The same tins we reach for at the pit. No anti-caking agents, no filler salt.
Next up
Brisket and pork shoulder, from cold grate to the carving board. Nine in the morning until the meat says it is ready, which is usually around six. Lunch, a beer and a tin to take home are included.
Tap any of them to see it properly.
How many people, where, and roughly what kind of evening it is. Two lines is enough to start.
Within two working days, with a price that already includes the things people forget: staff, gas, plates, and the bin bags afterwards.
Often the night before. Smoke takes the hours it takes; that is the whole point and it cannot be hurried.
Which is the part clients mention afterwards. We carve, we serve, we clean, we leave.
“They arrived at seven in the evening, the day before. I thought that was overkill until I tasted it. Nobody asked me a single question all night.”
“I have owned a smoker for three years and got more out of one Saturday than out of all of that. Mostly because I was the one making the calls.”
“They arrived at seven in the evening, the day before. I thought that was overkill until I tasted it. Nobody asked me a single question all night.”
“I have owned a smoker for three years and got more out of one Saturday than out of all of that. Mostly because I was the one making the calls.”
“Two of them, ninety of us, and food that came out hot at the same time. I still do not understand how.”
“Six people means you actually cook. I had expected to stand and watch someone else do it.”
“Two of them, ninety of us, and food that came out hot at the same time. I still do not understand how.”
“Six people means you actually cook. I had expected to stand and watch someone else do it.”
What we cooked, what went wrong, and what to do about it. No offers, no reminders that we exist. Roughly the first Thursday.
Done. The next one goes out on the first Thursday.