When Heat Met Meat: A Human History of Fire and Food

There’s something undeniably primal about the crackle of firewood and the scent of food cooking over flame. Before there were Michelin stars, kitchen line cooks, or even pots and pans, there was fire—and instinct. As someone who has dedicated my life to the fire, the land, and the ritual of the meal, I find myself constantly tracing our steps back to that first moment when heat met meat.

The story of open fire cooking starts long before recipes and restaurants. The earliest evidence of fire use by hominins dates back nearly 1.5 million years, but it wasn’t until around 800,000 years ago that we began cooking food with intention. That shift wasn’t just culinary—it was biological. Cooked food meant more accessible calories, and that abundance changed us. Our jaws shortened, our guts shrank, and our brains grew. Fire gave us the means to evolve.

Quick fact: Cooking food increases its caloric yield by as much as 30%. That one innovation quite literally fueled the growth of our species.

The moment we began to harness fire, everything changed. Our diets diversified. We began to cook not just for survival, but for pleasure. Roasting meat over flame broke down collagen, making it tender. Grains, which would have been too tough or even toxic raw, became nourishing. Root vegetables that were once inedible became staples. Fire turned the raw and rugged into something digestible, comforting, even sacred. It allowed us to share meals, and with that, we began to share more of our lives. Language likely evolved around the hearth—stories told, lessons passed down, traditions born.

Did you know? The word "focus" comes from the Latin for "hearth." For early households, the fire was the center of life.

As we moved from scavengers to hunter-gatherers, the act of cooking became communal. We foraged, hunted, and gathered together, and we ate together. The fire became our hearth—the center of both nourishment and storytelling. Protein from game and fish, fat from marrow, starch from roots, and the early grains we gathered became staples. And over time, our knowledge of smoke, ash, and heat deepened. We didn’t just cook to eat—we cooked to transform.

Roughly 12,000 years ago, we started to settle. Agriculture and domestication let us stay in one place, which changed the way we cooked. Fires no longer needed to be built and torn down each day. We built hearths—stone-lined, semi-permanent structures that concentrated heat and allowed for more consistency. Clay ovens followed. Bread rose from the ashes, quite literally. And across every early civilization, you’ll find some form of open fire cooking still anchoring daily life: tandoors in India, asado pits in South America, earth ovens in Polynesia, open flame tagines in North Africa.

Fun fact: The oldest known oven dates back to 6,500 B.C. and was uncovered in Croatia. It was wood-fired, clay-lined, and used to bake bread.

The fire became more than utility; it became a language. The way food was seasoned, smoked, rotated, buried, or blistered told you everything about the people who lived there—what they grew, what they believed in, and how they marked time. Ritual feasts, religious offerings, rites of passage—almost all of them involved fire. Across every continent, the meal was never just about nourishment. It was always about meaning.

As societies grew, fire became both utility and art. In medieval Europe, cooking over hearths remained standard, but spit-roasting meats over open flames became an expression of wealth and status. In the American colonies, cast iron came into play, allowing cooks to manage heat more dynamically, often within fireplaces wide enough to stand inside. Fireplaces became the command centers of the home. Even then, the fire was more than functional—it was ceremonial.

Interesting side note: In some parts of medieval Europe, entire feasts were designed around showcasing a cook's control over fire—including live roasting demonstrations held in castle courtyards.

Fast forward to today, and most of the world has traded fire for gas lines and induction coils. Efficiency won. But something sacred was lost. That’s why I do what I do. Because fire teaches patience. It demands respect. And it connects us—to our ancestors, to our land, and to each other.

Open fire cooking isn’t a trend. It’s a return. A reminder. That even with all our advancement, the greatest meals are still the simplest. Protein, heat, smoke, and time. It’s what built us. And in many ways, it’s what still sustains us.

So when I light the fire before an event, I don’t just see wood and flame. I see a lineage. I see those who came before me, turning meat on a spit, burying tubers beneath hot stones, watching the stars above while waiting for the coals to settle. I see a universal human story. And every meal I make is a chapter in that story.

Ash-Roasted Root Vegetables with Smoked Garlic Butter

Serves: 6

Cook Time: ~1 hour

Method: Direct fire + ember cooking

Inspired by: Pre-oven earth oven and ember pit cooking methods

Ingredients

• 2 medium sweet potatoes, unpeeled

• 2 carrots, scrubbed

• 2 parsnips, scrubbed

• 1 small celery root (celeriac), peeled and quartered

• 1 head garlic, whole

• 4 tbsp unsalted butter

• 1 tsp salt

• Fresh thyme (optional)

• Olive oil for finishing

• Coarse sea salt for garnish

  
  
  
  

Instructions

1. Prepare the Fire:Build a strong hardwood fire and let it burn down to embers. You’ll want a mix of glowing coals and light ash for insulation.

2. Char the Garlic:Wrap the whole head of garlic in foil and nestle it into the edge of the fire for about 25–30 minutes. It should be soft and aromatic. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out the cloves and mash with butter and salt.

3. Cook the Roots in Ash:Toss whole root vegetables directly into the coals and embers. Rotate occasionally using tongs or fire gloves. Cook for 40–50 minutes, until fork-tender and the skins are charred. Some parts may be blackened—this adds to the flavor.

4. Clean & Slice:Once cooked, brush off excess ash. Carefully peel any skin that’s overly charred. Slice thickly.

5. Serve:Arrange roots on a rustic board or plate, dollop with the smoked garlic butter, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle sea salt, and garnish with thyme.