On a late afternoon in San Juan Capistrano, just as the golden hour begins to flicker across the low-slung hills and the air turns thick with the smell of oak, Chris Granado—fire keeper, pitmaster, and one of SJC’s most compelling culinary personalities—tends his smoker, surveying the slow burn of embers. Fire, like everything else in Granado’s life, is steeped in legacy. For Granado, the flame is an ancestral call, a conduit between past and present. Granado is the local Godfather of Smoke and Fire, but don’t get it twisted—he’s also
a guy you’d want to crack a beer with. Granado’s BBQ might be rooted in the tradition of Texas Craft, but this man is as San Juan Capistrano as they come.
But let’s rewind, because Chris Granado’s story starts long before he was a pitmaster. It begins with a family tree whose roots run deep in San Juan Capistrano, back to a time when his ancestors were among the first to be documented in the area, in the year 1735. Granado is a descendant of the Juanēno Band of Mission Indians, Acjachemen Nation—citizens of the Mother Village of Putuidem in San Juan Capistrano. The very land that tourists now flock to for Mission architecture and Instagram-worthy vibes is where his ancestors lived, celebrated, and tended fires in ways that now seem oddly prophetic for Granado. Growing up, Granado spent countless hours at tribal ceremonies, all of which, he says, “taught me the responsibility of keeping fire.”
The year 2024 has been a particularly big year for Granado. Not only did he launch his own barbecue venture, 1735 Barbecue, but he also introduced Smokewood Rubs and Sauces, a line of products designed to let fans recreate his signature flavors at home. “I’ve always believed that barbecue is more than just the food,” he says. “It’s about the connection between people, between families, and, for me, between the past and the present.” His business, 1735 Barbecue, is an extension of that philosophy. The name itself is a nod to his family’s roots, but the food, Granado says, is a love letter to the land and the people who
came before him. “I think of barbecue as a way to honor my ancestors, to continue the tradition of fire-keeping in a modern way.” And while that might sound heady for a guy slinging brisket, Granado has a way of making the spiritual and the practical merge into one beautifully smoked package.
As a young boy, Granado was mentored by his tribe’s Medicine Woman, absorbing the quiet wisdom of ceremonial fire-keeping. “I spent years learning the ways of a Ceremonial Fire Keeper,” he recalls, “never realizing how much it would shape my barbecue career.” Fast-forward a few decades, and Granado’s two worlds collided in the most serendipitous of ways.
In 2019, Granado was working as a Native American monitor during the construction of Heritage BBQ, a now-beloved Michelin-listed local institution. It was here, watching the flames and tending the fires on-site, that Granado had what can only be described as an epiphany. He muses, “Someone pointed out how being a tribal fire keeper and tending fire for barbecue went hand in hand. And strangely, I’d never thought about it before.” That realization—of how fire, whether ceremonial or culinary, was woven into the very fabric of his life—was a turning point. In 2020, Granado officially joined the Heritage BBQ team where he
honed his skills, learning the rhythms of barbecue as naturally as he had once learned the rhythms of the ceremonial flame. “Being a pitmaster is in my blood,” he says, and while that sounds like a soundbite, coming from Granado it feels like pure fact. In a world where food culture increasingly celebrates the art of the slow burn, Granado’s approach to barbecue is as spiritual as it is culinary, a melding of Native American heritage and a deep connection to fire that transcends mere cooking. “The fire speaks to you without using any words,” he observes. “You can feel the emotions from how the fire burns, from how the flames dance; both have deep meaning. It’s one of the highest honors one can have.” Indeed, Granado’s roots run deep—deeper than the wood he uses in his offset smoker, which by the way, is
exclusively white oak because he keeps it Texas BBQ real. And speaking of keeping it real, Granado’s got some stories. Wildest catering gig? You’d think it might involve a celebrity
demanding a brisket baptism in 818 tequila, but Granado shrugs it off. “No crazy stories—just nature’s curveballs. Heat, rain, wind. Over-seasoned wood. Green wood. Wet wood.” His secret to survival? Adaptability. “No two pieces of protein are the same,” he says, like a BBQ philosopher. “No two cooks are the same.” In a scene dominated by Texas-style brisket and Kansas City sauce debates, Granado’s approach feels refreshingly unique. “I’m not trying to replicate anyone else’s style,” he says. “This is my own thing, my own voice. 1735 Barbecue is my way of paying homage to my family and ancestors,” Granado explains. “Even though my family has been here for generations, 1735 was the first year after the Spanish arrived that we were documented in San Juan Capistrano.”
His repertoire is undeniably influenced by the traditions of his ancestors. Whether it’s the meticulous way he tends to his fires or the thoughtful approach to ingredients, there’s a sense he’s creating something deeper, something that resonates on a level far beyond taste buds. “When you tend a fire, you’re not just controlling temperature. You’re creating a relationship with the flame,” he says. And if that sounds like something you’d hear in a
Sweat Ceremony, well, that’s just part of Granado’s charm. At a time when barbecue culture is often about speed and convenience, Chris Granado is taking a slower, deliberate approach. For him, the fire is sacred. The smoke is a message. And the meat? Well, the meat is just a bonus. As Granado looks toward the future, he remains grounded in gratitude for supporters. “I’m doing this for my family, for my ancestors,” he says. “Every flame I light, every cook, it’s all connected.”
Written by Si Si Penaloza, for the Neighbors of San Juan Capistrano Magazine
Photo by Michelle Marie Photography
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