Out of the ashes comes Franklin Smoke

May 5, 202311 AM Central

In 2017, we had a fire—a big fire. In what could be described as almost biblical circumstances—a driving wind and rainstorm powered by a massive hurricane hundreds of miles away—our smokehouse went up in flames. If the last thing you read about us was in Franklin Barbecue, you might have in mind the cowboy-like romance of how I cooked barbecue under the stars, espresso in hand, eyeglasses reflecting the flickering of a half-dozen roaring wood fires.

Well, that situation didn’t last for more than a few years. In fact, the cover of Franklin Barbecue was photographed on the freshly poured concrete slab of what would become our new smokehouse. Our operation was spread between two separate properties, which, it turns out, isn’t technically very legal. We had to combine operations into one property, a shift we had tried to make countless times. In the end, that wasn’t possible. So, we built the smokehouse. Its unusual design—a two-story addition to the existing restaurant, with an industrial elevator to haul firewood and meats from ground-floor storage to a second-floor room packed with crackling barbecue pits—reflected the necessities of our unique property. On paper, I admit, this is a terrible idea. But up in the air was the only place to put it.

Logistically, the smokehouse worked out great, and I was really happy with it, even if it slightly took away from the art of it all—but that’s just me liking things as basic and as simple as possible. Altogether, it was a good thing. It made work less hard for people, which was the goal.

“I remember saying to the staff, “Alright, y’all, you got this! Don’t mess it up. And don’t call me unless the place is on fire.” Talk about the dumbest thing I could possibly say.”

Now, the concept of building a wooden structure to hold several roaring fires might seem a little dubious. And, looking back, sure enough, it was.

The fire happened at around 5:00 a.m. on August 26. We close for about ten days every year in August to do maintenance and cleaning. I stayed at the closed restaurant while all the employees went on vacation. Then once we reopened, Stacy, our daughter, Vivian, and I took our vacation—the first time we had ever taken leave while the restaurant was open. I remember saying to the staff, “Alright, y’all, you got this! Don’t mess it up. And don’t call me unless the place is on fire.” Talk about the dumbest thing I could possibly say.

At 5:28 a.m., my phone started vibrating. The voice on the other end said, “Hey, the building’s on fire!” I didn’t freak out. I just said, “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

As I raced to the car, the weather was awful. The wind was howling, and sheets of rain were lashing the sides of my truck as I hit the highway in the pitch black of early morning. I got stuck at the interminable light at Twelfth Street with no other cars on the road, and I remember thinking, “Should I just run this?” From there I could already see the blue and red lights of the fire trucks reflecting off the clouds. Six or seven firehouses serviced the call, and the cops had arrived almost instantly. Everyone got there so fast. It makes me a little emotional just thinking about it.

“...the fire burned for just twenty-eight minutes, but, man, it did a lot of damage in that time.”

At first, I didn’t think it was going to be that bad—maybe just a wall or something. But when I arrived and found the whole street blocked off, cops and fire trucks everywhere, news vans already camped outside, the magnitude hit me. The cop at the roadblock just looked at me through my window, his expression downcast as he flagged me through saying, “Jeez, man, I’m so sorry.” Everyone had their eyes on me as I walked up, eyeglasses dripping with rain. The devastation was shocking — walls burned out to the frames, ceilings crashed in, everything black and sooty. You wouldn’t think that something could burn so heavy in a rainstorm. Turns out the fire burned for just twenty-eight minutes, but, man, it did a lot of damage in that time.

In the end, we got real lucky because the outreach from our community was amazing. So many people called, texted, and emailed. The closure gave us a chance to make some improvements and take a much-needed break.

We reopened for business on the Tuesday of Thanksgiving week—a day that has mucho significance for us. It just happens that a lot of the same families come to the restaurant on that day every year. The amount of tears shed and number of hugs given as we walked up and down the line greeting people—talk about an emotional day. Who’d a thunk that barbecue could get people so worked up? That’s when it dawned on me how much the restaurant means to so many people. And that’s why we work so hard at what we do.

From Franklin Smoke by Aaron Franklin, Penguin Random House