There’s something about a fire that sorts your head out. I don’t mean the sterile click of a gas hob or the beep of a microwave. I mean a proper fire. Smoke in your eyes, wood cracking, that hypnotic glow that makes you stare at it like it’s whispering ancient secrets.
For me, cooking over fire isn’t just about food. It’s therapy. It’s memory. It’s a way of staying connected to the people and moments that matter, and it all started when I was eight years old, standing next to my mum in a small kitchen, learning how to cook.
She was patient, encouraging, and always made cooking feel like an adventure. Sadly, she’s no longer with us, but every time I light a fire, I feel like I’m keeping that flame, her flame, alive. That’s why my woodland, where I now run live fire experiences, is called Liz’s Yard, named after her. It’s my way of carrying her with me, every time I stoke the embers.
From Burnt Burgers to British Championships
Fast forward a few decades and I’ve swapped mum’s kitchen for a woodland clearing. Back in my teens, I graduated from helping her to being “chief BBQ tongs operator” at family gatherings, which mostly meant burning everything in sight and pretending it was “chargrilled for flavour.”
But over time, something clicked. I realised that fire was more than heat, it was alive. You could read it, feed it, respect it. About eight years ago, I got hooked on live fire cooking properly. Since then, it’s taken me all over the UK. From cooking demos at Tom Kerridge’s Pub in the Park, to hosting the fire stage at the Great British Food Festivals, and even becoming a finalist at the British Live Fire Cooking Championships.
Not bad for a bloke who once set a chicken on fire and called it “phoenix-style.”
Why Fire Feeds the Mind Too
When I’m stood in the woods, surrounded by trees, smoke curling into the air, there’s a peace that’s hard to find anywhere else. It forces you to slow down. You can’t rush fire. You can’t “fast forward” to the perfect coals. You just have to sit with it. Feed it, tend it, watch it breathe.
And in that process, your head clears. The noise quiets.
The emails, the deadlines, the constant digital chatter, gone.
Just the crackle of wood and the sizzle of something delicious reminding you that life’s best moments don’t need Wi-Fi.
I’ve seen it time and again during my woodland experiences and team building days. People arrive wired and wound-up. Phones glued to their hands, shoulders tense and within an hour they’re laughing, connecting, and completely present. There’s something primal and grounding about fire. It doesn’t just cook your food; it cooks your stress away.
Lessons from the Flames
Fire teaches patience.
It teaches awareness.
And it has no respect for your ego.
Think you’ve got it under control? It’ll smoke you out.
Feeling too cautious? It’ll die out on you.
But when you learn to listen to it, when you find that balance between control and surrender something changes.
Cooking over fire has taught me more about life than any book or podcast. You learn to adapt, to pay attention, and to appreciate the simple things: warmth, food, and good company. And if the sausages survive the process, that’s a bonus.
Keeping the Flame Lit
That’s what this whole journey has been about keeping that flame lit. Not just for my mum, but for anyone who needs a reminder that slowing down, getting outside, and doing something with your hands can do wonders for your mental health.
We’re all guilty of chasing convenience. Ready meals, fast food, pre-heated ovens. But there’s joy in the slow stuff. In stacking logs, sparking a flame, and earning your meal one ember at a time.
So next time life feels a bit much, forget the gym or the mindfulness app. Light a fire, throw on a steak, and see what happens.
You might just find, like I did, that the best therapy smells faintly of smoke and sounds like laughter in the woods.
Fancy experiencing it for yourself?
Join me for a day around the fire at Liz’s Yard, where good food, laughter, and a little smoke therapy await.