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His name is Flint Sparks. I know. I KNOW.
He says I owe him — unpermitted fire during fire season. I say he owes me — thousands in destroyed product, a soaking wet crew, and what’s left of my dignity. My producer says we should settle it with a $25,000 campfire cook-off on camera. Gourmet vs. old-school. Neither of us can say no.
Three days of competition. One mountain. And a man whose hands are as good with fire as mine are — just in ways that have nothing to do with cooking.
Quick, hot, and bingeable in one sitting.
