Barbecue festivals fire up Kenya’s hot hangouts

Lencer Owino, 35, attends Meat Up Fest both to treat herself and to catch up with friends.

“This is my second time,” she says, holding rib meat. “We’re going through a lot as human beings. I didn’t think at 35 I’d be fighting for my country, fighting for myself. We need such places to hang out, relax, and have fun.”

Her go-to order when she comes to these meat festivals? “Anything barbecued. I’m a barbecue child. I do not discriminate against meat.”

Later in the evening, Lancer sits at a corner, taking selfies, a small bucket plate of mbuzi grilled ribs beside her.

Veteran carnivore

Philip Muriuki, 55, is another guest at the meat festival. A White Cap beer in hand, he says, “too much nyama is forbidden for the likes of me by doctors, but tonight, I am a rebel.”

If Meat Up Fest had a loyalty card, Philip would have filled it by now. This is his third time, and he navigates the space like someone greeting old friends at every corner.

“I’ve done all eight decks,” he says proudly. “Pork, chicken, tomahawk, mbuzi, and something called ‘cake ya ugali.’ Cornbread cake. Super.”

“I had to cancel errands today. This was a priority,” he chuckles. “You can’t miss grilled barbecue with sauces that make your mouth water before the plate even comes.”

Philip does not see Meat Up Fest as just a chance to eat. “This is a social occasion. It’s a place to network,” he says, “Nyama choma is not just a meal, it’s a meeting. The meal could be anything; it’s the people who make it worth it.”

Tickets to the Meat Fest sell out fast, and Philip knows this all too well, thanks to the unbeatable mix of sizzling meats, live music, and vibrant crowd energy.

“Book early. These tickets take off. I barely managed this time, and my phone hasn't stopped ringing with friends begging for last-minute hookups. Worth every cent," he says, sipping his beer as the music drifts into retro R&B.

First timer with a full heart

Ann Ngugi arrives wrapped because of the cold season and accompanied by a “family-who-are-friends” crew.

“It is a good place to hang out because the old people have this calm aura. It is a mature crowd, smooth flow, nothing chaotic,” she says. “They are not loud, just sipping their wine, listening to the music. It is a nice place to enjoy the sweetest barbecue and be silly.”

In another corner, some guests are laughing over a whisky masterclass; there, two strangers are bickering over which is tastier, pork belly or brisket.

Teresia Wagachire, 36, has brought her husband purposely.

“I arranged all this for him,” she says with a grin. “He loves to grill, so I figured, why not? And he’s so thrilled.”

She has been to food festivals, but says this one is unique. “At other festivals, you’re stuck at a single grill station or trapped in a chaotic crowd. Here, you can easily walk around, taste from every grill, and still manage to find a moment to actually savour pork belly, brisket, and chicken.”

She hopes that such festivals could be more regular, “This has to happen every two months. People need this kind of happiness regularly.”

The pitmasters

Willie D, a 52-year-old, is one of the pitmasters who keep people coming back to the Meat Fest. With firewood, patience, and finesse, he draws out deep, smoky flavours that cannot be matched or sped up. From slabs of pork belly to fall-off-the-bone ribs, his BBQ is well worth the wait.

His journey into barbecue began with a disappointment.

“Too many underwhelming nyama choma experiences left me craving for something better,” he says.

He began by experimenting with grilling at home. “At first, it was just for close family and friends. But during lockdown in 2020, word spread, my cycling crew backed me, and weekend experiments turned into a full-blown business. The rest is history,” he says.

His brisket is near legendary, so tender it falls apart under its own juices, with a smoky flavour.

Preparation is deliberate, “I trim carefully, seasoning with a well-balanced rub of salt, pepper, and secret spices, then let it sit before it goes into the smoker. Fed with a steady burn of hardwood, producing thin blue smoke, the brisket stays in for up to 16 hours, absorbing layers of flavour while breaking down into melt-in-your-mouth tenderness,” Willie says.

Willie sticks with the art of firewood cooking and insists on starting with quality cuts “bad meat will never make good BBQ.” His personal favourite? Smoked pork belly.

The backyard general

For George Kariithi, another pitmaster, the first thing you notice around him is the scent of smoke seasoned with salt and spice.

At 56, George doesn’t just cook, he brings an experience. George turned his passion, sharpened during years in Canada, into a commercial venture, cooking for private events, food festivals, and collaborations with Nairobi’s barbecue restaurants.

When he prepares his signature meat, he begins with thick, well-marbled cuts, seasoning them simply but generously. “They rest until the seasoning has time to settle into the meat's texture. I wait until the fire reaches that perfect point, hot red covered by a white ash crust before adding the steaks to the heat. The sizzle is immediate, the aroma pungent,” George explains.

He flips the meat only once, sealing in the juices with a deep, even crust.

The final act is where the magic happens. “I warm a splash of whiskey over the fire, ignite it, and pour the dancing flames over the meat in a fleeting but dramatic show.”

The fire whisperer

While George runs a campaign of fire, Wangari Munyiri prefers to whisper to the flames until they give up their secrets.

The 48-year-old’s signature meat is “nuthin' but salt mbuzi", a nod to simplicity, the goat, which she buys from her trusted vendor in Kajiado.

“For goats, the seasoning is minimal but precise. For chicken, brining is key to a slow, patient soak in a solution that locks in moisture and infus