Semper Fi
Carne Asada
"formation required"
Flank steak, citrus-heavy marinade, and exactly zero patience. Mark's signature — the one that made his wife say "okay, you can cook now."
🌶️🌶️ · MEDIUM HEAT
A California-born, Colorado-honed, San Diego-living, silver-haired jarhead's ridiculous love letter to carne asada, chorizo, and the woman who taught him that cumin is not, in fact, a suggestion.
Mark's a gringo. Full stop. Spent his youth eating elk chili in the Colorado Rockies, his prime years serving Uncle Sam in the United States Marine Corps, and somehow ended up in San Diego trying — and occasionally succeeding — to pronounce "cochinita pibil" without embarrassing himself.
Then he met his wife. A beautiful, patient, deeply Mexican woman who took one look at his seasoning rack — just salt, pepper, and a decade-old jar of Mrs. Dash — and said "mi amor, we need to talk." That was eight years ago. Today, his grill gets more use than his truck.
This site is where Mark shares the recipes, cuts of meat, and hard-won grilling wisdom he's picked up along the way. No attitude. No authenticity police. Just an old devil dog who really, really loves a good al pastor.
Ten cuts, rubs, and full-blown recipes from Mark's backyard. Some are traditional. Some are Colorado-Marine-Corps chaos. All of 'em are delicious.
Flank steak, citrus-heavy marinade, and exactly zero patience. Mark's signature — the one that made his wife say "okay, you can cook now."
Pork shoulder, dried chiles, pineapple, and the stubborn conviction that you can recreate a trompo in a Weber kettle. He's right, mostly.
Achiote-rubbed half chickens, grilled over mesquite until the skin crackles like rifle fire on a cold morning. Wife-approved.
Homemade chorizo, crispy potatoes, two eggs over easy, and a tortilla that's seen better days. Served with coffee so strong it salutes you.
Chuck roast, dried guajillos, garlic, cloves. Twelve hours in the smoker. No shortcuts, no whining, no substitutions. Hooah.
Mahi mahi, lime crema, shredded cabbage, and a hot tortilla. What Mark makes when the wife says "please, not more red meat."
Her grandmother's carnitas recipe. Mark swore a blood oath to never change it. He changed it slightly. She knows. She forgave him.
Beef stew with bacon, tomatillo broth, and enough toppings to make a salad bar jealous. Approximately 80% authentic, 20% gringo instinct.
Grilled street corn, mayo (fight him), cotija, chile-lime, cilantro. Mark will argue about the mayo until the coals go cold.
Arbol, morita, peanuts, sesame, garlic. Mark makes a quart every Sunday. It is gone by Wednesday. Do not ask him to share. He will, but grudgingly.
If you can see your meat through the seasoning, you didn't season it. More. Go on. More.
Two-zone heat, every time. One side hot for the char, one side chill for the finish. No exceptions. No charcoal pyramids on the whole grate like some kind of amateur.
Pulling it off and slicing immediately is a war crime. Ten minutes. Foil tent. Walk away. Have a Tecate.
A cold tortilla is a disrespectful tortilla. Dry skillet, thirty seconds a side. This is the hill.
She grew up eating this food. You grew up eating Hamburger Helper. Stop explaining things to her. Take notes.
A good grill plume should draw a crowd within three houses. Make extra. Always make extra. That's how you build an empire.
Mark fires up the grill twice a month on the back patio in San Diego. Join the mailing list for dates, recipes, and occasional hot takes on whether al pastor belongs on pizza. (It does.)
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