Hands of fire.

André Escobar-Linares.

Toronto, February 2026.

Human beings are intimately bound to fire. We understood its nature and its radical capacities: both destroyer and catalyst. Since its discovery, we stopped chewing food for hours and walking for weeks to deliver a message; we began to fly, to leave the planet. But in my opinion, the most significant effects of fire on humanity are congregation and the sense of service. This created the terrain where cooking flourished.

I decided to seek out the path of fire and explore kitchens here in Toronto. I started at one of my favorite spots and, in my belief, a true bar. I went to One Star, where Adrian—a cook who reigns over the stove—is based. I won't lie, I was nervous about asking to enter his habitat, so I decided to have two beers before popping the question. With my confidence recharged, I asked permission and Adrian accepted. I got to know the inner workings of the bar they run: there was the chef, countless knives, and tumultuous huacales. He didn't pay much attention to me; he introduced himself briefly, and we spoke for only a short time. I took photos while he sliced red peppers and fried sausages, and the fire, inherent, fostered it all. I returned to the bar and had a third beer.

Then, I walked for about 15 minutes down Queen Street West and came across a tent housing a live grill, a speaker blasting 2000s rap, and an eccentric chef—lively and drawn to my lens. The tent covered a culinary trench called Blessed BBQ: the transferring of salt, the scent of Jamaican jerk, glowing charcoal, cars, snow, and the fire that fostered it all.

I continued my way toward DROM Taberna. Ten days prior, I had scheduled my arrival after speaking with Misha. He is the kind of character you are lucky enough to encounter only a few times in life; he is like a symbol of tender leadership, someone who balances his dominance with displays of fraternity and active gregariousness. I arrived at the tavern and met the DROM kitchen team with lead Chef King Tran in charge of expediting (calling out the orders). Inside the DROM kitchen, nothing existed but the present. I narrowed my focus to photograph the chaotic dynamics of a service kitchen; it resembles the violent collision of stars from which others are born. It even resembles the chaotic cellular composition of living beings: end, birth, violence, care, disdain, service, congregation, and fire, which fosters it all.

I believe that these days we take the kitchen for granted. We ignore that in some places, fire dwells where bustle reigns and where gastronomic service aspires to the communicative perfection of a dish; that in other places, fire is summoned by a nonagenarian grandmother schooling the youth on the proper intensity of the flame; and that in yet other spots, it is the companion of a solitary cook. But above all, we ignore that in every part of the planet where humans are, the hands of fire still exist—the primary weapon with which we fight hunger and cold, the hands that forge us while fire fosters it all.

Photo gallery by André Escobar Linares

Hands of fire