Indigenous cultures the world over have long preserved meat by drying it in the sun. Trouble is that bugs spoil meat, so to drive them away folks built small fires. The smoke helped not only to keep insects at bay but also to preserve the meat.

And thus was born a summer time tradition. The natives of the West Indies even had a word for it; they called it, “barbacoa”.

Friends, brews and barbecues are a solid start, but any cookout needs to get a little saucy, and Shannon “Firebug” Kimball has got the goods.

A tile contractor by trade, Shannon took his passion for BBQ sauce full-time in 2009 at the behest of friends. He took home the 2010 American Royal Sauce People’s Choice Award, and since then Firebug sales have exploded, growing from farmer’s markets to 52 stores in the Kansas City area.

The magic starts in an 80-gallon kettle where business partner and production manager Ralph Maser mixes the ketchup based sauce with a blend of peppers, powders and fruit.

One kettle worth of ingredients yields 450 bottles of sauce, and finished with a hint of raspberry, the spicy mix of habanero, ancho and chipotle peppers boasts a flavor that Shannon describes as “Midwest meets Southwest”.

Grilling season is knocking at the door, so check out the Firebug website at http://www.firebugkc.com and place an order for a bottle or two. We slathered a half rack of ribs in Firebug and are happy to report that the accolades are well deserved.

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The perfume of sawdust filled the air and the whine of a ban saw gave way to the gravelly vocals of a Tom Waits tune as we entered Scott McGlasson’s Woodsport studio.

Driven by a love of natural materials and influenced by the likes of mid-century Danish designer Hans Wegner, Scott works primarily with walnut because of its burls, deep color and the way it ages.

“Wood has a tactile magnetism. You just have to reach out and touch it,” he said.

And there was plenty of work on hand to attest to Scott’s ability to evoke that magnetism. A large, multi-drawer curio cabinet towered above a live-edge bench, and a caramel stool tufted with an Icelandic sheep pelt flanked several lamps. Each piece had its own woof, but they all riffed on a similar rustic industrial aesthetic.

“I design based on need, and while I value nature for giving me materials, I look to the shapes in old, rusty factories for inspiration,” he said.

And then there was Mr. Drink. Perhaps Scott’s most interesting creation, Mr. Drink stands about three feet tall and features a small platform on which to set said drink. The handle doubles as a bottle opener and the entire piece is set on wheels, making it a portable table. Clever and sleek, the only thing missing was a dram of PortWood.

Scott began making furniture full time in 1998, and architects kept him busy with cabinetry for high-end residential projects. Business was good, but when the economy tanked in 2008, the well ran dry. Fortunately, by that time Scott had enough money saved to buy a lathe and shifted gears from cabinets to stools and tabletop items like plates.

The change in tack has taken him from farmer’s market sales to the pages of American Craft magazine and the halls of the Minnesota Historical Society.

Waits’ music wove itself into our visit, punctuating it with its own live-edge wisdom, and from trundling dirges to bawdy chanteys, a parallel emerged. Scott’s work mirrored the unpretentious authenticity of the music.

Between its form and function, we were left with only one question. Is it art or is it furniture? It’s both, and we’ll take one of everything.

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Humans have been hip to glass for thousands of years. Stone Age cultures fashioned cutting tools from obsidian, and scalpel blades are still made with the dark, volcanic glass today.

Man made glass beads first appeared in ancient Egypt, and the seeds of the modern studio glass movement sprouted in 1962 when ceramics professor Harvey Littleton began promoting the use of small furnaces in individual studios.

Andrew Shea has been blowing glass since the 70’s, and we got a peek at his artistic process while in Minneapolis.

Although well known for perfume bottles and vases, Andrew walked us through the process by which he creates his first love, glass fish. And it all began with a sack of raw material and a super heated stove.

Stepping into the studio we learned that glass is made from a powdery blend of silica and soda ash that melts into a gluey ooze at 2400 degrees Fahrenheit.

We stood rapt as Andrew gathered a ball of lava like glass at the end of a long tube called a blowpipe. With the glob hanging like a molten mango at the end of the pipe he rolled it in blue crystal dust and moved to a second furnace known in the glass world as the glory hole. This forge reaches 2200 degrees Fahrenheit and helps to keep glass pliable while the artist manipulates its form.

Alternately blowing through the pipe and shaping the orb with a library of hand tools we saw the body of the fish emerge. Once the body took form, he adorned it with shorter slugs of glowing goo that were shaped into fins with heavy-duty sheers. The fins rounded out the form, and following the placement of each new element the entire piece went back to the glory hole.

Aided by long time assistant Eric Sommers, the two artisans deftly manipulated the gummy, heedless medium, and nary 45 minutes later, what had been a powdery mix of silica and soda ash emerged as a fully realized glass fish.

Frank Zappa defines an artist as someone who “makes something out of nothing and sells it.” By that rationale we hereby declare Andrew Shea the Maestro of Minneapolis.

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From the Emmy and the Oscar to a host of other awards, R.S. Owens creates high-end trophies, and we were fortunate to meet master mold maker Chris Rowe on the backend of our visit to Chicago.

A trophy starts as a clay clod, but Chris breathes life into it, meticulously creating molds that fit together like a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle. Each part must be fitted with utmost precision, and on the day we visited he was putting the finishing touches on his most complex creation to date.

Consisting of 13 separate pieces, the mold is a scaled down reproduction of “Father of Waters”, and once tailored to a “T”, it will be cast in molten zinc by an artisan clad with a face shield and protective gloves.

Many hands make light work, and following a hand buffing, each piece is electroplated in a chemical bath. Plating is built up layer upon layer as skilled technicians apply multiple coats that suffuse it with a brilliant sheen. The Oscar takes over an hour to reach its ultimate gleam.

Although the Oscar is perhaps their most iconic work, other pieces are more satisfying from a craft perspective. The neutron ball featured on the Emmy, for example, consists of hand-soldered tubing that requires a delicate touch to assemble. And from our perspective we were more than impressed by the custom Balvenie label commemorating the 2012 Rare Craft Roadshow.

Started in 1939 with earnings made from the sale of pigeon racing trophies R.S. Owens has grown into a juggernaut and sustains its quality by doing things the old fashioned way, by hand.

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Albert Einstein advised those seeking to describe truth to leave style to the tailor.

Truth may best be served free of flair, but clothes make the man, and Rocco Giovannangelo and the staff at Oxxford Clothes put the “D” in dapper.

Founded by Jacob and Louis Weinberg in 1916, Oxxford Clothes has expanded from its Chicago roots all the way to Madison Avenue, and we were fortunate to tour their expansive workshop while in the Windy City.

Zipping up to the seventh floor showroom we met Cutting Room Manager and Pattern Maker Fran Ferger, who took us on a tour we won’t soon forget.

From an exhaustive library of fabric samples to a meticulous breakdown of the fitting process we immediately knew we were in rarefied craft company.

Stepping into the cutting room we saw the first of many overhead banners that read, “Always be faithful to quality”. It’s an ethos that runs from Fran to an international crew of cloth cutters and seamstresses and culminates with Rocco, a master tailor who has been with Oxxford for 20 years.

The typical suit is an amalgamation consisting of more than 100 operations, and the attention to detail is second to none. After the cloth is cut, thousands of hand stitches contour the suit like an echo against the body. Coat sleeves are set by hand, ensuring that pinstripes and plaids match seamlessly at the collar, shoulders and waist. Pick stitching, padded lapels and hand-sewn buttons guarantee a level of quality mass production cannot duplicate.

Oxxford Clothes is the cream of the clothier crop because of its commitment to quality, but the spelling of its name sets the company apart as well. The double ‘x’ has a two-fold purpose. One, it differentiates the company from the Oxford dress shirt, and two, it serves as a nod to Chicago Cubs slugger Jimmie Foxx.

Chicago is a hell of a town. Magnates and mobsters have called it home. Sinatra doffed a musical cap to the Second City, and the blues got an electric makeover on the shores of Lake Michigan. And since 1916, it has been home to one of the finest suit makers in the business. Thanks to the international Oxxford crew, Fran and Rocco.

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Home to ever-present Elvis impersonators and iconic landmarks like the Ryman Auditorium, the threads of American folk music color the cultural fabric of Music City.

But it’s lesser known cultural paragons, tucked into crevices of the long shadow cast by its musical heritage, that round out Nashville’s historical character.

At the outset of the 20^th century the Marathon Motor Car seemed poised to dominate the budding automobile industry. The Nashville factory cranked out an estimated 10,000 cars in 1912, but the production line came to a halt in 1914 and by 1986 the space languished in disrepair.

Urban visionary Barry Walker initiated its revitalization and craftsmen like Otis James and Emil Erwin have breathed new life into its bellows.

Suite 129, their shared shop space, incubates their work in natural light and perfumes of the past, and it is within these red brick confines that the two Tennessee natives ply their trades.

Citing a desire to be self-sufficient, Otis James started making his own clothes, which led to a gig at a locally owned tuxedo shop. One thing led to another, and in addition to custom work for weddings, Otis has made ties for Justin Townes Earle, a folksy troubadour carrying the Music City songwriting torch.

“I didn’t set out to make ties, but I really enjoy the process of finding fabrics and the whole thing just kind of evolved. For me it’s all about taking a raw material and seeing it through to a practical, finished product,” he said.

Hand stitched and cut from limited edition wool blend cloth, these are hipster threads without high hat attitude. But don’t just take our word for it. Garden and Gun magazine has sung Otis’ praises as well, recognizing him with a coveted Made in the South award.

On the opposite side of the suite, fellow Garden & Gun award winner Emil Erwin toils with leather.

“Leather is kind of like a language I have always spoken. It takes an intuitive touch to work with, and that feel is really what attracts me to working with it,” he said.

Inspired by a saddle shop he knew as a boy, Emil toyed with his craft starting in college where he made bags for girls.

“Rather than make mix tapes I made bags for them. Those first ones were pretty awful, but it worked out pretty well,” he recollected with a wry grin.

Odd and unfulfilling jobs paid the bills for a number of years, but in 2010 Emil dove headfirst into leatherwork.

“My wife has always been my muse and inspired me to get back to making bags,” he said.

Hewn from vegetable tanned, Horween hides using a library of traditional tools and an anvil that belonged to his grandfather, Emil’s work is equally fit for a ramble on the rails or a first class flight to Frankfurt. And galvanized with a lifetime guarantee, it’s equally durable.

Just above the heirloom block of blacksmith iron hangs an American flag, and while Old Glory jives with the overall aesthetic, its backstory makes it memorable.

“I found that flag in a dumpster,” he said.

How it ended up there is anybody’s guess, but it has found new life in Suite 129.

And that brought our visit full circle.

From a reclaimed flag in a revitalized factory to hand crafted goods, these chaps are part of a growing effort to resuscitate American manufacturing.

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From Motown to Mustangs, Detroit’s halcyon days left an indelible impression on the American cultural landscape.

The Funk Brothers, Motown’s legendary house band, laid down the groove as Fords rolled off the production line, igniting a romance with the open road.

Factory rhythm may have ceded to bailout blues, but the music never stopped and the spirit of craftsmanship still thrives in the Motor City.

Named after an ore mine in Michigan’s upper peninsula, Pewabic Pottery traces its roots back to Mary Chase Perry Stratton who, in 1907, opened what would eventually become command central for North American ceramics.

Housed in a Tudor Revival style building, a massive chimney towers above a slate roof under which knowledge of the ceramic arts passes to more than 14,000 students annually.

The average pot uses 2.5 pounds of clay, and with students numbering into the thousands we wondered how they supply the demand.

In keeping with a steadfast commitment to hand made goods, Pewabic makes its own clay using raw materials culled from all corners of the United States.

And while on site we had the good fortune to watch pottery instructor Nicole Marocco throw a pot. Her fluid movement and nimble fingers made it look easy, but nothing could be further from the truth.

“I like to say it takes two minutes and 15 years to throw a pot,” she said.

Although Pewabic crafts heirloom quality tiles and vases, profit has never been the end game. Rather than systematically commercialize production, Mary sought to “stamp this generation as one which brought about a revival of the ceramic arts and prove an inspiration to those who come after us.”

More than a century later this ethos still anchors the Pewabic vision.

So to Mary, Pewabic and everybody else at the vanguard of art education we say…

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We got another taste of New Hampshire craftsmanship in Peterboro this afternoon.

Our final visit in the “Live Free or Die” state led us to the Peterboro Basket Company where we met Walter Hood, a semi-retired, walking encyclopedia of basketry.

A soft-spoken gent, Walter started working with the company in 1950 and gave us a tour of the entire compound, which started in the boiler room.

Originally built in the 1920’s, the colossal boiler consists of 14 nine-foot tubes that produce the copious amount of steam needed to work the wood.

The wood, which is more often than not fast grown white ash because of its pliability, is processed in a workshop filled with antique machines and the sweet, woody scent of lumber.

Each machine serves a different purpose. One planes raw planks. Another cuts planks into thin strips, and a third weaves those strips into the base of a basket.

Although the machinery is vintage, workers still weave the walls by hand using loose strips of ash. The flexible wood is meticulously entwined like interlocked ribbon to create a solid structure of incredible strength and durability.

The final step, called hooping, binds the individual strips with a final horizontal strip at the top of each basket. Hooping was Walter’s forte before he retired.

When our tour came to an end, we had seen the entire production cycle of a Peterboro Basket Company bicycle basket.

Meeting Walter was a great way to wrap up our visit to New England, and with a chunk of country standing between New Hampshire and Detroit we hit the road again.

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We left the folks at Northeast Lantern and made a short jaunt to Manchester, where, lo and behold, we had another brush with artistic passion.

Vivian Beer studied sculpture, honed her metallurgical chops as a blacksmith and now makes art disguised as furniture.

Reminiscent of “steel calligrapher’s lines in three dimensions,” she forges metal into seductively fluid forms, and the work really blew our hair back.

Much like Coltrane stretched the familiar melody of “My Favorite Things” into unexplored sonic realms, Vivian sails the conventional notion of furniture into experimental seas, and her face lit up with a Cheshire grin as she talked about her work.

“Every move has to sing to the design. I build structurally sound objects that seduce the viewer. It’s a sneaky way to make art,” she said.

Some pieces resemble large drops of rain frozen in concrete. Others rise up from the ground like a molten weave of metal noodles fused together as one, erasing any notion that they were once separate threads. We saw a long bench that looked like a high heel shoe hewn from chocolate almond truffles and a smaller, red one so lustrous we figured she had sculpted it from wine.

Much like the gents at the Hartford Denim Company, Vivian discovered her passion early and has gone all in to follow her path. In fact, The Smithsonian purchased one of her pieces as part of “40 Under 40”, a permanent exhibit celebrating 40 artists under the age of 40.

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Our journey from Cape Cod into New Hampshire couldn’t have taken place on a more beautiful day, so before we left, we decided to take Mary Rose for a photo shoot on the Wellfleet Pier. The dame turned a few heads before zipping us to New Hampshire for a meeting with the folks at Northeast Lantern.

Tucked in a forest grove outside of Exeter, the crew transforms sheets of brass and copper into stunning reproductions of colonial light fixtures.

From box breaks and bar folders to tin snips and rollers, they craft everything by hand using traditional techniques.

After the fixtures have been shaped and soldered they head to the swamp room for finishing. Submerged in a secret combination of chemical baths, they emerge as works of art.

Skip Heal started the company in 1987, drawing on years of experience working for a coppersmith.

He touted handmade lanterns throughout the Northeast, but, “The phone didn’t ring much during the first three months,” he recalled.

So, he put some lights in a box, headed to Cape Cod and knocked on doors. Since then the venture has slowly expanded, and it’s all hands on deck with the current workload. The warehouse cranks out over 16,000 units annually and will celebrate its 25^th anniversary in October.

Sure, there are cheaper lanterns on the market, but they won’t last as long and they aren’t handmade by a family owned business in the United States. And that’s a source of pride for Skip, whose son Chris is set to take over the reigns in the near future.

“We make lights that last, so I don’t have a problem offering a lifetime guarantee. All the customer has to do is change the light bulb,” he said.

Everybody we meet has a tangible sense of pride in his or her craft and it was great to see that story unfold again on the Northeast Lantern factory floor.

Our visit was topped off with an invitation to a surf and turf cookout featuring Maine lobsters and beef tenderloin. Needless to say we rode that culinary wave without much coercion.

It was five-star hospitality from a top shelf operation. Here’s to another 25 years of success!

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