In Your Smokin' Face

Maria Salinas
6 days ago
3 min read

When Lucio Moya fires up the pit, the whole neighborhood pays attention. Born and raised in Roma, Texas, Lucio isn’t just another guy with a grill—he’s the culinary mastermind behind In Your Smokin’ Face, a barbecue catering business that’s feeding the very heart of South Texas: la música. From Grupo Frontera to Intocable, Lucio is the go-to guy for smoked meat, fire salsas, and that unmistakable backyard sabor.

Like many Mexican-American homes, this story starts with a kid walking into an empty kitchen after school.

Lucio grew up in a hard-working family. Parents working long hours to pay the bills. He got home from school and, more often than not, had to figure out his own dinner. Instead of complaining, he figured it out. He mastered the art of quesadillas and sopitas. He opened cabinets, played with ingredients, and started learning to cook by instinct. No fancy recipes. No measuring cups. Just pure survival.

“I ate what I had,” he says. “And made the best of what I had.”

What started as necessity became a hobby. He cooked for friends, for parties, for anyone willing to eat. During the pandemic, he started selling brisket plates from home. Then came his big break: a friend in a local grupo asked if he’d cater their rehearsal. Word spread fast. These days, if there’s a banda event in the Valley, Lucio’s probably behind the grill.

But behind Lucio is Krissy—his wife, his ride-or-die, and the real boss. They’ve been together since high school. Four kids later, and she’s still the one who double-checks the orders, manages the calendar, makes sure the deliveries are on time, and most importantly, tells Lucio when he’s overdoing it with the chile.

“She’s the reason I am where I am,” he laughs. “She holds it down for me.”

Beyond the brisket and costillas, Lucio has turned his flavor game into a business empire. His own line of seasonings includes a bold Beef Blend, a zesty Orange Pepper Pequin, an Everyday All-Purpose Seasoning, and a Sweet Heat Rub that deserves its own corrido. They’re packed by hand, sold at pop-ups and online, and used in every rubdown before the fire starts.

“I was already mixing my own stuff,” he says. “Krissy just told me I needed to bottle it and sell it.”

Today, Lucio is making salsas for a carne asada at his house. The in-laws are visiting and they’re waiting on the carne.

Meanwhile, the salsas roll in.

First up: cebolla morada salsa—a bright, slightly sweet salsa made with charred red onions, lime, chile piquín, and a little olive oil. It hits that perfect balance between heat and freshness.

Then he moves on to salsa temateada, made with tomatoes blistered over open flame, garlic smashed into submission, and serrano chiles toasted just to the edge of bitter. Smoky. Spicy. Unapologetic.

Next: cerveza guac. That’s right—guacamole with a splash of Mexican beer. Creamy, tangy, a little boozy.

And finally: chorizo cowboy butter, a rich, sinful dressing made with melted butter, cooked-down chorizo, roasted garlic, lemon zest, and herbs. It’s not healthy. It’s glorious.

That’s the secret to good meat. A solid salsa that can rescue overcooked brisket or burnt tortillas without breaking a sweat. A good salsa makes everything more forgiving.

It’s not about perfection—it’s about intention. And when you cook with corazón, even the mistakes taste like part of the plan.

Every salsa is stirred like it matters. Every cut of meat is seasoned like someone’s abuela is watching.

Lucio Moya is doing it the only way he knows how—con todo.

@Santitos

@salinasmariasantos

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