On a cold January afternoon in Beverly, the line at Sanders BBQ Supply Co. tells you what you need to know before you even taste a bite: this isn’t just a neighborhood spot anymore—it’s a destination.
For James Sanders, that journey started long before the media buzz and the growing talk of expansion. “I just had a dream of coming out of the hood, as everyone pretty much does,” he told me. Sanders was born and raised in East St. Louis, Illinois, a place he describes plainly: a small town known for Miles Davis, violence and great athletes. “I always had a dream of achieving more… doing more and doing better.”
Barbecue wasn’t a trendy pivot for him—it was home.
He remembers the open pit in his childhood backyard, built when his family bought their house. His father cooked regularly, and people naturally gathered around the fire. “Everyone gravitated to this open pit,” Sanders said. “It was family… camaraderie… unity with barbecue. That excitement.”
Even after college at Southern Illinois University Carbondale, where he says he was constantly cooking for fraternity brothers, Sanders’ path initially leaned into fine dining. But about a decade ago, his passion shifted. He grew tired of what he calls the “celebrity chef” wave and returned to what felt authentic—smoke, fire, and honest food. He began cooking on a small Weber grill in his backyard, feeding friends who became his toughest critics.
That backyard discipline eventually became the foundation for what Sanders now calls craft barbecue—not in a pretentious way, but in a “watch it happen” way. “When I say craft, I’m talking about seeing a person cutting brisket in front of you,” he explained. “We got wood. Live fire. All our sides are made from scratch.” This wasn’t meant as a knock on legacy South Side institutions—Sanders is clear about his respect for businesses that have survived for decades. But he believed there was room for something Chicago didn’t have enough of: a barbecue experience rooted in technique, transparency, and detail.
And for Sanders, the “experience” is the point.
When I asked what brings people from all over the city, he didn’t start with seasoning or sauce. He started with hospitality. “The experience and the customer service first,” he said. “Everyone walks in, greet them with a smile… happy to see them.” Then comes the part that feels rare in a city where most people order and wait: sampling. “You get the sample of the barbecue… everything you want to try.” While customers wait, they talk to each other, swap opinions, and become part of the moment. The line becomes community.
Staying rooted on the South Side wasn’t negotiable. “It had to be on the South Side,” he told me. He watched the Beverly location from a distance, suspecting it wouldn’t survive the post-pandemic business climate. When the space began closing, Sanders moved with urgency—and preparation. A chance conversation with a fellow business owner led him to the landlord’s number. The landlord asked for a business plan. Sanders sent it the same night.
The next morning, he got the call: the space was his. No credit check, no extended back-and-forth. Just readiness meeting opportunity.
Even with national recognition and a second location planned in Hyde Park, Sanders doesn’t talk like someone who believes he’s “made it.” He repeats a phrase that feels central to his mindset: improvement is daily. “I still don’t think I got everything right,” he said. “Every day is a good day for improvement… we’re still tweaking the recipe.”
That humility doesn’t mean he lacks confidence—especially when it comes to what barbecue means in the Black community. “We don’t play about our barbecue,” he said, laughing. “We take barbecue personal… like we take our soul food.” He also pushes back against the idea that barbecue is one universal flavor. It’s regional—St. Louis, Kansas City, Texas, Carolina—and Sanders makes sauces in-house so customers can explore that range without losing the familiar comfort they grew up with.
But the story of Sanders BBQ is bigger than brisket.
Sanders and his business partner—an Englewood-raised dentist—see community investment as part of the job. He spoke about creating moments for kids who show promise, including inviting a young aspiring chef into the restaurant’s world. “Some people may have a skill that college can’t teach,” he said. For Sanders, the goal is to “grab those people… show them the way,” not just serve them food.
When I asked what success looks like beyond revenue, he didn’t pretend money doesn’t matter. “If we’re not making it out of the Black—we close down,” he said. But success, to him, is counting wins: a kid finding direction, a team member leveling up, and yes—unexpected recognition that still feels surreal for someone who started low to the ground on a backyard grill.
Near the end of our conversation, I asked him to finish a sentence: “Sanders BBQ is more than food. It’s…”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Relationship.”
And that might be the secret ingredient that keeps pulling Chicago back to Beverly—again and again.