The Tao of Gunnels: Chef serves up exquisite balance at Clay & Fire 

Clay & Fire is what happens when near-eastern cuisine and far-eastern philosophy take hold in the heart of a Midwestern chef. Should those things meld seamlessly together? We wouldn’t have bet on finding the best eggplant dip and some of the best pizza in Kansas City on the same menu. Yet here we are.

The old house, which has been home to several other KC hot spots over the years—Novel and Fox & Pearl among them—has gotten an eclectic makeover. Red string lights run across the ceilings of the several dining rooms. Patterned rugs hang on the walls. There are live fish in the bathroom. It’s homey and strange, and it’s here that chef Brent Gunnels (along with Savannah Bennett and owner Adam Jones) has built one of the best food experiences in Kansas City. 

It hasn’t always been perfect pizza and accolades at Clay & Fire. The early days were harrowing: a pandemic opening; the man who was supposed to be the restaurant’s leader was stuck in Turkey.

“In the middle of the pandemic, open only for breakfast, with a cuisine that nobody’s heard of. It was—we made it through. A lot of the giants fell. Because we were so new, we were able to pivot,” Gunnels says with a subtle eye roll mid-sentence.

Gunnels and I spoke on a Thursday, sitting at a table near the bar, music I didn’t recognize playing loudly through the restaurant. His demeanor was surprisingly cool-headed for a head chef with dinner service just a few hours away. While we talked about his process, he showed me a chart of his own creation, detailing ingredients and categorizing them in a way that allows him to visualize a new dish. It is the foundation on which he grows his talent, allowing him to experiment and create confidently. Everything he does in the kitchen is in pursuit of balance—of creating a perfect bite of food in harmony with the elements of cuisine and nature. This perspective allows him to cook near eastern food so far from its origin.

“Mostly, the available meat and produce drive what we do. We don’t chase menu items. It’s about adapting to what’s available here versus what’s available there. Thinking of Kansas City as a region of Armenia, Turkey, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Iran,” Gunnels says.

Kharcho Dinner. // Courtesy photo

The Kharcho ($12/$30) is the pinnacle of that adaptation, the ability to make dishes that are faithful to the original yet malleable to the experience he wants to create. Kharcho is a ubiquitous stew in the near east, but it doesn’t take that form at C&F. Instead, short rib, smoked in a Kansas City style, is placed on a bed of cheesy polenta and coriander tomato sauce. It is rich, with an almost marrow-like finish, but the tomato sauce cuts it beautifully, and the polenta provides a hearty backbone.

On my visit, we postponed the Kharcho until after the mezze. The Charred Cabbage ($5/$9), though, was a terrific amuse bouche—a study of how open flame can elevate a simple ingredient. The Coal Roasted Carrots ($5/$9) were similarly enhanced and paired with a delightfully spicy ajika. No one should eat at Clay & Fire without trying the Spread Trio. The Turkish Apricot and Yoghurt, the Ember Eggplant, and some flavor of Hummus are absolutely necessary to start your meal. As often happens, my wife was more succinct about their superb quality than I could hope to be: “I could live off this trio,” she said.

Much has been made of Gunnels’ pizza, and rightfully so. Any list of the best Kansas City pies that doesn’t include the C&F Grandma Pizza ($16) near the top is incomplete—no, it’s negligent. The pizza is moist without being greasy and light yet somehow substantial and comforting. Most important, it is abundantly flavorful, bright with tomatoes and salty cheese, and has the perfect amount of char across the crust. It is a can’t-miss.

Khachapouri. // Courtesy photo

On a Sunday, though, I might be persuaded to order the Khachapuri ($19) instead, a football-shaped vessel of Gunnels’ exceptional dough filled with cheeses, butter, and egg. Nothing simpler, right? Well, this version, with its pillow-soft crust and molten insides, ruined my week—I still daydream about it. Only available at brunch, it’s worth whatever wait you might have to endure without a reservation.

If you ask Gunnels to talk further about his philosophy, about the experience he envisions for his guests, he will need a pen and paper. He’s going to draw for you. His eyes lit up as he diagramed a human mouth for me, making little dots to indicate the locations of each element of taste on the palate.

“I think of flavor like energy. You feel it as much as you taste it. [When I cook] I’m focused on how food makes me feel.” 

The evidence of his intention is all over the menu, but the dish most exemplified it was the Brussels ($11). Served over a celery root puree with confit sunchoke crunchies, it was narcotically addicting. Earthy, sour, crunchy, soft, and wonderfully bitter in every bite. The sound of my fork scraping the platter for the last bits made our table neighbors flinch.

The more you eat, the more Clay & Fire feels like what it was: a home. With the fires raging on the first floor, it’s hard not to think of our ancestors gathered around a hearth, laughing and drinking wine (incidentally, I suggest something natural and funky, maybe orange, strong and versatile enough to hold up to the flavors on the menu).

Basque Burnt Cheesecake. // Courtesy photo

Gunnels and I talked for an hour before he showed me the kitchen. It’s fitting that this was the place where he distilled his driving force into a single sentence because it’s there that his purpose is most evident.

“Food is my dharma, pizza is my tao.” 

Translated simply, the words mean truth and way. They are the functions by which Gunnels understands life and the path he walks through it. 

The kitchen is open, visible from the bar, so anyone can peek in and see Gunnels’ calm expression amid the chaos of service—bodies and hustle and open flame. But no one yells; no one even looks stressed. There’s only the thrum of work and the rhythm of creation.

As I left the restaurant, I, too, felt calm. Engorged from eating way too much? Sure, but at peace with my choices. There wasn’t a bite I took that I would rather have left untouched. Gunnels made sure of that.

Clay & Fire is located at 815 W 17th St., Kansas City, MO 64108.