First thing’s first: the tacos.
They’re plopped down sometime after the diver scallop tostadas and before the chocolate-y mole recado, a soul-deep aromatic ring of them surrounding impatient cups of miso consommé and vivid red salsa. Emptied shots of unsolicited Hennessy litter the table. One of my dining companions is, somewhat discordantly, biting into a cheesy double smashburger. I’m not even sure if I’m still hungry? But the tacos, beef birria tacos on squid ink tortillas blanketed in queso, are so rich, and gooey, and crunchy, that I’m powerless to stop at just one before the meal is over.
The man responsible for this glorious smorgasbord is L.T. Smith, the executive chef at Chilte—one of the Southwest’s most inventive restaurants—and the star of our latest campaign. His path to cooking is as surprising as his food: A standout wide receiver in college, he made it to the NFL in 2015 but was released before the season started. In the aftermath, he found a new calling in the culinary world, a collaborative, high-energy environment not dissimilar from the football field.
“I was able to apply all those things from sports right into the kitchen,” Smith says. “The grit, the perseverance, working under pressure, building a team. It was just such a natural fit.”
Chilte has humble origins. It started under a 10x10 tent at the Mesa Farmers’ Market, where Smith and his wife sold tacos on hand-pressed tortillas, deploying some of the fine dining techniques he picked up during his training.
“A little before it was trendy, we did the birria taco,” he recalls. “And the second we did it, I knew we weren’t going to move away from it. It’s still a staple on our menu today.”
Since opening in 2023, Chilte has picked up a number of serious accolades. Esquire and Bon Appétit each included it on their list of Best New Restaurants in 2023. In 2024, Smith was named one of Food & Wine’s Best New Chefs. And just last year, he was a semifinalist for a James Beard award—essentially the foodie version of an Oscar.
Despite all the attention, Smith is still unapologetically himself. On one wall of the restaurant, flanked by a hodgepodge of funky, cacti-inflected artwork, the words “Me Vale Madre” are displayed in a combination of turquoise neon and graffiti. Translation: I don’t give a damn.
“If you really want something that defines me,” he says, “I put a burger on the menu because I like a burger, and it bangs.”
In college, Smith was known to mix strawberry ice cream with Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and top meatball subs with chocolate chip cookies—a so-crazy-it-just-might-work creation that would stump even the most stoned guy in your dorm. At Chilte, he focuses on sourcing fresh, local ingredients, if only to use them in unexpected ways.
“It’s important to challenge people’s palette—to challenge people’s ideal of what Mexican or Southwest or Black food is,” Smith says.
While his vision for the restaurant may be singular, Smith still sees cooking as a fundamentally team sport. And he’s willing to play at whatever position he’s most needed: Even after a day-long shoot with a friendly (if particular) menswear brand—not to mention, a busy dinner rush—Smith was still planning on heading back into the kitchen after close, to fill in for a dishwasher who called out sick.
“You know, we get to tell stories and use fun ingredients, but building that team and that community is badass,” he says. “I’m ambitious to a fault. I’m always looking for a new challenge. I love things that are uncomfortable—I love seeing people grow, and growing with them.”