On THE BEAR, Fine Dining, and the Fine Art of Putting Out Fires (Patreon)

As of last Saturday morning, I had not seen one frame of The Bear.

Five days later, I had seen all of it and quickly became my favorite show of all time. You can argue that season one is a perfect season of tv. But season 2 is even better. And now, all I want to do is talk about every single aspect of the show. Which is why I’ve spent the last seven days writing non-stop. And the result is a 25 chapter, 30 thousand word essay about the show, its dramatic construction, the world of fine dining, the process of creativity, and ultimately, the need to grow past the toxic family behaviors that you have to undo in yourself.

So really, this is an essay about everything.

1. MIRACLES

The Bear is a miracle.

That’s because the majority of films and TV shows about food and restaurants are… well… kind of bullshit? But it’s okay that they’re bullshit! Because the real job of any TV show is to use environments or professions as the vehicle for drama (and sometimes outlandish fun). But the big caveat always comes when you, as a viewer, happen to be close to the subject matter. Because if you really understand a lot of the nooks and crannies of the environment on screen? Then it’s so much easier to bump against what is flagrantly wrong. I mean, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for an astrophysicist to watch something like Armageddon. The power of any of the show’s details just hit too close to home…  Which is why the best media efforts tend to get enough of those details right - or more importantly, get the spirit of them right - all en route to telling their own personal stories and landing their specific metaphors. The best films about food really honor this. A film like Pig becomes a beautiful exploration of grief and loss. A film like Ratatouille is about following your passion and finding a sense of belonging in the larger world.  But there’s a level that is deeper than that. A mythical level of art where you can take all those realistic, specific details of a world you are exploring and make them the drama in and of itself. If you do that? Then you have something special.

Then you have The Bear.

To illustrate a bit of what I’m talking about, you have to remember how we had trope-y police shows worked for years and years and years. Sure, some of which were commended for their “gritty realism” and such. But then along comes a show like The Wire and blows it all out of the water. For it was steeped in a journalistic mindset, ignored the easy, trope-y storylines and looks at the system of policing in and of itself - and finds heartbreaking drama within the realities that better define our own reality. Sure, the world of restauranting isn’t as grave as the police state, nor as all encompassing as the agony of city politics. But it is still a subject of so many people’s lives. Restaurants are everywhere. And they are fast paced, breakneck, terrifying, and confusing places where the intersections of health, safety, and horrible capitalism mesh with constant danger. But ultimately, they are proof that even the smallest hole in the wall is about bringing some form of delicious daily joy to a paying customer. And getting at the “reality” of this kind of environment is one of those things where you can tell *instantly* when it comes from a personal place of knowledge…

2. ON LEGIT-NESS

“OMG, you should open a restaurant!”

I hear from time to time and to be clear, it is a lovely compliment that I truly appreciate the spirit of. But even entertaining the reality makes me laugh. Because it’s hilarious when guys like me honestly think they could start a restaurant. To be clear, as to why people say this, it’s because I love cooking more than anything. I started when I was very young and figured out how ovens work. Then I started poking about my mom’s beaten copy of Julia Child’s seminal The Joy of Cooking. Then I started in earnest with Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything. I made an endless series of notes and my attempts, all of which I still have right there, and all of which formed the basis of understanding...

From there I went poaching through “fancier” recipes in Food and Wine and Bon Appetit. Once I got older and started going to fine dining restaurants it was on like donkey kong. First, I cooked my way through the French Laundry cookbook. Then all the other of the best restaurants in the world: Noma. Alinea. Nobu. Robuchon. A Day In El Bulli. Momofuku. Mozza. Mexico from Inside and Out. More books that teach about techniques, regionality, and more recently J. Kenji Lopez-Alt’s “The Wok” is one of the most complete and instructive books I’ve ever come across. And there’s an ever growing list through today. These are incredible books that teach you about the true essence of food, culture, and the endless skills you might need in making the most delicious things imaginable.

I used other people as test subjects. I’ve used them to throw 7, 9, 12, and even 22 course dinner parties. I did them by myself, often in tiny home kitchens. And yes, it was incredibly hard because you have to learn timing, portioning, plating, and all sorts of matters of practicality. I’ve even taken cooking classes at my favorite Two Michelin Star restaurant. I have even briefly volunteered there and that sounds lovely, but it basically means picking dual skins off fava beans for hours (but it’s a beautiful way to be around the operation). I have so many friends who work in kitchens and the fine dining industry. But I say all of this pompous nonsense only to point out that none of that matters. Because when it comes to me working somewhere like that? Forget fine dining...

I wouldn’t last one day on the line of a greasy spoon.

Because restaurants are their own unique ecosystem. Would I have a leg up compared to a total newbie? I guess.. But I’ve never worked under that level of pressure. I’ve never done the repetitive actions required. I’ve never made 500 of anything in a row. I’ve never gone to culinary school, which means there are crucial gaps that would show my entire whole fucking ass. I probably know half the terminology by osmosis, but I would be lost on the other half. And more importantly, I’ve never put any of those home cooking skills to use in a way where they become muscle memory. I don’t shout corners and behind on instinct. I don’t maniacally clean my station as I progress. Worst of all, I use cooking as my decompression time, not the skilled sprint required of the job itself. Which is all to say I’d get absolutely shellacked working in a restaurant, let alone “opening” one and all the hell that comes along with it (it would be exactly like that mortifying scene in Freaks & Geeks where Nick tries out for the band and gets the devastating “Good luck with the 31 piece-er” comment walking out). Even if I got the hang of a certain kitchen job over a few weeks, I don’t know the ins and outs of sourcing, costs, overhead, covers, and all the insanity that goes along with running a kitchen, a waitstaff, never mind the whole ass business. So no, I have way too much respect for anyone who works in the restaurant world to ever presume I could do what they do.

Luckily, Christopher Storer and his team DID do it..

His knowledge comes from a place of experience, as he has now famously talked about working at an Italian Beef place when he was 19. And then there’s the family of it all, because his sister Courtney is the day-to-day culinary producer on the show and she’s worked in the fine dining restaurant scene for years now (which she talks about here). So no, this doesn’t feel like the standard Hollywood offering where they came in and were like, “oh. we did two weeks of research, we really get it!” No, from top to bottom The Bear always speaks FROM that place of experience, which gives a depth to the show’s soul. It is “legit.” But the thing about legitness in media portrayals is that you can’t just know the world. You have to know how to bring it to life. Like a public facing scientist, you have to be a good communicator. And luckily, that is the other part of this miracle show… It’s so well-made.

With Storer and the assured direction of the first season I was instantly like, “Wait, where’d this guy come from?” Turns out he was a producer / director who worked with Bo Burnham on a number of projects (who is another person who was quietly working then launched into the wider world of narrative direction with shocking acumen). But The Bear is so impossibly sharp. There’s so little fat on anything. Every little edit feels meaningful and informed. And for something this energetic, it’s amazing how unshowy it feels at the same (especially in comparison to a few other “high energy” popular shows that will remain nameless). Every camera choice feels grounded in function. Even the much ballyhooed one take episode in season one doesn’t reach from the ‘start to finish” one take designation, instead using a lovely opening montage before slowly edging us in without even realizing it. It is not trying to “impress us” with elegance and godly flow, but instead uses the cramped, unbreaking shot to hold, hold, hold us in the ever boiling tension of the room.

It is all grounded in dramatic purpose. And the show does this consistently. Mold discoveries, liquor permits, and fire tests all become the crucibles of focus. And part of the miracle is it how much it doesn’t fuck around with anything it doesn’t need. It’s only trying to take you deeper into its own messed up restaurant world. And every outside exploration of a character or seeming dalliance ends up being a critical moment that only somehow brings us closer to the truth of their hearts. This is the matter of writing with character insight, where a murderer’s row of writers like Storer, Joanna Calo (Bojack, Undone), Karen Joseph Adcock (Atlanta, Swarm, Yellowjackets), Rene Gube (My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Superstore) and more, all bring the ethos and pathos to life. Because it’s not really about what a “restaurant” is…

It’s about people within it.

3. THE REFUGE OF THE DAMNED

Who works at restaurants?

There are few industries that cut across such a wide swath of different people. At any given spot, you will probably find bored teenagers slotting into waiters and hosts. You find a few older ones skewing at places a bit more upscale. You find bartenders and soda slingers. You find French speaking chefs with Spanish speaking staffs. You find immigration statuses left in a Schrodinger’s box. You find local kids who need a summer job for the out of towners. You find night owls, burnouts, and wastrels. You find functional alcoholics. You find non-functional alcoholics. You find runaways. You find queer kids. You find people who are making but a brief pitstop in this odd world of restaurants. And then you find the lifers. Those people who have somehow found a home in it. Because, in many ways, restaurants are the refuge of the damned. The place for people who ended up in it, yet they can’t quite imagine themselves doing anything else. And for all the people who ended up in this refuge, it comes with the tacit understanding that the most damned ones of all?

Are the ones who dreamt of it in the first place.

4. IMPATIENCE

One of the great joys of being in this town long enough is that you spot certain people at the start of their careers who then go on to blossom with some great work. So often you see this core nugget of sparkling talent (it’s the “this is something” that Sydney and Carmy keep saying when working on dishes). Like, I knew Kumail and Emily back when they had a video game podcast and years later they got rightfully nominated for Oscars. It’s also how I love watching Matt Johnson get acclaim for Blackberry and nearly a decade ago I adored his webseries Nirvanna The Band The Show. I mention this because, even though it’s a bit more recent, five years ago I heard Ayo Edebiri on an episode of The Worst Idea of All-Time and was just an instant fan. So I followed along as she started her own podcast Iconography with Olivia Craighead, was writing on various fun projects, then popped up on Big Mouth and Dickinson. All of this was wonderful, but then the person gets the role or project that just cements every single thing they can bring to the table.

Ayo’s performance as Sydney Adamu is one of my favorite things about The Bear, which is saying something given how much truly great stuff there is within it. It’s not just that she’s a naturally funny and deadpan performer. You have to notice how good she is as an actor at playing multiple things at once. Because Sydney is so often in a state of being simultaneously eager and annoyed. Abrupt and placating. Putting something out there before doubling back then doubling down again. She’s live editing herself in a way that allows so many of the other characters to play off her complexity and also see the way she’s in conflict with herself. And the show, which largely forms around a series of kitchen interactions, needs this variation at every step (especially for a character as trapped in his own head as Carmy). She’s not just the foil for him, she’s the foil for everyone. And it’s one of those semi-invisible foundations that makes everything work. If someone who was more single in their emotions, or god help us, lifeless was cast in this role? The entire drama system of the show would collapse. I genuinely can’t imagine anyone else playing this character. And what helps everything is that…

Sydney’s journey is also at the heart of the show.

Of course, it starts with her being at her wit’s end. Sure, she’s earned her stripes in restaurants about town. She tweezed. She polished. She suffered all the yelling of the toxic places. And having survived that, she struck out on her own with a catering business that collapsed spectacularly, leaving her with a pile of debt. And her coming to work for Carmy - who seems to have his spiraling out in his own crazy situation - is the last ditch chance to try and make a miracle happen. To try and learn from this great chef who happened to plop down into her favorite childhood restaurant. It’s a potential kismet. A chance to FINALLY try and spread her wings and do something more. To try and raise her limits… It doesn’t go great, of course. The story of the first season is about the ways they all build some solid foundations, but it also almost collapses under the weight of pressure and ghosts. In the thrilling Episode 7, the titular good “review” coincides with the launch or the to-go orders and results in a sudden wave of demand that’s impossible to keep up with. The single-take tension includes yelling, donut throwing, and an accidental stabbing that leads to what seems like a full on dissociative break within her character. Because Sydney’s been here before. She can’t do it again. And were it not for the surprise cash lifeline and a new promise - along with a crucial apology from Carmy - it all could have gone away again.

Her journey in season two isn’t just about building a stronger foundation, it’s very directly about her growing into a leader. Because the higher up the chain you move, the more removed you get from actual *cooking* and more managing other cooks. But what I love about her character is how clearly it captures that push / pull of feeling both young and old at the same time. Sydney is conducting the business of workers twice her age and yet  she still lives with her father (the great Robert Townsend! Who is making a rare acting appearance and so good at playing that supportive parent who is equally pained by watching their kid sign up for so much hurt). There’s so many lovely details there, like how her room still has the childhood posters of Whoopi in Jumping Jack Flash. There’s something *stuck* about her life, part and parcel of always feeling like “the kid” in a world of grownups. Which can feel grating, because she’s so ready to take on the world and fix all the things it's doing wrong. To wit, when Carmy calls up her former restaurants they note that she’s smart, but “impatient.”

Now, it would be so easy to characterize this as a trait that is somehow “specific” to the young Gen Z whippersnappers of today, but y’all, it's always been this way. The millennials and avocado toast was the same shit said about the lazy slackers of Gen X. Which is the same shit they said about the “selfish” boomer kids of the post war boom and even the almighty “greatest generation” of world war 2 vets were once lambasted for growing up with entertainments like “the radio” and never knowing the pain of The War To End All Wars. Needless to say, believing that nonsense is a trap. And more importantly, impatience doesn’t come from having it easy. It comes from knowing what is inherently fair and just. It comes from all the unseen false starts and pressure that comes with a young, over-scrutinized life. It comes from crippling anxiety and wanting to get past the terrible feelings you live with in the now. And the thing that no one adult wants to admit is that in a world that feeds the status quo precisely so they can keep the status quo - and make you suffer the constant death of incrementalism. And the truth is that it’s actually a whole lot of “impatience” that can move the damn needle.

The real problem comes when you actually get what you want.

You know how almost everyone hates their boss? And probably rightfully so? I mean, there’s just so many bad dynamics of any real hierarchy. But I will tell you, if you become a boss and you care? Like, if you really truly care and want everyone to be happy and fulfilled and to bring great success to all? Well, then being boss is one of the hardest things to do in the world. Because it’s impossible to make everyone happy. Especially in a business environment where you always need X dollars to make Y happen, along with the gutting choices along the way. I wasn’t even any good at it for a whole host of reasons. But I know the sensation of the plight. You constantly feel responsible for everything and everyone at all times. It’s the “puke-level” sense of responsibility and it happens because it’s so overwhelmingly intense. Which is why you just have to ground, do your best, be there, be solid, make people feel like they have a voice is instrumental to that very process, trust them to do their job, and figure the path forward when they don’t… Easier said than done.

But these are the things that Sydney is beginning to discover. The Coach K book that starts somewhat as a joke - “why are you saying his name like Martin Luther King Jr.?” - then gets treated with seriousness because he’s one of the few coaches in all of basketball who is seemingly respected across the board (especially by pros on Team USA). But soon his words begin to take form as action. The one that sticks with me the most is the notion that growth and success is about “changing limits.” As in trying to raise the capacity of what you - and what your entire group - can do. That’s where you raise the game. Which means that leadership also isn’t really about you, it’s the people around you.

Which brings us to the other people who populate this kitchen…

5. STAGING A HORIZON

There are some TV characters you just want to hug.

Marcus is absolutely one of them. For there is such an inherently charming and understated demeanor to this good good pastry champ. But what I love about Lionel Boyce’s performance is doesn’t just tread in the “gentle giant” trope we’ve seen time and time before. There’s much more quiet dexterity. You’ll see it in the way he can be really conversational, but also the way he’ll get lost in his own little world. Or the way he’ll quickly defuse tension with a joke. Or when that doesn’t work, you’ll see the way he’ll clam up or get frustrated. It’s the way he’ll be hard on himself. The way he’ll shut down. The way he’ll take his ball and go home. And most of all, you realize how much all of these behaviors are about the way he deals with his inner fear. But even with that fear, he’s also the one in the restaurant who is most naturally spreading his wings, which results in one of the most lovely arcs in the show.

Unlike Sydney, Marcus didn’t dream of being a chef. He played football, worked some jobs, and ended up at The Beef and working for Mikey for a few years. He was making bread, but turns out he had a little knack for baking honey buns and they became popular. Then Carmy points him in the right direction, shows him a few fancy books (including the Noma book) and suddenly he’s off to the races. Some people are like that. It’s not some long-held dream. It’s a sudden bug that they catch. So Marcus starts making cakes and donuts and desserts and has his head in the clouds (sometimes at the wrong times, too). But the rapid development and passion within him is everything. By the time the second season comes around, Carmy and Sydney want to feed that passion as much as they can. Which is all how Marcus gets to do the most wonderful, wild, and crazy thing, which is to go “stage” for three weeks at Noma, widely regarded as maybe the best restaurant in the world.

Which brings us to two quick asides!

The first is that it helps to know a little about Noma. Which is part of a warning I’m going to get pedantic about fine dining in a few sections of this article, but that’s only because the show is equally pedantic about fine dining. The difference being they’re glossing over stuff the way it would happen in conversation, so this is just a chance to give the deeper context. I’ll try to explain it all as clearly as possible, but if this food stuff still reads like gibberish to you, feel free to skim those elements!

Now, Noma’s Rene Redzepi is the chef who didn’t just put Scandinavian food on the map, he dragged the culinary world into a new era. That’s because the fine dining world was trapped in the annals of “scientific gastronomy” for about a whole decade there. Granted, there was a time where that movement was revolutionary, too, of course. It was a super abstract cuisine that was first defined by the previous best restaurant in the world, El Bulli by Ferran Adria. It was largely inspired by a tapas culture, resulting in dinners of forty bite-sized courses consisting of scientific airs, foams, mojito sandwiches, spherifications, and carrot ice. At its best, it was delightful, playful, and delicious. But the net effect on the larger fine dining world is that it all became this maximized arms race of constant deconstructive adventures, all rusting to resemble abstract art on the plate.

But what Rene did with Noma was get back to super basics. We’re talking about the full-on rustic farm cuisine, some dishes with literal hay and egg yolks, and often combining very uncommon ingredients like ants, birch wood, ox tongues, and reindeer brains. It embraced the natural joys of the cold waters surrounding Denmark along with winter traditions of pickling and game hunting. And it all came in tow with the growing concerns about conservation and food sustainability. Rene specifically championed The Foraging movement, which is all about asking what delicious things can we find in the overlooked flora and fauna around our home? What can you walk outside and looks like “weeds” but you can actually eat? Which is how you get a massive tasting menu of pine cones, jellyfish, and bugs. But it’s all about making it absolutely delicious. Seriously, almost everything I cooked out of that book was shockingly yummy. But what matters most about this approach is that the global influence wasn’t about “doing Scandinavian Food,” it was taking that overall back-to-basics philosophy and applying it to your own local environment. It helped people approach their own regional cuisine and as a result, so many countries’ fine dining scenes boomed, especially in Mexico, Peru, and Brazil. And that’s why Noma matters so damn much.

Now, have I ever actually gone to Noma? Nah, I can’t fucking afford that. But I was lucky enough to attend one “Noma On The Road” dinner series in LA (thank you Steph) where I got some of their famous dishes like mango with ants, a caramelized sugar kelp sandwich, and a weirdly-hard-to-eat marinated honeycomb. But one of the best things I’ve had in my life was just called a “summer salad” and it was simple preparation of local vegetables, each perfectly cooked to its own needs, resting on one of the most delicious sauces I’ve ever had in my life. It was simple, elegant, lick the plate good, and everything the restaurant is about in a nutshell.

[pic]

The second aside is about staging, which is pronounced “staj” like the old French term, which has become more of a loaded topic the last few years because it’s all about free labor. Yes, they’re basically unpaid internships where you sit around and do the most menial kitchen jobs possible, all under the auspices of learning. So are they worth it? The truth is it 100% depends on the specifics of your situation. First off, it’s nice that Carmy is still paying Marcus, but let’s face it that most people aren't so lucky (which means you usually get these jobs if your parents are wealthy). Second off, it totally depends on the specifics of the situation you find yourself in, especially if it's a hellish work environment. There are plenty of nightmare stories out there. I mean, if Will Poulter’s character was a dickhead, what would Marcus's journey have been, especially considering how much time they spent together? Instead, he’s lucky to find that situation where actually getting taught techniques and new flavors. Which is all to say that a good staging experience can be pretty life changing. Like when Grant Atchaz got sent from French Laundry to El Bulli, it became his whole inspiration for Alinea.

But I can hear you asking: shouldn’t they just pay for everyone? Isn’t Noma successful? And didn’t Noma literally just get written up for how much they use staging and free labor? In a moral sense, it shouldn’t be a complicated thing, but in a practical sense it is. Because even though it exists in this hyper luxurious world, even a place like Noma couldn’t afford to truly pay out THAT many people because even high end restaurants have paper-thin margins, which Uncle Jimmy alludes to and a lot of that has to do with high cost of operation (we’ll come back to this). So they could stop the practice, properly pay three people instead of thirty? And then less people get that potentially life changing experience? I have no idea. I’m not actually arguing for any of this. I think all staging / labor should be paid, even if it has to be minimal, it should be SOMETHING. Also, I know most staging experiences are pretty short. Also also, I know that staging can really open windows into a larger world. Also also also, it can take advantage of people. All of these things are part of the reality of staging. I can only tell you what it IS.

Luckily, Marcus is someone who gets an open window. He ends up spending his time helping Chef Luca, played by Will Poulter, who is so quietly amazing in this. There’s something so sullen, terse, and straight-faced about his character. Enough so that you worry he’s gonna get angry. Instead, he’s just very straight forward and patient (all part of the unshowy acting style I adore). He shows Marcus how to be perfect about tweezing on the dessert (which gave me horrible flashbacks as tweezing efforts. It’s just something I’ll never be able to do because I have a little tremor in my hand and it's part of the many reasons I could never work in a fine-dining restaurant). He learns to quenelle. He learns how to be careful, considerate, and thoughtful about plating. And soon enough they just start sharing more about their lives. I honestly love that this is where we learn more about Marcus’s background. Why? Because it's the natural point where it would come up. He already knows everyone else and the show would have to go “out of its way” in some other context that likely would seem extraneous (this is what I talk about when I talk about shows that practice “demonstration” instead of making it part of the actual story). But here it’s part of two strangers becoming closer. They realize they are just two people who “caught the bug.” That this is a place they found. And where they found the aptitude within. But of course, this is where we learn that Poulter had an arc with it. He started as always being the best, but then there was someone better. A Michael Jordan to his Pippin (who we can assume is Carmy, only to have it semi-confirmed later when we see the picture of them later). But it was crucial because it meant he no longer felt the same pressure to be the best. That there was always going to someone much better, harder, and faster. But this also helps teach Marcus the first of three essential lessons. At one point, Marcus asks Luca…

“Then how’d you get so good at this?”
“I made a lot of mistakes.”

“That’s the secret, just fuck up?”

“Just fuck up.”

That’s because the first lesson is about getting rid of the fear of fucking up in the first place. And what is specifically great about restaurants is you fail quickly and fail often. It’s just unavoidable. But that’s how you learn how long it takes to cook a steak on x girl. It’s how you learn the delicate tweezing, the quenelles, and everything in between. From there, the second lesson Marcus learns is more in the holistic experience of him going abroad. He tries eating a host of danish food and of course their version of “poulette.” It’s all about being open to the world, yourself, and other people. Which all cascades into that surreal moment of Marcus discovering an old bicyclist trapped in a chain link fence after a fall. The man cries for help and it looks awful. But the moment Marcus gets the old (and seemingly drunk) man out safe, he just takes Marcus in for a long hug and a head pat, all before going on his way. “You sure you wanna get back on a bike?” Marcus asks. “What is the point of this?” You could wonder. But it’s just one of those odd bits of serendipity Marcus can barely explain, too. But it’s a symbolic one of his momentary connection with this place at large, embodied in instinctive an act of service.

The third and arguably most important lesson is the subtle drama of the episode itself. Because we’ve seen how cut-throat this show can be. We know how terrified Marcus is that something will happen to his sick mom while he’s away. He’s the one who is ALWAYS there. And as viewers, we’re prenaturally taught by TV that the worst will happen when we dread it. But at the end of this episode, it addresses Marcus’ fear head on and he learns the most valuable lesson… that it’s okay to not be on call 24/7. That you can take a moment to dream and do something for yourself, especially something as wonderful as this trip. And that you have a team of people around you to help. Because if you don’t? You will look at your entire selfhood as prospective punishment. The belief that doing or saying the wrong thing will somehow cause the universe to strike your loved ones down. And yes, one day that terrible call will come and the other shoe will drop (like, say, when you’re still feeling the high of opening your brand new restaurant). But as the plaque says in front of him: “every second counts.” And that means a life full of wholeness. Marcus’s arc is just one of those most amazing storylines that makes your heart feel full. And it works because it also stands out as part of a complex ensemble. For where Marcus soars?

It’s a bit harder for others…

6. BAD MOTHERFUCKERS AND OLD BITCHES

Hot dang, do I love when a working actor gets to shine.

To wit, there is Liza Colón-Zayas. She has 63 IMDB credits, mostly guest starring roles, going all the way back to 1994 episode of New York Undercover. Looking at that resume, I must have seen her face on screen a dozen times or so, but like many actors in small roles, you don’t always think too hard about it. It’s the cop who gets a few lines. A concerned parent at a PTA meeting. Or a random yeller from the crowd. She played a nurse in Margaret, had a role in the devastating United 93 (where the goal was not to stand out as a performer), and even was in one of the Purge films I didn’t see. Her biggest and latest gig seems to be a six episode arc on In Treatment? But now I see her lovely face and I instantly think “oh, that’s Tina.” Which I say in the most loving sense. Similarly, there is Edwin Lee Gibson. Someone you may have seen him recently in Fargo or in Winning Time, but he’s long been a veteran of the stage, going all the way back to when he was 14. He’s appeared in over 100 stage credits and even won an OBIE in 2006 for playing Oedipus in The Seven. But now when I see his face, I think, “oh, that’s Ebraheim.” And I think that because both he and Tina provide such an important backbone to the show.

Because, in many ways, The Bear is a show about change. We even start right in the middle of Carmy taking over the restaurant and disrupting just about everything to keep this place afloat. He’s trying to take all the endless lessons of his fine dining and cram them into a beef sandwich slinging joint like it’s easy…. It is not easy. And it is as if he is deliberately testing the old saying that “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” But like most old adages, it’s a half truth. And maybe you can. Because really, it’s getting at something much deeper. And the show uses these two characters to show two different reactions to the possibility of change.

In Tina's first season, we see the arc of her territoriality. Sydney has come into the kitchen and we see her initial briskness toward the young gun. That’s because Tina’s the veteran who knows this place inside and out. It’s chaotic, but it’s her safe chaos. But now the place is changing and Sydney has all this other experience from the outside world. Worse, she’s now Tina’s boss. And the decision for the restaurant to do “Brigade” (a deeply imperfect but ultimately necessary system of communication that has roles and checks and balances) only highlights the sense of perceived unfairness in the hierarchy. But what I love is how quickly this feeling shifts. Because Tina’s not a mean person by nature at all. As we’ll learn, she’s charismatic, talkative, and prideful. And right now she’s just scared and acting out. We see get so her quietly terrified she’s fucking up and doing her damnest. And that moment she presents her dish to Sydney for stasting? She bristles and puts her guard up: “tell me it sucks.” But the moment she’s informed her mash is great? This sudden sense of relief washes over her. Moreover, she realizes that Sydney is not out to get her. That she’s here to help. That she can help Tina make great delicious things. And suddenly, so much begins to change.

All because Tina is changing inside. And the decision to send both her and Ebraheim to culinary school is one of those inspired storytelling things. Practically, it’s them being like “hey, let's get you caught up on a lot of the ABC’s of working in a high end kitchen.” Which is incredibly tough and scary. But she also feels this renewed sense of purpose. What I love is there is no grand arc with some teacher. She just shows up and does the work. And the moment that exemplifies the internal confidence is a simple night out. A bunch of her classmates say they’re going out for drinks and invite her along and we see her pause. Is this the kind of life she can lead, too? We’ve spent so much time seeing her as a stressed working mom. But now she gets to do a whole different kind of bravery with these strangers. But she does it. She goes. She makes nice chit chat. She sings a beautiful rendition of Freddy Fender’s bilingual “Before The Next Teardrop Falls” and lets out a delicate smile. The show doesn’t need to underline it. We know what it means. And it shows how often The Bear doesn’t feel like it needs to over-dramatize someone’s storyline in context of their personal lives - but simply show us some people going in and out of their element, all to discover something more inside.

… Or not.

Because on the other side of things, there is Ebraheim. Where Tina found a new selfhood, he went further into himself. In the chaos of season one, this seemed to do him well, though. He wasn’t really threatened by the change. He kept his head down and stuck to his job and thus remained untouched. But when first asked to go to culinary school? To change himself? He’s taken aback and proclaims, “but I already know how to do it!” which is the funniest possible response. He decides to give it a go, but his first day at culinary school is tough. Unlike Tina, he’s not even doing the claw when cutting veggies (the safe method for cutting with a knife) and I got so terrified he was going to slice himself as I watched. Thus, he withdraws and stops going to school. And once he stops, he can’t catch up. As if knowing how many new challenges would come his way in a restaurant that is aiming for a star. As a viewer, I was so terrified that was the last we would see of him. I mean, who doesn’t like Ebraheim?

But then he finally comes to Tina with his tail between his legs and she rightfully puts him in his place about being “an old bitch” and rightfully exalts herself as being “a bad motherfucker.” She did it. He could have done it, too. But some people get stuck and sometimes there is little you can do to push them. And as much as she’s giving him guff, it's equally clear there is so much love between them, too. They go way back working for Mikey, which means they’re family. And family means there’s always a place for them. Luckily, it just so happens they haven’t found someone who will work the sandwich window yet. And really, there could be no one better than this old soul. The dichotomy between them gets so much of the core conflict of the show. Because what Tina comes to understand is so simple.

And it is a lesson that will be critical for another character…

7. “IT’S NEVER TOO LATE”

I feel like I knew a lot of Richies growing up.

The kind of cocky Jabber Jaws who actually say things like “I'm trying to assert myself” without a hint of irony. So rarely were they the charismatic leads. They’re not the Mikeys who pull you in with the force of gravity. They’re the loud friends of those guys. The hangers on. The guy who is rarely your one-on-one friends, but someone who always ends up there on the edges. Someone who is okay in theory, but always has a habit of becoming a source of trouble. That’s because they’re the opposite of the strong silent type. They’re the weak loud types. The ones so desperate to be alphas they'll tell you how much they’re alphas. And usually, they are the most thin-skinned, defensive people imaginable. That’s because they’re so afraid of the internal truth. That deep down everyone knows it, too. That they can see it. But they can’t change because they don’t know how to. They’ll look to the outside world for proof and confirmation. And at the same time they can’t feel useless because they’re too delicate. Many men don’t like to admit it, but there’s parts of us that are like this, too - as we were all raised in the same primordial soup of other men. But with the Richies, it's the hyper example where it goes all aggressive. Because, like so much of modern conservatism, the inner-delicacy gets lashed out at the world around him…

For Richie, it mostly gets embodied in a sense of place. I’ve just talked about how much the show is about change. Well, he is the number one resistor. They serve spaghetti! No fancy sandwiches! No changing the menu! He’s angry in his deepest self, all because he’s terrified and traumatized by the fact that his best friend Mikey is gone. Because Mikey was the sun that Richie orbited his entire life. And all he can do now is try to keep anything else from changing, but it’s another impossible task. Bars are closing. New corporate businesses are moving in. It’s gentrification, yes, but it’s also a certain kind of white working class idealization for something that maybe was never even true in the first place. He keeps talking about “a shared history” and love and respect. He’s even showing a little intellectual spark and talking about Ceres and the monuments of the city. To him, this is “real and alive and good.” He calls it a delicate ecosystem, but it’s just another reminder that he’s the only one who is delicate. And of course he lashes out at Sydney, who embodies everything he’s not. He throws out childish lines, like “She’s a baby thinking she can go around and handle shit!” Sydney rightfully throws back at his developmentally-arrested ass, “Are you the new face of the working man, Richie?” and that all of this is “not a hollow shell you can project your fantasies onto.” And in the end of the intense conflict of the first season, he rightfully gets a butt stab (though semi-accidental). It is perhaps a symbolic act that is weirdly cathartic for many of us watching. But as irritating as Richie’s bullshit can be…

I acknowledge there are little moments of humanity in that first season.

Or at least the moments where he’s not a one-note anger machine. Namely, when we see him be a father. Sadly, I feel like there’s many men like this? The blowhards who talk shit, air misogynistic leanings in the world, but suddenly listen and treat daughters with sensitivity and respect (which doesn’t make things okay, as they both see and internalize the hypocrisy between the two behaviors). But then there’s another interesting moment dressed up on a date where he is telling his Bill Murray story and it doesn’t go over the way he hopes. He doesn’t lash out or later say mean things about her. He’s just quietly disappointed it’s not landing and he’s not connecting with a person. It’s like there’s this other side of him that we haven’t seen and we’re just getting a glimpse. And for all his talk about being a neighborhood guy, you see that he’s actually good at talking to the regular customers. Moreover, there is a paradox with a bunch of guys who want to act tough in that some of them will end up doing genuinely tough things. Like, there’s something to a person who hears gun shots and walks toward them like “okay what the fuck is going on?” It’s stupid, of course. But there is something about having a lack of fear where many others would cower. Which is kind of emblematic of the whole problem.

Richie is a guy whose fears are displacing each other / all out of whack.

Like he’s afraid of the things he shouldn’t be afraid of - and not afraid of things he should be afraid of. Which means he’s grinding against the world itself. But Richie at least has enough self-awareness that he can see the main problem that, whatever is really going on, he’s circling the drain pipe with his life. And for that reason, he fears it’s too late. The first season culminates in him discovering that he’s “Richie Bad News” in his ex-wife’s phone because he only ever calls with bad news. This actually creates that sympathetic, heartbreaking moment where he makes a call from prison, but knowing he doesn’t want to be Richie Bad News anymore, he doesn’t tell her what’s going on. He just tucks it away, deeper inside. It’s all part of the lowest of the low. But there is such pity to this moment. This whole show, they keep talking about Richie like he’s this good guy that you never see… But the next season, you start to see him. And I mean really see him. Because I simply would not believe you if you told me that freaking Richie would go on to maybe become my favorite character. Because I would wonder how that would even be possible. But they do it right. Because it just takes him really, truly understanding the concept of change itself. And part of that?

Is understanding that new world he is becoming a part of…

8. CLIENTELE: A TALE OF TWO RESTAURANTS

Question: who goes to fine dining restaurants?

The cliche would of course be some snooty rich people. The kind of old folks who presumably look down on everything and love being waited on hand and foot. The kind who love to criticize every detail and look for an excuse to make people feel small. And yes, I admit those people do exist. And yes, on any given night you find them at the table of a fine dining restaurant… But a lot of nights you don’t. In fact, the overwhelming clientele at really high end restaurants isn’t really snooty at all. Especially because the classless snoots are usually going to some tired “nice” restaurant joint that serves safe, over-priced, bland food that goes with their bland brains (I know this sounds really judgemental, but Beverly Hills is full of these spaces and they’re not a fun place to be). But the people who go to really, really good places? The ones that make the “best of” lists? The Michelin Star joints? They tend to be a slightly different story. Because the people who go to fine dining restaurants?

Are the people who love going to fine dining restaurants.

That’s it. And no, it’s not some perfect thing of harmony. These places are expensive in a way that prices so many people out naturally. And they attract a lot of people who aren’t quite snooty, exactly, but sometimes love to be ostentatious and impressive and order super expensive things. Or they attract the scenesters, or the big “look where I am!” influencers (my favorite version of this is the tiktok woman who rates the high end bathrooms she poops in). Point being, yes, there is someone at these places you literally gonna be embarrassed to sit by. But for every one of them that is so noticeable and gets attention, there is a restaurant FULL of people who are quietly eating and enjoying themselves. Because, really, they just love the fucking food. That’s it. Because you don’t spend THAT kind of money unless you want to. You go to “normal” expensive places, not super high end ones. And sometimes, contrary to expectation, people don’t have the money to do it at all, but do it anyway. Which brings us to something really important to talk about.

Fine dining is inherently stupid.

I know that. Almost everyone who works in it knows it, too. And more importantly, even trying to talk about “luxury” in this country is loaded because we are a country full of extreme poverty. A dystopic, capitalistic nightmare where high TV prices have plummeted, but the necessities and cost of food and healthcare has skyrocketed to absurd prices. Where education puts you in debt for life and it’s all going to explode.  It’s all absurd. It’s all broken. But we’re all living in it together. And at various levels above the poverty line, we make the choices about what we value and what brings us happiness within the sucktitude. For instance, I know people who love fashion. They’ll save and save to get some killer item or rock a Fendi bag or something. I know nothing about fashion (outside of liking a couple seasons of Project Runway). But I know it’s what they are making their personal choice on what to “overpay” for. Because most of us have things like that, whether it’s a cool gaming rig, car culture, or even going out to bars with friends. We all choose the thing we like spending money on more than something else. And it's always personal.

I understand that many don’t care about food. That it seems like a morbid waste. That eating or cooking is mostly a bother for them, or they have dietary restrictions, or valid sensitivity issues (and people can also love food even with those things). I truly get why fancy food is easy to roll your eyes at. But for me? I rarely buy new clothes or much of anything at all. I don’t like “stuff.” Because I can’t take any of that shit with me. When I die, the only things I’ll have are the things I’ve experienced. And of those, I fucking love seeing movies and eating food. That’s my life. With food, it’s just that daily little spark that makes me happy. And when it comes to the finances? I make it work. I cook a lot at home. I run a zero-waste fridge. I can put a few ingredients into something good. And most importantly, I rarely order take out or go out to eat. But when I do go out to eat? I want a place that’s amazing. I want a place that can do way better than what I can do at home. And if I’m already spending X dollars, it might as well be XX dollars. And that love wasn’t innate. It was born from a very specific experience.

In 2005 a restaurant opened in Los Angeles called Providence (I didn’t plan on it, but I’m going to be talking about this place a lot in this essay because the second season is about fine dining and this is where I have most of my stories from). I was a fresh faced baby, not even in the city for a year. But the whole food thing was exploding in my brain. I had JUST started going to high end restaurants for the first time in my life and suddenly it was all I cared about (even as I was literally running out of money). But I read a review by Jonathan Gold in the LA Weekly and he basically said it’s the new best restaurant in the city. Plus, it was seafood, which was my favorite thing. My girlfriend loved it too and we were excited to try. So I had saved up everything I had. Walked in with a few hundred dollars in cash… and was it worth it?

It literally changed my life. But it wasn’t just the food (even though I remember exactly how everything tasted). I remember most of all, it was the way the staff made me feel. We talked with the front of house staff so much about the food and they fed off my enthusiasm. And long ago my mom had taught me that if you kill a wait staff with kindness then they’ll kill you with it right back. But when it’s all genuine? Everyone feels it. Everyone can tell. They saw we were a couple of excited kids and they even gave us FREE SHAVED TRUFFLES on a course (which, to this day, is the single most insane gratis act that’s ever happened to me). The whole environment felt electric. We spent a few hundred dollars and they made us feel like a million.

At great places, it’s so easy to assume that they’re all going through the motions and don’t care about you at all and that this is some fake nonsense - but you can tell instantly when that happens. At great places, this is what they strive to do. There’s a moment where Richie is listening to the staff meeting at the place he’s staging and suddenly he’s seeing the amount of thought that goes into the details. Yes, these restaurants absolutely research and try to understand their guests. Yes, they respecting that people save up for 3 star experiences. Yes, it is the difference between “nice” versus “amazing” and why every detail matters. There’s a reason Sydney is told “the front of your house has to be overwhelming.” Which brings us to another story, which speaks to something that truly matters.

A few years after that Providence experience I was in New York with my girlfriend and we were visiting her friend. Again, we were in our mid 20s and didn't have much money. But we were in town and knew we wanted to splurge for a place and decided on a restaurant that will remain nameless (for reasons that will become clear). As we were talking about the schedule, our friend got so excited about doing a big food adventure like this because they’d never done anything like this (like, they had never eaten a mushroom before). Moreover, this was a MASSIVE splurge for them. But they knew the chef from TV. They knew we’d also help it feel more comfortable to try in that environment. And they were ready to challenge their horizon. We get to the place and it’s this gorgeous modern space, designed within an inch of its life there (very hip at the time). But even though we were there early, we ended up getting seated late because some group at the bar stole our reservation. The host was so apologetic. Because at a restaurant? This annoys you to no end, especially for all the preparation you put in. You hate the reservation stealers for a billion reasons. But for us? It was fine. Shit happens and we were on their damn side. Again, “kill em with kindness and they kill you back.”

Sometimes. Because immediately things start feeling odd with our waiter. I’m nervous about getting the tasting menu because I know they stop serving that at 930 and it’s 925, but he’s is immediately like, “uh, it’s technically too late, but I can ask the kitchen.” I am ready to explain what happened, but he comes back with this passive aggressive “we’ll make the exception.” And I feel… weird. Like, deeply weird. It’s making us all so anxious, like we did something wrong. The night goes on and the food is mostly pretty great! But all night the main waiter guy seems like he’s put out and even sloppy. My dessert had literally fallen over (this is, like, verboten in the fine dining world) and he served it anyway. Before we’re even done, he promptly brings the check and we immediately see that there are all these extra drinks on the tab. I’m not angry, I’m like, so nervous at this point and going into my shell. We say we’re confused and didn’t order these, but he’s like “You ordered them from the bar beforehand.” But we hadn’t. We were in front of the hosts the whole time and there’s some back and forth, and eventually he’s like actually “well, you took the reservation of people who were before you.” And that’s when it all clicks. He had been waiting all night to throw that in our faces. I was already reaching for my license, “Oh, I”m sorry, for the confusion, they actually took our reservation.”

Before I can even get out “we were X party at 9 o’clock,” I’ll never forget the look on his face. There was just this instant wide eyed terror. A simple miscommunication with the host and mixing up “who was at which table” is the lesson on why you can’t “be an asshole back” to people you think were the assholes. That night, the reservation stealers got free drinks and probably super nice folks. That night, I spent 1/30th of the money I made that year (before taxes) and this guy made it just… feel awful. But he was suddenly so apologetic, he fixed the tab. He came back and said “it was my pleasure to serve you” and literally bowed. To be clear, this is like a fire-able offense in that world. But I tipped what I would as if it was the best night of my life. But we both know exactly what happened. I do not bring this up out of some weird gripe. I almost laugh now because it's an example of a very human thing that happened. If anything, I get it. I know it’s agonizing to deal with people who you assume came in, took someone’s reservation, and it would make someone’s blood boil. I truly get it. But I bring it up to make such a simple point.

The restaurant didn’t make it.

It had an amazing chef at the top of their game launching a massive New York spot, but it didn’t even last a few years. And it famously didn’t because of front of house problems. The fact that this was an attitude that *the system* even allowed says so much. At Richie’s staging, you see the clear communication and the note system and the way they silently and politely deal with assholes. And when they say “your front of house has to be overwhelming” they mean it. When you see them freaking out about a smudge, there’s a reason. Because when you’re charging THAT much money? It’s respecting people’s money. It’s understanding that as much as you may have to deal with a snooty or asshole from time to time, mostly you’re dealing with the person who is there because they want to love your restaurant. They want to be happy. And the places that make those kinds of mistakes? At THOSE price points? They don’t make it. They just don’t. Because it’s about the whole experience. But with Providence? The place that made us feel like a million bucks? They went onto Two Michelin Star success. And I kept coming back. And back. And back. I’ve spent so much time there for nearly these last twenty years that it’s weirdly become like a second home. Heck, I am STILL friends with one of the waiters I met on that very first day (Hi Mattthew). It’s a tale of two restaurants and two front of houses. You can change a person’s life or you can make a fundamental error that’s emblematic of why an entire multi-million dollar restaurant will close in complete failure. And worst of all, I don’t think our old friend ever tried another one of those experiences again. A thought makes me sadder than anything else. But those are the very, very real stakes. The success of “The Bear,” this restaurant they are putting their entire lives and money into, will be ALL about these details. Which is why Carmy sends Richie on a mission of hope. Going to a place in a place that cares all about those same things.

A place where even a guy like Richie can learn about…

9. ACTS OF SERVICE

I’ve often invoked this notion that real change only happens when someone experiences the “death of the old self” and it’s amazing how much this is at the heart of the character arcs in narrative. And it’s the reason why Richie’s second season arc is a thing of honest beauty. Because it doesn’t feel fudged. We start with him expressing that real fear we saw in season one. The fear that he’ll be forgotten. That he’s 45 and has nothing left to prove for it. We see him grasping at straws. Trying to make himself useful to prove himself but getting in the way. We see him at his low point. But thanks to that amazing flashback christmas episode (which we’ll come back to in full), we’ve also finally seen him as he was before. It’s almost jarring. He’s still Richie, but he’s more at ease, in love, full of promise, and nervous about him and his wife (Gillian Jacobs!) expecting. We even see the humble way he’s begging Uncle Jimmy for a job. This is the version of Richie that other people talked about. And it’s easy to see that he’s been spiraling since he lost so much.

Then he learns about polishing forks.

And it’s a miraculous episode of television. Maybe my favorite of the whole series. He’s sent to stage at a three star restaurant in Chicago. I believe they’re invoking Alinea, but it’s also filmed at 2 star restaurant Ever (which is a bit more confusing because you see the CDC wearing an Ever uniform at some point?). Either way, the allusion to what kind of places it’s talking about is pretty clear. Richie’s sent there. He hates it. He thinks it’s punishment. He thinks that they’re just trying to get rid of him. That it’s meant to humiliate him. But he’s also too stubborn to let them win. No, no one likes polishing forks, but he can’t help but let himself not care about this useless, unimportant thing, which becomes an argument with the restaurant’s GM (played by one of the show’s writers, Rene Gube!). And whatever Richie really thinks of all this, the GM says that he has to at least respect him. It’s one of those masculine appeals that can at least make Richie puff up his chest and say, “I can do respect.” But respect is actually important. Because respect means that you can do the job you are asked to do. And a funny thing starts to happen then… because once you start doing the job, you begin to see a little more of what it's really about. When Richie’s not grinding against the system, when he’s not jabber jawing and talking away, he can actually start listening. Which then opens up Richie’s curiosity.

He begins peppering with questions during the meeting. Notice that the GM isn’t annoyed. It’s his job to explain and hellp. We begin to see the way the restaurant cares about every little thing, especially with clientele. Yes, they check your instagram. They learn if it's your dream to eat at a 3 star joint. There’s a “P.O.N (person of note) in Bo Burnham,” which feels like a lovely little dig from Christopher Storer to his long time friend and collaborator. But most of all, when Richie is curious, he becomes curious about the GM and why he’s passionate about being what amounts to a glorified waiter. Like many things in the show, a simple question brings us into a place of depth. He talks about being a recovering alcoholic and the notion of “acts of service.” In the 12 step program they define it as such: “Acts of service: This love language centers on doing activities that make life easier or more enjoyable for the other person, such as running errands, picking up the dry cleaning, doing the grocery shopping, or other household chores.” But it’s not just about feeling good for feeling useful, it’s about getting outside of your own head. It doesn’t matter that the acts are simple, mechanical, or even transactional. It’s like, yeah, this is a big system of paying tons from fancy pants people. But it’s a great place to feel of use. Moreover, it’s a great place to really, truly make people happy. And for someone like Richie who wants that more than anything?

He can find that in acts of service.

Suddenly, things can come alive. He becomes fascinated by the complex system that lets the food go from the back of house to front of house with swiss clock precision. My favorite moment is when Richie is watching Jessica work and asking questions, but she stops at one point and says, “I need you to get the fuck out of my way for one minute” knowing she needs to be terse enough to get him to stop, but exact enough to imply that she can answer after (and does - and little do we realize we are getting set-up for an amazing moment in the finale). It’s infectious. And the thing about “The Richies” of the world is they can also be so infectious in turn. Especially in normally stodgy, uptight environments like this one. I mean, everyone loves an underdog local boy, right? Especially when they get excited about YOUR world? It’s the best, particularly that scene of Richie fist pumping when he’s getting the rare ingredients right in the taste test. It’s so exciting when people are excited about what you forgot was exciting.

It all crests into the now-iconic deep dish moment, which is really an apotheosis of every bit of it coming together. It’s the listening. It’s the bright idea. It’s him running to Pequods in full sprint wearing a suit. It’s the chef quickly plating it up 3 star style. It’s us knowing Richie CAN be good with customers. And when he asks “can I do it?” Everyone knows it’s the chance for the local boy to go out and give them exactly the flavor of that which they seek. He’s funny and graceful (hiding it behind his back). And he kills the moment, resulting in this absolute surge of electricity. He carries it into the car now, blasting Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” and suddenly I’m in tears. In small part because it’s an incredible callback to his moment with his daughter in season one, where he says he’s tired of listening to Taylor, but now he’s blasting it with reckless abandon - as if fulfilling a love story with life again. Making people happy really can help make you happy, too.

But he still needs to complete the death of the old self. And it's so important that this high gets tied right to the moment with Gillian Jacobs, where he’s asking if she wants to go with him and their daughter to the Taylor concert. We see her pained expression because no, she’s calling to tell him she’s getting remarried. This is the fulcrum point. Because he’s not angry. He just seems to finally realize he’s mourning it. And he comes to the restaurant with a little bit of that sadness the next day, but mixed with pride. Because he still thinks was put here to be humiliated. Only, now the joke’s on Carmy. He loves it and would love to find a place here. And they’d even love to have him. But duty is going to keep him with Carmy. It would seem a small, sullen ending. But  that’s just because he hasn’t gotten the final lesson.

Because fucking Olivia Colman shows up out of nowhere to knock a scene out of the park. Once again, it’s an unshowy, thoughtful, and quiet performance. We simply see her peeling mushrooms. She’s Chef Terry, the one responsible for all of this. And you may ask, really? She’ll peel mushrooms? But this “finding calm / routine” action is an INCREDIBLY common practice with head chef / owners. At Providence, Michael puts on Grateful Dead and slices the day’s sashimi. L’Arpege’s Alain Passard likes building fires. At Mozza, Nancy Silverton likes baking the bread and working the salad bar because she likes being right in the middle of the restaurant talking to people / her friends / regulars. It’s finding that little peace and ceremony that makes you happy in the middle of the madness.

So as they peel mushrooms, Richie and Chef Terry connect about being army kids and the things they carry still, “turns out I like standards.” Every little line just leads into the next and soon the convo gets into her philosophy of “every second counts” and “time well spent.” Richie asks when that started (which is such a smart question) and of course, it was at her low point. The time where she was blaming everyone else for the time and money she lost on the failure of her previous restaurant. But it’s “never too late to start over.” The words hang there. For a man who is 45 and feels is it too late for him? Almost by instinct, Richie tries to be self-effacing and mentions Carmy putting him there: “I’m sorry he pulled a favor.” But she gives the most telling line “I don't do favors.” This is not a matter of accident. And she tells him the words from Carmy, which perhaps show how truly awful Carmy is at communication,, but still says it all:.

“He believes in you.”

“How do you know?

“He told me. Said you’re good with people.”

With that, she exits and Richie wants a few last questions, but she’s already gone. But it’s okay. She said it all. With that, Richie looks at the sign “Every Second Counts.” Cue taylor swift reprise and a smash to credits. It is the final electric moment in an episode that’s full of them. We see Richie suddenly struck with a sense of purpose. It’s not too late to be of use. It’s NEVER too late. But with the suddenness of it all, it is perhaps leaving the viewer with a pesky question. We’re seeing the effect of just one week on him and Richie’s suddenly wearing suits and doing napkin tests for prospective wait staff. Perhaps you wonder…

Can it really happen that fast?

You better believe it. Like everything, it’s just about buying in. You just have to decide you care. You have to believe in it. And to do that, you have to believe in yourself. When Richie comes back to the restaurant, there’s no giant convo, he just grabs Carmy by the neck and goes forehead to forehead “... I get it.” And that’s everything. He’s ready. He’s going to care about everything. And that’s how he goes from the guy who was scared the block is changing, to the one suddenly embodying the best spirit of what that change can be. Not just by serving patrons, but serving the people around him with purpose and guile. He’s ready to make people happy He’s ready to bury the old self. And become the best of someone new..

And that’s how Richie, like the show itself, comes to know that…

11. IT’S ALL IN THE DETAILS

This chapter is a little aside to just talk about so many of the little things that I love about The Bear, mostly because they don’t fit into the sections of the larger essay, but they still make me so happy in their observant qualities. Like the fact that everyone is drinking out of large cylindrical tupperware cups, which is 100% what you do because you can’t waste valuable storage space on mugs / glasses (plus they don't break when they fall). Or the fact Carmy wouldn’t just have all those cookbooks, he’d also have Ridley Scott’s art / design book. And the Rounders poster in the basement tells you everything about when it was first put up. These things show an immense, lived-in thoughtfulness that’s different from a lot of the sterile, over-design instincts I see in TV. It’s the specificity of the celebrity pictures on the wall, like having Harold Ramis. Some other references are sillier, if a little more film nerdy. Like having Mikey’s password be “gofastboatsmojito” all one word, an amazing allusion to Mann’s criminally under-loved film Miami Vice (2006). Same goes for when Richie says “we’re gonna be streets ahead tonight” which is an incredible Community reference. And then some specifics speak to the restaurant business more specifically.

Some of it is the who is who. Like, if you don’t know him, Fak is played by Matty Matheson, a chef turned food personality / pride of Canada that I’ve been a long time fan of (as big as his personality as, he splits the difference on making over the top “garbage food” but with genuine technique). I also love the way way it tapped into the local Chicago restaurant scene, guest starring the chefs from Kasama among many others all listed here. But it’s the general restaurant things, too. Like how in season two the “big enemy” is just bureaucracy and red tape. It’s the way it understands mold can be a death knell that takes you from re-fit to knock down. Or how it understands that making a “I’m tired” decision and hiring someone just because they say they can commit to a full schedule results in hiring the guy who sneaks out to do meth (which happens more than you think). It’s so funny and it makes Marcus’s response of “I think I have to fire you?” all the funnier.  But also, for a show that's so great at capturing chaos, it’s also so great at capturing the pleasantries. Like that wonderful beauty of when the kitchen is quiet and everyone is just quietly working away, doing their jobs.

But one of my favorite things about the show is meta - and it's in how INFINITELY SMALL my nitpicks are. Like, there’s one characterization beat where I’m like Richie would NOT know snyder cut / gamer gate shit in the pilot, right? And as for food stuff, Carmy’s big note to Sydney on the coke braised short ribs is that it “needs acid” and she’d TOTALLY know that (we literally see her using lemon on her dish for Marcus earlier in the ep). The note should be more pedantic, like using a different type of acid as lemon can be too floral and tart and jibe in the wrong way - and something like apple cider vinegar is the perfect punch with so many slow cooked foods like this (as long as it's not already too sweet). Also, I don’t think Sydney would use Chilean Sea Bass, as most chefs favor sustainable seafood and it’s endangered (plus they know that’s a fake name and it’s just patagonian toothfish). Plus, it’s an overpriced, kinda shitty fish that gets hawked at super markets because of big fishing industry politics. And there’s so many great locally sourced bass options that taste a million times better. But other than that?

There’s literally nothing else on the food front.

Because every time I thought I had one, the show would immediately account for it. Like when Sydney is trying to stretch her wings with some of the dishes, I'm like “those plates at x price at that joining doesn’t make sense!” And then even Richie is like, “what’s the pickup on risotto, we’re not gonna do that, right?” Better yet, those things become the sources of conflict, cascading into part of the problem of that dish inspiring the wave of to-go orders (and their inability to deliver as a system). But the best one of all is Carmy talking about how “spaghetti doesn’t make sense on the menu” and leads to the ultimate payoff in a two-fold way. Because he’s right, it didn’t make sense. But it made perfect sense as a family meal and they'll serve leftovers. Also, because it's okay if some people like it. And to have it be the huge pay off of where all the borrowed money was hidden? Just incredible. And it’s all part of this deeper understanding with good TV? So often, the show is smarter than you.

And you have to trust it.

12. REGIONAL FLAVORS AND ITALIAN BEEF

Believe it or not, everything we just talked about - specifically, spaghetti on this menu and the “needs acid” comment - gets into the topic of regionality. I wrote about this before in the huge tome and advice of what to do if you want to get into cooking that I wrote earlier this year, so allow me to quote what I said there. Because “believe it or not, the area / culture you grew up in has a MASSIVE impact on what food you like, even in the modern world. Because every region has certain flavor profiles where they like one kind of taste ratio more than others, and a lot of it has to do with history and what grew around you.

For instance, did you ever think about WHY France became one the food epicenters of the world? It’s because they had a ton of the best farmland in the world, which wasn’t just good for wine and wheat, but lots of grass for livestock, which meant lots of milks and butters and fat and meat to consume. The conditions were perfect to develop all the famous “french food” we’ve come to appreciate today. Meanwhile, the Mediterranean climate was perfect for a slightly earlier coastal civilization, with its rich abundance of olives, grapes, chickpeas, fish, and goats which could handle the more hilly terrain. Comparatively, did you ever wonder why East Asia doesn’t use butter in a lot of dishes? It’s because there wasn’t a lot of grazing land, so there wasn’t a lot of fats coming from livestock. But there was enough space for chickens, which is the reason egg yolks are a fundamental part of the cuisine because it was the best natural way to add richness and fat! Believe it or not, all of these things had an impact on the way regional cuisines were built. And those regions STILL carry those effects into their flavor profiles today.

For instance, I grew up in New England which has so many clean, fresh, bright, salty flavors from the sea and because of the prevalence of apples, the love of sweetness skews toward tart sharpness. And as I said earlier about Los Angeles, it’s all acid, acid, acid, with salsas, zesty flavor, and spices based on abundance of citrus and desert conditions. Meanwhile in Chicago? There’s so much less emphasis on acid (mostly because ingredients weren’t historically available), but things that make use of the high availability of fat and salt and wheat carbs / corn, with complimentary flavors often coming from the German influence of sour and bitter foods. Not to mention hearty foods that help in awful winters (it also weirdly turns Carmy’s note to Sydney into a meta note?). And you can see that same emphasis on sour flavors in so much in Middle Eastern and Indian cuisines, too, which is due to all the ingredients that came from there. The point is that this history is EVERYWHERE and it’s important to see the world around you in all these fascinating terms of flavor. Because ultimately, it’s the way to understand both your own palate and the way it relates to what flavors others like. Because a really good cook doesn’t just talk in terms of percentages (40% savory, 8 percent sweet, etc), but also understands that people have different thresholds. To wit, I might hold up a taste of something and ask, “how bitter does this taste to you?” and for me it may be a seven. But for you it may be a four (this is why I only like negroni-styled drinks with way less campari in them). It’s all about learning your palate and preferences and why they are the way they are.”

And yes, this permeates the fine dining world, too. As I was cooking through the Alinea cookbook, I noticed how many of the savory recipes used sugar in comparison to just about every other fine dining cookbook in the world. And even the use of acids skewed more sour and funky. Regional tastes can exist at all levels. And that includes areas where they don’t always even have to be “good” to our own palettes. Like, I’ve had Pequods. The charred crispy crust is really tasty and I like the toppings, but with all that bread underneath it feels out of proportion to me I’m ready for a nap. But that might be exactly what people love about it. With Chicago tavern style pizza, a lot of the sauce is just a little too sweet for me, but that’s probably exactly what some people like about it. And in the case of The Original Beef, they might serve spaghetti if a few people like it. Which also brings us to the Italian Beef Sandwich where it all starts.

I’ve had it a few times and… yup, it’s weird to me! To be clear, I get the appeal. It’s very similar to The French Dip, a sandwich I get here at Phillipe’s and Cole’s, which are two places that fight over who invented it / does it better (my two cents: Phillipe’s has the slightly better and even cheaper sandwich, but the old school bar atmosphere and vibe at Coles is amazing. Which is why is Phillipe’s is great for fast lunch and Cole’s is can’t miss dinner and a night out). But the whole point is you dunk your boy into a little cup of delicious beef ju and you control it minute by minute. And with the Italian Beef Sandwich, when you order it wet, you get this soggy mess that literally cannot stay together over the course of eating. Like most American food inventions, it perhaps first got served because working people were in a rush and couldn't sit down with a cup. To the outsider, “it doesn’t make sense.” But it’s not about making sense. It’s about a fun and weird little tradition that somehow feels right anyway. It’s fun, dammit. And part of the fun allure of doing things different and a bit more silly. I mean, a philly cheesesteak tastes perfect with prov to me, but for some locals, the processed wiz is the must have. Everywhere has our versions of these things.

To wit, I love New York Style Pizza and like most east coasters, have an annoying amount of standards and particulars about that. Like, it’s a fairly easy food to make “okay” as it would be with any number of combos of bread, cheese, tomato sauce and salt. But it’s incredibly hard to make an EXCELLENT version of New York Style Pizza. Especially a good slice. Because unlike making pies, the key to most great slice joints is turnover. You need a stream of foot traffic because you don’t want a pizza sitting there (which truly ruins it). Too much with pizza depends on the immediate timing of when you’re taking it in and out, along with how long you reheat. For instance, there’s a joint out here that always goes too long on the reheat and it drives me nuts. But it seriously affects the end result. And I know I seem like a crazy stickler for all these details…. But the dirty secret is that I also like Greek Pizza.

No, not a regular pizza with feta and tomato and stuff you’d find in greek salads. It is instead a very specific New England regional thing that mostly stemmed from Greek immigrants running pizza parlors and doing a certain thing with it. To quote the wiki, it is a “preparation where the pizza is proofed and cooked in a metal pan rather than stretched to order and baked on the floor of the pizza oven.[1] A shallow pan is used, unlike the deep pans used in Sicilian, Chicago, or Detroit-styled pizzas. Its crust is typically spongy, airy, and light, like focaccia but not as thick. The crust is also rather oily, due to the coating of oil applied to the pan during preparation.” But what this affects is the taste. The dough is more chewy and dense. The cheese blend is denser too and it's like you can see bite marks (I swear there's some Graviera cheese in some of the bends). Now, is Greek Pizza “better” than the New York counterparts? Lordy, no. I wouldn’t even argue it’s good. But it’s special and fun and delicious in its own weird way. And there was a place near me growing up and I have these weird, loving connections to it. It’s not “better.” But it’s home. And I talk about all this for a damn good reason.

Understanding your relationship to “home” is what gives your cooking a voice.

I know that might sound grand or highfalutin, but it’s essential to finding your artistic identity, especially in cuisine. Where so many chefs loooooove appropriate another culture - and don’t get me wrong, from flavor to technique, there’s so much to learn from the world around you - but ultimately, understanding what is specific to you is such an integral part to telling a personal story. In Food Wars, the grandfather puts it so eloquently: what is the dish that ONLY YOU could create? And what I love is how the second season of The Bear taps so much into this. It’s all the art of finding your voice, from your history to new horizons, which are both necessary if you want to become a great chef.

Especially if you’re going on a…

13. STAR SEARCH

The year is 1900. Humanity has somehow made it to its 20th century and things are changing. Among them, there are these new fangled inventions of “cars” and all the ways it opens up travel, particularly in Europe. To address this sudden growing interest, some brothers at a French Tire company wanted to take advantage of this and also wanted to encourage more car travel in general. So the Michelin Tyre company begins giving out free copies of a guide with information “such as maps, tyre repair and replacement instructions, car mechanics listings, hotels, and petrol stations throughout France.” This helpful guide spreads to other neighboring countries. Then in the roaring twenties the culinary scene started booming and “recognizing the growing popularity of the restaurant section of the guide, the brothers recruited a team of inspectors to visit and review restaurants, who were always anonymous.”

And that’s how the most important culinary guide in the world was born.

Really, the tire company? But given what I just explained, it makes sense somehow. But even now, being included in the guide is a win because it meant people could find you. And to cater to the demand for making distinctions, they created a three star system for designating restaurants of special note. One Star is “A very good restaurant in its category.” Two Stars “Excellent cooking, worth a detour.” And three stars? “Exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey.” Now, this notion of driving makes sense for road trippers wanting food. But does this really hold true in the modern setting? If anything it holds even more weight. Because even in 2023, the world of fine dining is absolutely driven by international clientele. Sure, there’s locals and special occasions, but your bread and butter are jetset food lovers and groups doing big business. Especially the people who traveled here just to do this. I mean, I wouldn’t do a trip to Denmark to see if I can get in at Noma. I’m first getting a reservation at Noma and then seeing if I can pull off a trip to Denmark. That’s the focus. And at Providence, getting two Michelin stars meant getting the attention of the Japanese clientele who loved seafood. In turn, which allowed them to make a genuine leap. It makes an incredible difference in your restaurant. But like any rating system, it’s annoyingly complicated.

“You really want one of these bullshit stars?”

Carmy asks Sydney this and yeah, it’s bullshit the same way everything is bullshit. Especially considering the forms of favoritism. Certain places kinda get grandfather clauses. And in America, there is a weird bias (particularly for LA, which didn’t get recognized for many years and cited the old “Hollywood scenester” bullshit - which mostly got knocked away thanks to the writing of Jonathan Gold). Meanwhile, France shows enormous (and deserved) respect for Japanese cuisine and the love and thoughtfulness that goes into it. On the other hand, they are absolutely brutal to England (which is funny, actually) and show disproportionate love to the rest of Europe by comparison. To wit, there are 31 three star restaurants in france. There are 21 in Japan. And in America? There are only 14 (about the same as Spain or Italy). And I’ll tell you, that is *not* because of the lacking quality. But this is fine. It’s the system. Meaning it is a thing gamified beyond certain levels of control. But if you’re going to try and get into that game? If you want to get in the club? You have to understand exactly what Carmy says…

It’s a decision. You have to decide. There are no happy accidents. Even the one or two food stalls that have managed to get a star did so through incredible diligence and years of practice. It’s rarely about genius. It’s about persistence, technique, and honoring craft. Deciding means that attention to detail is above all else. And it’s easy for Carmy to say it because he’s kept up three stars as a CDC. But it’s different when you already have them. And it’s different when you don’t. And it’s VERY different when you have to try and build the restaurant itself from almost nothing. So when Syd comes back and states, yes, it is important to her. Then he tells her straight.

“You’re gonna have to care about everything, more than anything.”

And thus the ambition of the restaurant is born. The front and back of house will have to be immaculate. There will be a million practicalities. She will have to become a stickler. But the number one thing they have to figure out? The big creative journey that takes up much of Sydney’s journey? Along with her relationship with Carmy?

It’s figuring out what the hell they’re gonna cook.

14. A “THOUGHTFUL CHAOS” MENU

I’ve spent a weird amount of time just staring at menus.

Mostly looking at places I'll never get to eat, but can at least dream about. Or moreover, I do it to understand. A lot of them are top restaurants around the world. And a lot of the super high end ones don’t put them online (often to keep the mystery), but you can find people posting pictures and stuff. You can tell so much about a restaurant from how they do it. It’s its own kind of code and language with fonts, art styles, ingredients, but mostly matters of verbiage. Do you go minimalist or descriptive? Poetic or punny? Elegant or bold? From all these things, you can tell who they are and what they’re trying to go for, especially in the context of other restaurants. So many times there’s some cool new place opening in LA and I’ll take one look at the menu and go “this doesn’t make sense.” And big surprise, two years later it’s closed. This is not to imply any kind of Nostradamus ability. It’s just if you know the world, then it really is just simple math. And most of all when I do the dinner party thing, I make menus. Heck, even when not. I do it in my spare time. I think about them endlessly.

So, needless to say, I was so excited to see what they would do for the menu on The Bear. I mean, would they get into it? Is it too pedantic and nerdy? But oh boy, do they get into it. It started early when they said “chaos menu, but thoughtful” and I immediately laughed, knowing this would be a source of conflict. Because a “chaos menu” is a menu that doesn’t quite make sense, but as a reader, that also first means understanding the way that most menus “make sense.” So forgive the discussion of more history!

For decades, a classic fine dining menu was a pretty set thing of starters / main courses / and dessert and each diner would opt for one of each. And then in the 2000’s things started to get more paired down and focused, yet opened at the same time. Perhaps inspired by tapas, it got more family style, often ordering a bunch of smaller dishes as a group (or twosome) and also better for those who have dietary differences. This brought about the rise of the “four section” menu. Usually starting with lighter fare, usually raw sashimi or cold dishes. Then some interesting, more vegetable driven mid courses (instead of listing “salads”). Then it was more substantial things, like grains and carbs. Then large protein heavy dishes for multiple people, usually big roasted cuts of meat at big high prices. And then a few focused desserts. This is what is still en vogue now. For example, the following is David Chang’s menu for Majordomo (which has an additional specific section for Bings), but it gives you a basic idea of what I'm talking about in terms of how things get divided up, from smaller in lighter, all to heavier and more substantial (sorry if the format is a little wonky).

RAW

• Half Dozen Oysters - kimchi, kombu mignonette MP
• Tuna Tataki - honey, citrus, habanero 21                                                                                                                                              Diver Scallops - meyer lemon, cherry, shio kombu                                                                                                                  Dungeness Crab Salad - ginger, green almond, asparagus 22

BING

• Cultured Butter & Honey 10
• Chickpea Dip 13
• Smoked Eggplant & Pine Nut 12                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Caviar, Egg Yolk & Chive MP                                                                                                                                                      Whipped Ricotta, Jam, Chili Crunch 10                                                                                                                                                                        Lady Edison Country Ham 32

MARKET & SNACKS

•                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Little Gem Salad - anchovy, miso, smoked trout roe 29                                                                                                                        Sugar Snap Peas - horseradish, lemon vinaigrette 19
• Grilled Yu Choy -  yogurt, plum, chickpea 19                                                                                                                                                                   Fried Shrimp - salsa seca, walnuts, honey 34
• Crispy Potatoes - garlic, chili, lemon mayo 19

NOODLES & RICE

• Macaroni & Chickpea - miso, black pepper 23
• Clam Lo Mein - garlic, thai chili, lemon 32
• Mushroom Crispy Rice - shiitake, burdock, yuzu 48                                                                                                                               Duck Confit Crispy Rice - stone fruit, baby leek, shiso 51

MEAT & FISH

• Grilled Striped Bass - jalapeño, garlic, cilantro 44
• Ibérico Pork - spring onion, fish sauce, lime 53
• Boiled Whole Chicken - rice, domojang, ginger scallion, hand torn noodle, soup 78
• Grilled Wagyu Zabuton - steak diane sauce 84
• Smoked Half Bo Ssäm - (feeds 4-5) ssam, condiments, rice 110
• Whole Plate Short Rib - (feeds 5-6) ssam, condiments, beef rice *preorder/subject to availability* 235
• Smoked Prime Rib - au jus, horseradish, BS fries *subject to availability / Monday only* 82

Now, everything I have had there is pretty delicious (which is part of Chang’s philosophy). But also, the thing is that menu is also a question of function. He made a smash with Noodle Bar, but then there were the trials of Ssam bar - where he wanted to take lettuce ssam and turn it into burrito joint, but it turned out when people want burritos they want burritos and when they want ssam they want ssam. Anyway, then they went for a chaos menu of things like oysters and country ham for the drunken late night crowd and saved it with this kind of disruptive act. I dunno, here’s some delicious shit! You’re drunk! But Majordomo is interesting because it kind of gets stuck between competing instincts. It’s not a small joint, but something more grand. Even in the name, it’s “a head steward of a large household (such as a palace) 2 : butler, steward 3 : a person who speaks, makes arrangements, or takes charge for another; broadly : the person who runs an enterprise.” Meaning there’s something more larger group / dim-sum focused with even the air of a chinese style banquet hall with how it serves the big meat dishes. It’s a neat idea in theory, but Jonathan Gold, a long time champion of Chang’s food, wasn’t totally on board with the restaurant because he said it didn't quite make sense as a complete practical experience. Namely, it’s hard to order for just two, and even with a group of 6-8, you wanna be sure you’re all basically on the same page. These are the practical things that matter. And sometimes big honking chaos doesn’t work.

Which finds into the notion that most restaurants are pairing down and getting more focused with smaller, more dextrous menus. Fine dining restaurants used to need these massive wine cellars with curated lists of bottles of the past. Now wine lists are lean, mean, and super targeted. Just a couple of prime picks in a few zones. Into orange wine? Here’s a couple to try! Like chardonnay? Here’s a solid one! It’s all about paring down the ubiquity of choice. But it also makes the quality of those more limited choices all the more pertinent, because you lose the ability to play it safe.

Which brings us back to “chaos menus.”

Which, again, is basically throwing all that to the wind and just being like, here’s a bunch of creative stuff we like and the order might not make sense, but that’s part of the surprise. Alinea set the bar for this, throwing desserts randomly throughout the meal and so many odd, indescribable tastes. At the old Wolvesmouth dinners in LA, you would START you with rib eye caps and dance around a lot of crazy proteins. These are good examples. But look, there a lootttttta bad chaos menus. They feel just as mistargeted as the “creative” instincts that fueled a lot of “disruption” in tech (and really just ended up breaking labor practices and the world itself) . I won't get into specifics of talking crap about the ones that did it bad (because those places closed). But my favorite example of chaos menu, almost in a way where it doesn’t apply, is Here’s Looking At You, which is ambitious, loving, ever-changing and probably has the best drinks program in the city. Which means it can push comfort zones with absolutely delicious stuff (like when you eat crickets at Guelazguetza), but it truly is thoughtful.

But what does that word “thoughtful” really mean on a menu? Well, what it really means is guiding an eater through an experience that has a range of tastes, but also in a way that feels good and builds and has flow. Like, for what a truly great tasting menu is like, we have a recent one from my beloved Providence with a classic eight course menu. It is as follows…

ONE POTATO, TWO POTATO

golden kaluga caviar, garden herbs

SHIMA AJI

armenian cucumber, basil from our garden

UNI

white asparagus, salted egg yolk

ALASKAN HALIBUT

clam bouillon, grilled fava bean

SANTA BARBARA VERMILION ROCKFISH

morel, sorrel, miner's lettuce

JAPANESE KING MACKEREL

braised artichoke, artichoke purée, parsley pistou

OR

LIBERTY FARMS DUCK

andy's orchard cherries, water spinach

OR

A5 WAGYU

charred eggplant, spring garlic confit, jus de boeuf($40 supplement)

STRAWBERRY, ALMOND, CITRUS

HOUSE-MADE HAWAIIAN DARK CHOCOLATE

coconut, indonesian long pepper

But what does all that FEEL like? Well, even before it starts you actually a whole bunch of starter “amuse bouche” courses, which are one bite snacks that are so fucking delicious that you usually want a ten more of them (they used to do this chorizo and squid popsicle thing that you could sell a billion of at a food stand). As Thomas Keller said about every dish, you always want the diner to go “oh, I wish I had one more bite of that!” before moving to the next course and giving them something just as good (hopefully). But that means an evolution of taste. Same-ness will end you. But so will “interesting,” but not delicious.

The first official course on this menu is a caviar course, somewhat in conversation with the famous “oysters and pearls” dish from Keller’s The French Laundry. The restaurant is hitting you immediately with the decadence of caviar, the salty, briny treat wrapped in the familiar comfort of silky potato. Then, it goes to the sashimi course, a bright, clean way to start your journey. A course that highlights the delicious integrity of fish itself before and merely accenting it with acid and herbs. From there, there is uni, a rich gift of the sea, with softness and minerality. So many chefs counter that softness by putting it on toasts and carbs, but long ago Michael created a famous dish by going in the other direction. What if you treated it as a protein (which it is) and served it with an even more subtle, gentle fat that allows the stark qualities of the uni to shine?

Thus, “The Ugly Bunch was born. This video explains so much of it in great detail, but it’s all about taking low-tide shellfish and letting their qualities shine, the smoke panna cotta base is this beautiful little binder that compliments each morsel in an incredible way. The dish has seen so many innovations in the last ten years, but that philosophy of how it lets the protein of uni shine remains the same. Here, it gets matched with the delicate salted yolk and the vegetal new spring asparagus. From there, the menu breaks more into the savory with the Halibut, which evokes notes of a buttery fish chowder. Then the Rockfish then plays more in the same spring realm, but also punches you with the umami bomb of morel (cooked in soy sauce and butter) at a few bitter greens for balance. For the main, you get three options. The first is the mackerel, meaty with deep braised vegetables. Or a roasted duck breast brightened by cherries and the touch of bitter spinach. Or,, of course, you get an option to try one of the most delicious things in the world...

Their preparations of A5 wagyu are always, absolutely, the best steak I’ve had in my life. The key is quickly and barely cook it with just the right amount of smoke and salt. There are so many times I see youtube or tik tok cheves spend a billion dollars and then overcook the shit out of and its like YOU JUST THREW ALL THAT MONEY AWAY WHAT ARE YOU THINKING. When done properly, the ingredient itself shines. This silly Try Guys video of everyone in slow-motion eating A5 for the first time (especially properly cooked) actually shows WHY it shines. Then, after the best steak of your life, it’s desserts that bring you back from Savory Mountain (I kinda miss the cheese cart but covid understandably put an end to the practice for a bit). It starts with a clean, fruit-forward brightener that suddenly wakes your taste buds up. Then chocolate, but brought alive with combinations both familiar (coconut) and unique (the long pepper). And there, right when you’re full and satisfied. You get a whole bunch of tiny little “just one more bite” treats. And even a little breakfast the next morning item to go. It is the complete and total experience. Every transition is thoughtful. Every bit of it makes you feel like you went on a beautiful journey. It is exemplary of being a standard bearer. And for Carmy and Sydney? Even with some chaos, this kind of thoughtfulness is their goal.

But to get there, they have to go through…

15. THE ART OF PROCESS

In Marcus’s plotline they talked about the importance of failure.

What I love about The Bear is how much the show follows up on that, dramatically-speaking. All season we see Carmy and Syd work in fits and starts on their menu. But instead of it being this beautiful, steady growth like, say, Tina’s development. Instead, they constantly hit walls. At his apartment we see them working on a radicchio dish with burnt grapefruit and chili and even as I’m looking at it, I’m like, what the hell is this? There’s this sauced grain puree and thinking is that squash or saffron? I mean either one can be overwhelming, but particularly saffron, because a few threads can make the most incredible Tahdig (persian crispy rice) in the world. But it’s the perfect kind of example of a dish reaching in so many directions, chaos-wise. Maybe there’s a way to make those flavors work and get it in balance, but nothing about it looks right. And in yet another lovely case of “trust the show,” they spit it out cause over salted and proclaim “our pallettes are fucked.”

This results in a beautiful little story where Sydney goes out on a little food adventure (which Carmy was supposed to go on, but we’ll talk about that dynamic later). She’s seeing the aforementioned Chicago chefs including Kasama, a Filipino-american joint that highlights the now popular high / low dynamic of pastry and breakfast sammies while also doing a specialized tasting menu at night. Thus highlighting the balance of the two prong operations that a lot of joints need to balance a modern customer base (especially since Covid). It’s also what The Bear wants to be, too, as the window for sandwiches is the essential essence of who they are. As she goes on her journey, we see her imagining dishes, also trying to find some perfect inspiration. And not the way she’s never copying a dish (at El Bulli, the big phrase was “creativity means not copying” as they wanted to get as far away from tradition as possible). But near the end, she finally has a vision of something! A green, spring looking flavor with an agnolotti! And after all that research, she thinks she has it!

Nope. It sucks.

But that’s what failure means. You have to fail and fail and fail again. ESPECIALLY after you took all this time and put so much hard work into it. Because even then, you will still fail. And even as I was looking at her dish, I was like, really? Agnolotti? Something that was more en vogue in the late 90s French Laundry? We’re past this. More importantly, SHE’S past this. But that realization also makes her sad so she gets a sundae. And I think they chose BOTH of these items because it also brings us back to Thomas Keller and the French Laundry, particularly the old story that sometimes “you have to be sad to see it.” The phrase comes from one of Keller’s famous essays about how he invented his famous salmon tartare “ice cream cone” when he was sad as hell, not thinking, and being handed a cone at Baskin Robbins. And here we see Sydney, sad, dejected and eating sundae (the episode’s namesake, and it will come back). It’s hard to see now, but it will come to fruition. Phil Lord has that great quote about creativity and quoted Michael Pollan’s The Botany of Desire, where he said “ Design in nature is but a concatenation of accidents, culled by natural selection until the result is so beautiful or effective as to seem a miracle of purpose.” In that exact spirit, the menu for The Bear doesn’t come together to the last second, and even then, like all art, it is a deep work in progress that just has to be released. But given all that we’ve seen, all we know, suddenly all these accidents and hard moments and mistakes and failures suddenly seem like they were a miracle of purpose. And we’ll go dish by dish…

Welcome Broth - I have absolutely no idea what this would taste like. I know what a warming, savory beef broth would taste like, but I have no idea how it would mix with frozen grapes, beyond a mix of temperatures and textures. It could be unexpectedly delicious, but either way, it’s the kind of dish that could make you curious and put you on your toes to start.

Focaccia - Then this is the thoughtfulness part. After coming at you with something wild, they come with something beyond familiar. And more importantly, useful. As it can be used to soak up that delicious broth. Served with lardo and prosciutto, they’re telling you this is still going to be a deeply italian menu. Which leads to the next item.

Crudo - This is the one where I was like, hmmm, seems a little too familiar for the level of creativity they’re aiming for? You see them struggling, too, but in the end, taste wins. And a raw fish course up front is just really central (like I talked about in the Providence menu). So many cultures have variations on them, from sashimi, to poke, to ceviche, and kinilaw. But in Italy, the crudo tradition comes largely out of the Adriatic sea. Only they use more olive oil and salted vegetables, which in this case seems to be the white beans. It’s another bit of tradition, before throwing complexity at you again…

Cannoli - The second the christmas episode ended with Carmy looking at the cannoli, I knew it would be something. And going with the savory mortadella and pistachios seems indeed like a way to give someone something “familiar, but in a whole new way.” How would it taste? 100% depends on fine tuning the execution. But the point of this one is in storytelling, because ultimately naming it “the michael” is making us EMOTIONALLY connect to it. Which is really the whole point of food.

Seven Fishes - We’ll come back to this subject at large, but yes, a clear dish that is absolutely loaded with meaning given what we know - but it would also be endearing to anyone who does the seven fishes every christmas. Here it’s done cioppino style (which is something) I often do a lot because it takes care of 3-4 fish in a single dish.

Bucatini Gricia - For the pasta course, you could feel them wrestling with what they wanted to do. They lose the bolognese. They lose Syd’s cavatappi with sausage (which I made last week, it’s not right and about six years too late on the innovation side). Instead, they go back to something simple and personal. Because Claire’s friend mentions no one cooked for her (and this is the dish he made for Claire). It’s absolutely the right call. Particularly because it’s not quite back in vogue. But it’s one of the four original Roman pastas and I honestly like it better than carbonara. It’s literally just pasta, guanciale, pecorino romano, salt, pepper, olive oil, and crucial pasta water. It’s all technique and ratios, but when you get it right it’s elegant and laser focused on making that deep satisfying guanciale taste silky and rich.

T-Bone - The big meat course, done with flavors of the beef sandwich. The thing that  itis both obvious and perfect. A way of honoring the restaurant and symbolizing what they are now. And the big honking bone sticking up is, let’s face it, funny and playful. And when cooked and sauced right? Fucking delicious.

Copenhagen Sundae - Going back to the “I had to be sad to see it,” this sundae dish is the most brilliant. Because it’s really just your cheese course that is bridging savory to sweet (done once again in Keller’s playful cheese style). It’s a fior di latte (a kind of mozzarella) panna cotta, served with salty caviar and we see the fresh danish fruits. I can imagine EXACTLY what this tastes like. It’s symbolic of all those things coming together along with Marcus’s development.

Sydney’s Donut (After Michael Destroyed It Like A Little Bitch) - it’s the nexus of everything, too: failure, heartache, elation, and mistakes. But crucially, in the little ingredients note on the page you see that it’s also not the same thing as that yeasted OG donut. But instead it’s zeppole / cherry zabaglione, which throws it into the traditional italian style.

Honey Bun, To Go - like the sandwiches, it’s the perfect thing to bring The Bear full circle, because it’s buns that show how much talent Marcus had. The “to go” item is something a lot of great restaurants do because they want to leave you with something the next morning, allowing this idea that the meal never stops. And you could go again and continue the cycle.

And there it is. The truth is it’s not really a chaos menu. It’s an *incredibly thoughtful* menu that highlights a lot of italian / italian american traditions, along with the “chaos” of their own personal history. And when you give them personal names like this, people ask and get the (more G rated versions of the) story and it creates this depth. So they did it! Is the restaurant all set, now? Haha, of course not. My favorite line from Carmy which is “Menu is good. It looks like a menu. Just have to do it a 1000 times now” which is so much about process and refinement. You can say almost perfect, but no dish is ever perfect. And you have to make it special every time for the people who walk in. And if a dish gets famous? Or beloved? Oof, that just puts the pressure on even more. Which brings us to the larger struggle. Because the real question isn’t “can you make great food?”  We know Carmy can do that.

It’s if he can go…

16. FROM ARTIST TO BUSINESSMAN

Going from Chef De Cuisine to being a Head Chef / Owner is a lot like going from a TV writer / director to a full on showrunner. Suddenly it’s all about budgeting and network negotiation, even your catering. It’s every little operational problem. Like, you’re running a day late, but your lead actor has to go do a talk show to promote somewhere else, so you have to find the money to bring them back later. In the restaurant world, it’s a billion times worse. It’s the art of having to make nine billion decisions and it’s YOUR call. As I said before, being a boss is fucking hard. And this is so much of what Carmy’s journey is about.

Upholding the standards of an “11 Madison Park” type place in New York is easy when it’s obvious you’ll spend 55 bucks a plate because it spins silently. For your startup joint? No way. But there you also realize the pain of what happens when you skimp on forks. And you get to see the way decisions pile up one way or another, which is the large element of the drama of the entire season. Because yes the pressure from Jimmy is real pressure. And it gets at the essential problem with the restaurant business. Investors are looking for low investments that could scale huge and make them a lot. So as an investor, why on god’s green earth would you spend a million dollars just to maybe end up making a few extra thousand dollars a year?

Yes, those are margins of high end restaurants. Which is why most fail. And if you succeed? Well, if you're an incredibly successful chef / owner, you can probably make enough so you can buy a house or something? Take a few nice vacations if you have time? But if you’re the rich investor who already has that nice house? What’s the big capitalist upside for them? Again, fuck capitalism, but this is the system and it highlights the existential problem because you don’t scale up the restaurant business. There is no “get rich” in this industry. None. And the third rail this obviously touches is that it’s all fucking insane. I know this. I don’t care about any of this as much as I care about socializing medical systems and a billion other things that actually affect lives. It’s nonsense. But in a capitalist-gone-mad world, it even more just highlights that essential question in the system as it exists. Why invest?

The answer is esteem.

For many restaurant investors, it’s not about feeling like a big wig, it’s the liking of having a place. A vested interest. A place that makes people happy and serves the kind of food they like. It’s not a product. It’s an emotional experience. Or, more likely, done to help a friend. Oliver Platt’s uncle Jimmy is one of my favorite characters in the show because he’s that perfect combination of both a hard and soft ass. Generally, this breaks down archaic gender lines as he’s so nice to any of the ladies of the family, but can quickly chew out one of the fellas. He initially takes the deal cause he’ll get to sell the lot, but cost overruns and estimates means he could *lose* money and that just can’t happen. It’s okay if you only make a little money. But you can’t LOSE it. And out of his fear, he relays the bartman story (thankfully defending him and laying it on Gonzalez). He doesn’t exactly believe in all this, but he’s devoted enough to try. And what turns him around? What gets him to believe in what they’re doing?

That line “your hospitality has to be overwhelming” comes true the moment Richie of all people comes in, shows that he was listening and thoughtful, and for a final desert, brings Uncle Jimmy the Proust’s Chocolate Banana. It’s one of those truly special moments. You see Jimmy’s jaw agape. Not just touched, but speechless. Mostly, he’s shocked at the transformation. It’s Richie, the restaurant, all of it. And it's the first moment he really starts to believe, too. Just as Sydney’s dad tells her “this is the thing.” But the whole thing about things, is that they could still easily not be things, too. And there are so many practical considerations that go beyond the spirit of special chocolate bananas and Copenhagen Sundaes. You still need a restaurant to be a safe, functional business.

Which means mastering the art of…

17. FIRE SAFETY

Michael Cimarusti of Providence told a story at Jonathan Gold’s memorial. And it’s this story that sort of counters the belief that when you’ve been a Two Michelin Star restaurant for years, you can coast (if you do, things get sloppy and tired). Instead, you just always feel like you have more to lose. A sudden bad review (like Pete Wells’ of Per Se) can actually spell disaster. And the most terrifying is when the health inspector makes a surprise visit. It doesn’t matter how diligent you are, how much you clean, or how much you do everything right. All it takes is one small overlooked thing you didn’t even know about (like mold in the walls) and it could spell disaster. A moment where suddenly, all that acclaim and those stars suddenly go away and all you have is a destroyed restaurant and a construction bill. And so, Michael was there on a particularly frazzled day and then what happened? The health inspector shows up. Not one they knew, but a fresh faced kid who could be a total curve ball. And then what happened a minute later?

Jonathan Gold walked in. The unquestionable best food writer in the world and maybe best writer period (he’s the guy in the Ugly Bunch video above). For years he put Providence at number 1 in the LA city ranking and you have to understand that this stuff makes a massive difference for these businesses. There is a deep, unrelenting fear about losing those statuses (and clientele) and not delivering them great food. And so this guy with Two Michelin stars, who has supposedly faced all these challenges, said that at that moment - with the inspector and Gold ready to dine - he genuinely thought about pulling the fire alarm in order to nope out of this terrifying scenario. Simply put: the fear NEVER goes away. Don’t worry, he didn’t pull it. It even turns out the young health inspector was just as delighted to see Jonathan Gold. And unbeknownst to Michael, he didn’t realize that would be the last time he saw Jonathan, too, as he would pass away soon after. But the story speaks to something so essential. And invoking the notion of the fire alarm of all things speaks to the brutal wild nexus of everything in this industry.

Because cooking is about using fire.

It’s the origin of the practice itself. Fire made food safer. The maillard reaction makes food tastier and more full of umami. There are so many ways we have used fire time and time again to feed, fuel, and fight in the modern world. But because fire is inherently dangerous, there’s nothing stopping it from turning us into food, too. I know that’s a morbid way of thinking about it, but it’s so incredibly important to realize the constant peril. Kitchen fires are the most dangerous things imaginable. You have grease, oil, electrical systems, and conductive water. Even the “safest” kitchens are incredibly dangerous. I once saw a Two Michelin Star line cook get a horrible burn and it was in one of those open kitchen / bar designs and then have to stone face and muscle through the pain all night, for which he has my deepest empathy. But in the kitchen? You are gonna get burned. And thus, you can let it burn you all up so quickly. Worse? In the insanity of such an intense environment, the thought becomes pretty tempting.

Which is why the show constantly uses the “playing with fire” metaphor. We see the way Carmy keeps his denim in the oven, or falling into a fugue state with his pots on fire. He even verbally talks about the instinct to just do nothing and let the fire burn everything, including him. Which culminates in the huge moment in season one where he does just that (only for another to come in and put it out). He feels completely lost. And the fire can just end all of those concerns in a heartbeat. The dilemma is wholly existential. Why keep cooking? Why even live?

And it’s all over the restaurant industry right now.

While we were all super happy for Daddy Bezos and online retailers doing SUPER great during the pandemic, it’s safe to say that covid hit certain social industries like schools, movies, gyms, restaurants… um… disproportionally. And it’s when I went from really caring about all this fine dining stuff to… kind of stopping caring at all? Because it’s so hard when you care so much and you watch it all get thrown to the wolves. Like, everything collapsed. And you see how many moms disproportionately had to quit work and million people died and a billion other of the most egregious things in the universe. The stuff that makes your blood boil. As everything was happening, it all went to such an existential heart at the ugliness of America and even the larger world… So yeah, it’s kind of fucking hard to care about fine dining. Especially as it was so hard to afford the take out things. Likewise, the film industry was ransacked. Everything was - and still IS - just a complete mess. So many people in the restaurant industry moved on, started over, or kind of tried to find their way… so why even try again? What is the fucking point of this? Why make a new fine dining restaurant? Isn’t this laughable in the face of all these problems? And what was the point in the first place?

This is actually part of why The Bear feels so essential.

The show only touches on the pandemic in the text a couple of times (talking about selling drugs out back to make certain ends meet), but you feel it in everything. All of these people went through hell. They’re at their wits end. They’re struggling with an industry that is just trying to get back on its feet. And maybe they never can. Maybe some of that is a good thing. But most of all, they’re all asking themselves those essential questions: Why the fuck are we doing this? What do we want? Isn’t this completely absurd? Are we just doing this cause it’s what we’ve always done? Do we even still care?

Seriously, why are we playing with fire?

The simple answer is they’re doing it because they love it. It’s the reason we do anything so stupid. You just have to take care of yourself the best you can while you try. And wouldn’t you know it, but the hilarious conversations about “jewish lightning” (AKA the racist term for torching your restaurant for insurance, which where I grew up it was “italian lighting,” which highlights how much these terms go in different racist directions) ends up being one of the central metaphors for the show. Because at first it embodies the understanding of Michael’s suicidal tendencies, for he would be lighting the place up to leave something behind. And to do that, he overrode the fire suppression system. In other words, he made things unsafe so that he could let his world eat him away. It’s a brutal metaphor. But when Fak realizes that? They fix that core existential problem that threatened the restaurant’s existence. You just have to turn it on. It’s another part of giant metaphor for getting away from the self-destructive instincts that can fuel what you are chasing. Which is a massive part of what Carmy is trying to do on his journey.

The deeper problem is that he struggles with just about everything around it, too, especially communication. But like most things, there’s a fairly good reason for where that comes from. And so much of it lies in the past…

18. THE OBJECTS OF GHOSTS

The most important item I own is a non-fiction book by my late stepmother.

She was an incredibly important figure in my life. Something that becomes more apparent with every passing day. She wrote this book that’s now out of print and barely made a dent. But it was about a lot of personal things to her. And that I realize now, it is also about a lot of insanely important things to me and my family. In fact, it’s basically the skeleton key to unpacking nine billion things that I wished I understood long ago. Things that were parts of crap and inherited self-sabotage that nearly wrecked my life. As such, the book has been a massive part of putting the pieces back together with healthy understanding…. And I haven’t been able to ask her about it. For 12 years, I haven’t been able to ask her anything and I cannot explain how much I wish I could. There are so, so, so many things. But all I have are the pages of this book to pour over again and again and again, trying to make better sense of its parables, intent, and allusions. And it always sits right by my bed.

Similarly, Carmy is left with the objects of ghosts.

It’s Olivia Colman’s Chef Terry who invokes this notion when peeling mushrooms with Richie. She’s talking about her quiet military father, saying that “I learned most about him when packing up his house.” Whether it's finding pictures and whatever else hints at the part of his life she never knew. But it’s how it happens. We all get left with these things we have to make some sense of. In season one, this is so much of Carmy’s struggle. He has such trouble communicating, as if always shutting down for some reason - but he’s also constantly wondering why his brother shut him out. Why did Mikey leave him the restaurant? Especially when it seemed like he didn’t want him around?  Why wasn’t Carmy able to put two and two together that his brother was an addict? All we get small glimpses.

The only memory the first season gives us is Mikey making braciole (a rolled stuffed meat dish that is deceptively difficult. Too hot an oven and the meat finishes fast and is too try. Cook it too low and slow and it all becomes mush. But hit the sweet spot where it’s both juicy and holds together? Then it’s incredible). Here we discover Mikey being played by the great Jon Bernthal, who is one of my favorite actors working today. He’s telling a magnanimous story - one that doesn’t quite have the same juice when Richie tells it alone later (which features one of those brilliant cuts to the present). But the memory highlights that sensation of what made Mikey so endearing and charismatic.

Carmy says “my brother would make you confident about things” and invokes his favorite catch phrase “let it rip.” But then it all vanished. And Carmy’s feelings finally come spilling out in an 8 minute monologue to others at al anon. He says “I always thought my brother was my best friend, but everyone thought he was THEIR best friend.” He looked up to him like a hero and it’s so hard for little baby Carmy to understand why older brother didn’t want to share the light. But that question of why he left the earth still lingers. It’s this deeper thing: what did he *actually* want from Carmy? Enter the big spaghetti sauce reveal. Yes, Carmy was right. It doesn’t make sense on the menu. But family meal spaghetti is about comfort and tradition. And even the line “the smaller cans taste better” feels like some folksy half true insight. But of course, the show is smarter than you. It’s where he’s been stashing the cash money. And I cackled.

I mean, why would Mikey actually do it like this? It’s absurd! Well, one this is the kinda money from Uncle Jimmy that you can’t put in a bank and two, lots of people do lots of weird shit. I know guys who bury gold in their back woods behind their house. Far more important is the note. Because this is “the object.” The confirmation of love and what is, perhaps, the final understanding of what he really wanted from Carmy. Who can now see the idea that this isn’t just about saving the restaurant as is - as if trying to keep Mikey’s past alive - but some grand gesture to take whatever is here and do something great.

But that leads to an even more heartbreaking question: why did Mikey think he can’t come along for the ride? For that, the simple answer is “addiction,” but you gotta go to the second season and go a layer deeper. Because when you pull at that particular string? You learn so much more about the arc of time. Particularly the things you wish you learned long ago…

19. THE FEAST OF THE SEVEN FISHES

“Oh shit, they’re doing La Viglia!”

I shouted this at my TV when I realized what was happening during the now instant-classic episode of season 2, episode 6 entitled “Fishes.” We’ll go super in-depth on the story and themes in the next chapter, but first up, here’s a little background on what this event is, why they talk about it in a funny way, and why all that matters.

So The Feast of The Seven Fishes happens on La Viglia (the christmas vigil) in Italian-american communities. I’m not even Italian, but I grew up in a deeply catholic place where half the town was Irish and the other half was Italian. And I can tell you this, Christmas mass for Irish Catholics is a sad and boring affair. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, there’s a fucking party. So much of it involved going over friend’s houses and eating a shit load of pasta and fish. But seriously, it’s a holiday not just in households, but some towns even set up little fairgrounds and there's contests and rides. And they’re some of my favorite Christmas memories. But when I bring up Feast of the Seven Fishes / La Viglia up a lot out here, most people respond…

“What the hell are you talking about?”

There’s a reason for this. And no, it’s not just because of the hyper-localization of certain Italian-American communities. It’s because no one really knows where the fuck this term came from. The only historical part people are kind of certain about is that since the christmas vigil was technically a fast, you weren’t allowed to eat animals until the actual christmas day, which meant eating fish (this is also why hyper-traditional catholics also don’t eat meat on fridays). But leave it to Italian Americans to turn the waiting game into an even bigger party! And look, it’s all more of a function of how it fits with American Christmas and how present opening works now. But a big giant Christmas Eve dinner fits the bill.

What’s funny is no one really understands the rest of it. We see each character in the show give their own homespun tales about where it “definitely” comes from - whether immigration or this or that. But want to know what is hilarious? While La Vigilia is a term that’s been around a long time, the earliest they can find the term “feast of the seven fishes” in print is only 1983. Which means hahahahah it’s yet another one of those “grand traditions” that is anything but. But it’s also exactly what I love about it. You can do anything you want with it. We’re effectively building tradition in action. And forty years from now they’ll talk about all the things we're doing like we do with these last forty. So go grand! Providence does their La Viglia feast as a big tasting menu with huge italian inspiration. I often do similar things by making a big fancy meal. But rules? Customs? It totally depends on the household. You want extra fishes? Cool! You bringing an extra fish to mine? I’m on TEAM NEVER DO THAT, especially a midwestern ass tuna casserole! I jest, but it’s part of the fun. And like so many allusions in this show, it sounds like fun and games until you realize that it's all a metaphor for a deeper notion.

They are having this whole conversation that shows us the way that history gets obscured, confused, and wielded like a weapon. And wouldn’t you know it, but that’s exactly what’s happening with their own history and interactions. Because it’s not all fun and games…

The episode itself cuts to the bone.

20. “FRIENDS AND FAMILY”

Some families were table-flipping households.

It’s a simple expression we developed where things like screaming and yelling weren’t just commonplace, but there were plenty of events where someone so angry they flipped the table (or worse). There’s something about table flipping. The “you’re not gonna eat any of this!” of it all. And shamefully, I never thought too much of it. There was a chunk of time this absolutely went on in my house. But compared to other families I knew? It felt less often and thus “like not a big deal.” Which I regret to say is probably a bit more common where I grew up. Either way it’s something you normalize and then I went onto college and especially when I moved out here I’d talk about things I experienced and people are like “Wait, what the fuck?” and you’re like “… oh.” As the episode states, this kind of conflict “scares the normals.” And you realize you’re not a normal. But the worst part is that there’s an arc to this realization. Because you don’t want to seem weak, nor like it affected you. So I’ll make the ugliest admission that early on I took a morbid sense of pride in coming from a family where things like this happened. Which is all part of the idea that “coming from a rough environment” was a badge of honor that shows your toughness. And looking back I see all the terrible normalization in action. When the table flips happened in my house, it got excused with things like “well, he was careful not to break the windows” as if it was the height of consideration. And again, there was always the comparison to other houses that had it worse so no one wanted to make it worse… This is insane to me now… It was poison. It was toxic. It was unacceptable. It makes me ill just thinking about it. But it permeated every bit of the air we breathed. And needless to say…

The Berzattos were a table-flipping household.

In my bones, I know each and every single thing that this means. It’s in the way a certain kind of quiet exists. The way anger gets used like a vindictive currency. And most of all, the way it paralyzed me so much, right down into my bones. Of course, it also makes for vivid drama on a TV show. My friend Andrew said, “wow, they just made a little Cassavetes movie,” which they did. Right down to the close up face aesthetics, cramped rooms, and god bless em, the fact it’s shot on film (although I just learned it wasn’t and is part of a new process and I *have to learn more about this because it’s the best approximation job I’ve ever seen). As an episode of television, it’s remarkable. It’s what we used to call “event television” where all of sudden guest star after guest star walks in and you’re basically doing a non-stop parade of leo-pointing-gifs. It’s not just Bernthal coming back. It’s Odenkirk. Paulsen. Mulaney. Jacobs. And then Jamie Lee Curtis rounds it off as if it was the most casual thing in the world. Being completely unspoiled, it was an amazing thing to behold. Just one of those beautiful surprises where you can’t get over what’s happening. But best of all? They’re all there to do the work. To help get at something real. Because this episode is absolutely about something important.

It’s about the way families propagate abuse.

So much of it seems casual, at first. There’s the daily dose of “shit giving” that accompanies those who move away or the high / low of class dynamics when someone in the family gets a far more white collar job. At this moment in the story, Carmy is doing well at Noma and thus is proclaimed as being “too fancy for us” and it’s all done under the auspices of love. And look, there is a fine art of giving someone a little bit of shit - but if that’s the only way you express things? There might be a big ole’ problem, don’t you think? And it fuels so much of this family. The conflict is just in the air. It’s them making fun of Fak. It’s Odenkirk needling at Mikey. These things aren’t “fun.” They’re jokes used to wield power over others. It’s even the way they’re wondering if the Mulaney character is gay (because if you are anything less than 100% aggressive, you must be). And especially the way they’re egging Carmy on about a girl he likes Claire) like he’s a helpless little boy. The thing about being the young one, the “baby” is that you simultaneously get babied and also get shit for BEING that very thing they’re doing to you. It becomes an ouroboros. And if you’re like Carmy, it makes you confused and scared. Then, in a weird way, it’s what drives you in a “chip on shoulder” in a way you do not fully understand. But understanding is the first step to real extrication from a system in an emotional way, not necessarily the physical (though it seems he takes Cousin Michelle up on her offer to help him in New York after this disastrous Christmas).

Because the truth of most table-flipping households is that often it’s just centered around someone who has an undiagnosed mental health disorder (that they usually treat with alcohol). And their mom, Donna Berzatto, 100% has an aggressive form of Borderline Personality Disorder that she drinks wine to “get through.” If you’ve never known someone with BPD, the textbook definition is “a mental illness that severely impacts a person’s ability to manage their emotions. This loss of emotional control can increase impulsivity, affect how a person feels about themselves, and negatively impact their relationships with others.” To be clear, there are quieter, more internal forms of BPD that people deal with (and you can explore the variations here). But the ones that apply to Donna are the most aggressive ones, namely: “A pattern of intense and unstable relationships with family, friends, and loved ones - A distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self - Recurring thoughts of suicidal behaviors or threats - Intense and highly variable moods, with episodes lasting from a few hours to a few days - Chronic feelings of emptiness - Inappropriate, intense anger or problems controlling anger - Feelings of dissociation, such as feeling cut off from oneself, observing oneself from outside one’s body, or feelings of unreality.”

I mean, you see them all in the dang episode. Every gesture she makes - or ones she perceives coming toward her - is poisoned. She drinks and falls into her feelings, “I make things beautiful for them, no one makes things beautiful for me!” Even though people were constantly trying to help or make those things and she forbid them from ever attempting. She’s begging for constant reassurance that she will only meet with contempt. From the family, we see the constant attempts at placation along with her ability to rise to anger in a second. That’s because she cannot internalize a feeling for a single second. The second she tries, she instantly has to react with the opposite reaction and often does so in hurtful ways. I cannot explain how horribly this can impact all the people around her. But of course, no one is having mental health discussions or getting professional help. That’s for “crazy people.” And it's how the unacceptable gets accepted. The family’s general reaction is best summed up by Michael, who basically says “not making a move is the move” and he tries to avoid it (likely a result of being closest to it). Meanwhile, Uncle Jimmy looks at it like a constant weather event that he has to monitor. That night he says he can sense that “this one is getting dark.” Meanwhile there is Natalie, the young Sugar who is absolutely sensitive to it and always trying to placate her mother, only to ever be met with more sadness. And then there is Carmy, who is doing his best, but feels like a constant deer in headlights, frozen, unsure… terrified.

But you can see how much each of their reactions to Mom informs the architecture of these characters lives and literally everything they do. It is their skeleton key. For Mikey, it’s the motive to hide his addiction and act like everything's fine. For Uncle Jimmy, he thinks being able to see what’s coming and forecast the bad fronts give him the wherewithal to ride it out (oof, this one hit personally). For Sugar and Carmy, there’s a moment that’s so incredibly telling. Right near the end of the dinner, Sugar asks “Mom, are you okay?” and it’s like someone set off dynamite in the room. “Do you know how much I hate when you ask about that?” She explodes with venom and disappears from the dinner. And it’s precisely that verbiage of “are you okay?” where you have to remember at the end of season one. It’s when they’re looking for Mikey’s taxes and Sugar tearfully admits the one thing she wants Carmy to ask her is “are you okay?” which is why she’s the one always asking everyone in turn. Given their history, of course that’s what she’d want to be asked. She did it because it’s what she needs deep down from their traumatic wound. For Carmy? Of course he would have gone the opposite direction and learned to never, ever ask anyone that question - all because he learned to fear the answer. But the two of them are going to have to figure it out together. It’s all part of the same ecosystem.

And tellingly, one of the most powerful parts of the episode comes just before the “are you okay?” moment and it is when John Mulaney (who gives a really wonderful, low-key performance like so many of these guests do) is the family’s outsider observer who accidentally finds himself being the one who has to say grace. It also becomes an opportunity to spit a little bit of truth, but in this kind of endearing way? He comes at them with this self-assured, wry suspicion, but also appreciation. He admits “I don’t have a family like this.” Not one where there’s this big group and a lovely meal and so much history and, yes, passionate yelling. He’s acknowledging the tension of this moment (“is he still holding the fork?”) and laughing when he gets nervous - But despite all that, he genuinely has appreciation for them making room at this table for him and Cousin Michelle, two people clearly on the sidelines of this. They’re not from table-flipping households. They’re normals. And while these are precisely the kind of words that would calm down a “normal” family, everyones already on their track. Thus, the “are you okay” gets asked and the fork gets thrown. And soon enough, there’s a car driven through the damn living room.

As a piece of writing, the episode is undeniable.

Especially in WHY it comes at that point in the season. For much of The Bear has taken place in the years after these events. And it’s hard watching the hopeful promises of those scenes, knowing it all is doomed. It’s us knowing Richie’s job will go poorly and lead to his fight with Uncle Jimmy. Knowing he will get divorce. But most of all, it’s hard knowing Michael killed himself. The moment of him crying in the bathroom after Carmy shows the restaurant plans says so much. He’s an addict. And it’s not that doesn’t want to be around his brother, he wants that more than anything. It’s that he knows he’s broken and that he’ll likely break Carmy, too. He’ll drag him into the undertow. Thus, he sees what he’s doing as *unburdening* himself from Carmy and leaving him with what good he can. It’s part of the same wound of what Mikey wants to be unburdened from with his mom at home. And the episode leaves mom as a giant question mark, too. Because what happens from the car? Where has she been? That title hit of “The Berzattos” prompts an even more existential question - because it comes as Carmy stares at the cannoli in full on disassociation, leaving the giant question of…

How do you go from table-flipping to…

21. TABLE-FIXING

There’s two moments in the second to last episode that are so important. The first is small, but it leads to the namesake of the episode. Sugar is deeply pregnant and working her butt off on opening night, but she hasn’t eaten because she’s so stressed. Sydney stops and notices and is like “I’ll make you something,” even asking what she wants. Sugar doesn’t want to make a fuss, but when prodded, she admits: she’d love an omelet. It’s that rarest of things from someone in that Bear household: the verbalization of a want and need. So Sydney makes her a french omelet. Which is only one of my favorite things in the world.

They’re so “simple” and yet even after making them for years I still still fuck them up constantly. That’s because they are 100% technique driven and fussy. But you beat some eggs. Use a little butter. A little salt. Then put them in a small buttered non-stick frying pan (a good one, as an old one will ruin it). You whirl the eggs so you get a good ratio of curds going. Maybe throw some cheese in. Then you kind of roll them into the side of the pan and plop them out and you get this absolutely decadent buttery egg dish that tastes like heaven. It’s mostly just eggs, but it’s all about the ratio of that golden outside to creamy inside. Sometimes I’ll make them and people are like “what cheese is this?” and I'm like “none.” It’s just the gentle timing on the eggs. What’s neat is this dish became in vogue about a decade ago when Ludo Lefebvre popularized this traditional version of the dish, for which see him give the instructions here, but I actually kind of love this video where he makes it with his son even more, which shows that hey, it’s okay to mess up, it still tastes good. The other thing about a french omelet is how much they speak to what I love about good cooks (like Sydney). They’re super hard to get good at making, but if you’re practiced, they take a few seconds and make people so damn happy. It’s the height of craft. And the way it happens in this episode works as this little beautiful little act of caring for another person in the middle of the madness. In other words, it’s everything that was NOT happening in the restaurant last year. And symbolic of how far they’ve come.

For two seasons, the show has been about stuck people trying to get unstuck. To find themselves in a place with purpose. And by season's end, we see it starting to come together. We have Tina becoming a full on sous chef. Richie becoming a front of house enthusiast. Marcus becoming a brilliant pastry chef, who is full of ideas and love. And Sydney finally becoming The One who can do The Thing. But at the center, the driving question she wonders about her relationship with Carmy and whether or not they have the trust to make it work.

To reiterate, we now understand how much of this is the result of Carmy’s shit communication skills, but now we at least have the background to understand the emotional architecture behind it. Of course he would be frozen with fear in that household. Of course he would be unsure of what he should or shouldn’t say. Of course he would have a giant push / pull with success that throws him into the wilds of ambition. Of course he would try to communicate with the food itself.  Of course he would do everything behind the scenes, so that it didn’t get seen and scrutinized, just as we see the way he secretly helps his mom as she's running around her chaotic kitchen and “having to do it all herself.” Of course he would believe he could never want anything. But the thing about being a teammate is that you still have to communicate. Because it all falls apart if you don’t. And the cathartic moment finally comes when both he and Sydney get a quiet moment before the storm. It is one of those perfect symbolically-written gestures, because it comes not when a table is being flipped…

But a table being fixed.

The scene is directed with this incredible elegance and stillness. They sit there in the quiet room, working on the wood of the table and she finally asks him about the things that have been unspoken. No, she wasn’t wrong to worry about the silence (it can be so hard when you have a quiet boss). But the silence hasn’t been the judgment. The silence has been the trust. He tells her that “I don’t even want to do without you” and that “you make me better at this.” You realize that as much as they’ve gone through, this is probably the most successful work partnership he’s ever had in his life. We also know that Carmy is incredibly observant. He saw her eying the “CB” of his old whites. And a man who shows love in acts of service, he expresses that support and belief in her by giving a gift from the great Thom Browne of New York. It’s her own whites with the initials S.A. And it says so much, but for now, he has to use words in tandem. Feeling safe with him under the table, Sydney expresses her deep fears…

“What if no one comes?”

“Then no one comes”

“What if they come and the food is ass?”

“Then we’ll work on it.”

“What if I completely melt and fuck up and fail?”

“I won't let you.”

He means it with every fiber of his being. It is solid. Deep. Assured. And true. But the real thing that Carmy has to learn?

Is that she won’t let him.

22. GRAZING BY AL-ANON

Before we get into the deep tissue analysis of Carmy’s core problem I want to take a second to acknowledge that one of the many miracles about The Bear is not in something it portrays, but in something it doesn’t. Namely, how much al-anon is woven into the fabric of the series and his character, but that’s not what it’s “about” in any way. Which is wonderful because heartbreak addiction struggles have this way of  completely taking over stories, dominating the “arcs” in this kind of navel-gazing way that is both honest to the experience, but there are so many more interesting things to talk about, too. And more importantly, a lot of times people don’t need some grand struggle story they’ve seen time and time again, especially addicts themselves. Sometimes they need normalization, especially with a daily act like sobriety. The show has all these little gestures, like the selzters, or the way Claire hands him the coke at the party. And the biggest “drama” isn’t the threat of him falling off the wagon, but merely Sugar being sure he’s going to meetings because it’s a place she knows he feels comfortable talking his feelings and grief over his brother.

I also can’t explain how much this has overlap with restaurant and bar business. There are a TON of chefs / restaurant workers in al-anon or NA. Because being in the restaurant world usually meant being around booze and drugs at a young age, working night hours, and generally just being around your fellow degenerates. But there’s just as many people who get sober and still remain in it. In some weird ways, it can even help. I knew a bartender who liked working there still because the drunks constantly reminded him how much he hated it. You feel the show paying homage to this directly with Richie’s GM who is combining the acts of service with the notion of what they do. The fact that the show grazes by al-anon and yet treats it with such respect and understanding - but zero usury qualities in terms of tropey-drama - is tremendous. And speaks to how great this show is at the little details that speak volumes.

But again, it’s not just about demonstration. It’s the way it dramatizes these details into a full-on story. And you get to see the way every single one of these plotlines comes together in the crucible of “friends and family” night at the restaurant. You might wonder, hey wouldn’t that friends and family night be a lower pressure thing that’s easier than opening? Oh, no way. It’s only done to be sure the bad shit doesn’t hit critics. Honestly, it’s the first runs and it is the most pressure. Strangers are one thing. But here you want to impress all the people who have been with you on this insane journey. You want to tell them that all this hell and money was worth it.

It is a crucible. And you only have…

23. SECONDS ON THE CLOCK

The incredible thing about The Bear is they never let you forget that this was built off of good baseline drama. Because the first season is largely about failure. Like that intense, cutting episode 7 that almost ended it all. And were it not for the saving grace of Mikey’s hidden cash? Something that if people like Richie communicated right would have come much earlier? Then none of this would have been possible. And it proves that the chaotic failure is always just right there. And it can always come back. It’s sitting right there, over their shoulders, like Joel Mchale’s chef judging from the wing (what an awesome silent thankless cameo this season). Point being, we’ve seen their demons. And the catharsis comes in getting them off our back.

All of this comes to head in the second season finale.

Namely, the fact that it starts in the same directorial way as that episode 7, with a one shot holding the tension of the chaos. We see the immense speed, clunking, and tension of things as they’re trying to keep up in the kitchen, but this time it’s being beautifully juxtaposed with the “calm” smiles, atmosphere, and music in the front of the house. It’s like plunging back and forth between a jacuzzi and a cold pool. But it’s also opening night and of course, things start going wrong. At first it’s little things. Something’s not up to standards and Tina has to redo. Another dish sits too long and gets cold (likely because they can’t afford the extra space for heat lamps, which is a lot of added pressure for a place like this, but heat lamps also have problems). And then, you know, one guy goes off his station to smoke meth. Does that happen? Oh absolutely! Especially with the guys you hire on a whim because they’re available. And suddenly everyone starts plugging holes and covering the defense. But then things get REALLY bad when Carmy gets stuck in the walk-in.

it was his job to call the guy, of course. It couldn’t be more poetic with Carmy locked in a prison of his literal own making. It’s all piling up. Sydney starts getting triggered as we get flashes and jitters, all memories of “review” day and the time she quit… But no… We’re not going to do the trauma again. And in an incredible cinematic AND meta decision in the direction - the one take STOPS. Instead the cinema slows and the edits come in. They focus. The lessons of “Checkov’s Coach K” and the comeback start coming in with their backs against the wall and seconds on the clock. They breathe. They go beat by beat. And they start do the next right thing. They’re literally down two cooks so Sydney needs to jump on the line. Which means someone else needs to run the show… yup… It has to be Richie. He’s the only other one who's seen and knows this and here can unite the two halves of the house. But with four words, he’s ready to step up.

“I got ya chef.”

It is elation in action. They keep pushing and pushing, even as Carmy is the one making all the noise in the world from the walk in. But everyone keeps things beautifully moving up front, holding up the illusions and not letting them know the toilet’s broken. It’s part of the hilarious juxtaposition of high and low that comes with fine dining - perhaps best exemplified by infamous story about how 11 Madison Park had to gracefully deal with a dude who literally *died* at the restaurant without trying to freak people out. There’s a Coen brothers-like hilarity to this horror. But there’s deeper things too. We see that they’re not just “handling” this, but still being thoughtful - just like the omlet moment. As they were told, “your front of house has to be overwhelming.” They know Sydney’s dad does not partake and have seltzers and fine sodas for him. But still… there is a deeper specter of family, mom, and the potential disappointment that lingers over… And it gets expressed in the most unexpected of ways.

Because suddenly it’s Pete, played incredibly by Chris Witaske, who gets the most emotional scene of the entire damn episode. For so much of the show he’s been the square peg in the round hole. He’s the awkward try hard, The one bringing tuna casserole to a fine feast of the seven fishes. It’s that same hapless awkwardness that brings him outside when he sees Donna and never having learned the lesson of “no move is the move,” he goes out and tries to convince her to come inside. It’s such an interesting moment because we’re seeing Mom in what is clearly a much “better,” but not quite “good” state. We see that she’s terrified and pacing. Pete tries to comfort her, saying “you’d be so proud of them.” And she is. But pride isn’t the issue. And he doesn't quite understand the emotional architecture of this. And the moment HE doesn’t realize that Sugar hasn’t even told Mom about the baby? So much is making sense. Because it means Donna is basically estranged at this point. She’s crossed so many lines and is dealing with all these consequences of distance and grief and loss. Mikey committed suicide for fucks shake. And she doesn’t know how to heal this. Not yet. She asks to be relieved of appearing, begging Pete “I need you to say it’s okay” because she needs the permission. And he does so reluctantly, but he’s so shaken by this whole interaction.

The emotional fireworks come just moments after. He’s back with Sugar and what we’ve known to this awkward, goofy guy suddenly wells up with such beautiful, kind emotions. He’s trying to speak for the mom - sensitive to her struggle - but he’s also speaking for himself. Saying how incredibly hard it is to be the outsider in all this. To come and want to do good, to trust that people will be their best selves. But a family with so much pain and history and secrets and so hard to navigate. You see his heart of hearts. And in that moment, you realize how much Sugar always has too. The truth is that Pete is not the square peg. If anything, they’re all jagged spikes. And he’s a beautiful, earnest human being and he is a solace to everything for her. The exact kind of person who shows her love. Real love. Not the kind that is guarded, barbed, nor variant. They kiss and I cannot remember feeling such a stark turn around for a character after just a single scene (which is the sign of a show working with surgical precision).

The fact that all this happens as Carmy is locked in the fridge is so telling. Because both his stillness and his “I need to do everything” are dual effects from his relationship with mom. He’s assuming everything is going wrong, but instead? His team is coming through. Richie gives the chocolate banana. Sydney promptly takes her turn being The One who has to leave after a night’s service and vomits on the ground. It’s horrible. But to keep with the Coach K of it all, it’s what happens when you raise your limits and meet them for the first time. Heck, I used to vomit after a lot of track races. Bill Russell used to puke before EVERY game, etc. I’m not saying it's good. I’m saying it happens. But they did it. And they did it “without him.” But that’s the whole thing Carmy needs to finally put together. When you have a team?

There is no without.

24. THE BOY WHO GOOGLED “FUN”

You may have noticed that I’ve gone, like 28,000 words without talking that much about Jeremy Allen White. But that’s because I was building to this: I think he’s phenomenal. There’s this way he reads immediately as this wide eyed, boyish, unwashed ragamuffin. He just screams “chef.” But the performance also gets at something so much deeper than that. I keep using the word “unshowy” and I mean it. He’s almost never trying to push a moment, or do too much business, and even his moments of outburst just feel like real anger instead of the “look at me” anger that goes along with CAPITAL-A ACTING. But there is 0% ham. He’s just keeping it true to the character, who is equal parts reserved, wounded, and insightful. And as an actor, it shows the ultimate trust that the writing will communicate everything it needs to. He trusts the show. And it pays off.

For instance, at this point, we know Carmy is observant. We know his trauma with family. We know he’s grappling with being a burned the fuck out 30 year old with 3 stars. And we know he’s confused, saying “all the time I’m trapped and don't know how I'm feeling.” But now we at least understand that the roboticness isn’t him being unemotive. It’s him protecting himself. What else would you call it when he says his “brain bypasses any sense of  joy and attaches itself to dread.” He’s learned to constantly dread everything. He even hears a literal alarm and asks, “is that my head?” Which is both hilarious and dark as hell. He says “I have to remind myself to breathe sometimes,” which is not just part of the robotic nature, but the belief that he doesn’t have a right to exist. So how does he even move forward?

Oh, he's learned his little bargains. The gestures. The acts of service. He even literally tells us, “I felt I could speak through the food” But all the while, there’s the part of him that’s so deeply guarded and afraid. But he made a bargaining peace with this part, too. He says “the more I cut out the quieter my life got” That he doesn’t need things close to him. But now, the more he looks at the architecture of his own bargains, the more he’s going back to the question of “why” at the heart of his restaurant. It’s Richie who makes the key point, “if this shit is not fun for you, what the fuck is fun for you?” He doesn’t know. And he handles it in a very Carmy like way.

“I googled fun the other day”

That’s how he learns about “providing enjoyment,” which for him is far easier to provide for others. But what is there for him? Enter Claire. As far as their overlap, they have history, but we also get a nice sense of her psychology when talking about why she wanted to become a doctor when staring at a kid’s broken arm. “You wanted to fix it?” Carmy asks. No, she wanted to understand it (much like the beat in Fablemans of young sammy wanting to make movies). Which is often what we do with the things that scare us. She mends bones. He cooks. But there’s more overlap between doctors and chefs, whether it is the crazy hours or as the Richie episode reminds us, they’re both rooted in “hospitality.” I like this storyline - particularly in terms of theme - but I’ll admit that Claire’s interiority is the one aspect of the show that feels a little bit more… thin in comparison to the others? It’s honestly both in writing and performance, given how much her personality feels like it is rooted in merely being a loving foil for Carmy, you can’t help but want it a little more conflict-driven like the rest of a show. Not in the way that’s agonizing, of course. But it’s just hard when someone’s person-hood amounts to total understanding and “this is nice,” even though that’s basically the entire point of the plotline. Because it’s specifically about whether we are allowed to have “nice” things.

Because with Claire, it is here that Carmy finally starts having fun. Connecting, loving, receiving. These are not bad things. They are great things. But they also mean he’s vulnerable. Because the most agonizing thing about loving is you have something you could lose. And this is the part of his mom that lives most inside him. No, he doesn’t have Borderline Personality Disorder, but as someone raised by someone who did, he sure does have anxious avoidant attachment (instead of anxious aggressive / ambivalence). And it comes out most when he’s scared and overwhelmed. When talking about cooking he talks about it like it is compulsion and says “the only thing we get back is chaos and resentment.” Which he knows isn't true. But it’s how his mom felt. And when he gets stuck in the walk in, the metaphor of his failure is all about “letting people down” and what that triggers inside.

“Nothing is as bad as this feeling,” Carmy says as he rockets back to being the scared kid and the deepest trauma. But it’s not “because” of anyone here. As Claire says “no one is keeping track of shoes” but in his dread-addled mind of course they are. His mom was all shoes all the time. Thus, he disappears further into himself, “I don’t need to provide and amusement or enjoyment… I don’t need to receive.” What he’s saying is much like Michael’s own inner fears - he doesn’t need to exist. And worse, it’s something confirmed by the “folksy” and toxic wisdom of people around him, like Uncle Jimmy telling him “uh oh” at the news he has a girlfriend. Which is part of this sick, insane belief that you have to be a free megalomaniac to produce good work. And since we’re talking about the world of being a chef. Almost immediately, I went…

“It's the famous Redzepi / Chang convo!”

I’m speaking of a moment in the TV show Ugly Delicious where the two are talking about how they got here and all the sacrifice in making big hit restaurants. And specifically with Noma, Chang muses to Rene, “I don’t know how you did all this with a family to raise!” And Rene, without missing a second beat, comes back with “I don’t know how I could have done this without my family.” Because during all the insane hours, he had this beautiful little thing alongside him, supporting him, and more importantly, defined who he was really cooking FOR. And Chang, with his lone wolfing of the past (and a lot of his aggressive table-flipping environments) can’t imagine it. But it’s hard when you’re steeped in that toxic thinking of working a zillion hours and proving yourself. Fuck, I spent years believing it, too. But then there’s that incredible, simple, obvious realization you hit at some point regardless of anything. To REALLY do it? You need other people not just to help you, but who fuel you with love - not pride.

The walk-in moment summarizes all of it. He made a dumb mistake. There are a million other things they did right. That HE did right. This is just one mistake. And even though it was hilarious timing (that will be funny later), they lifted him up. But in that moment of weakness, Claire also heard him say all those fears. And she’s understandably hurt, but notice she’s also not angry. She just has to go and find her own space. And this is where Carmy instantly feels regret and anger. He REALLY fucked up. Richie tries to help, but Carmy instantly drags them back to their table-flipping yelling family dynamic, but it’s RICHIE who is the one who fights through “I FUCKING LOVE YOU, COUSIN” and even does a blink and you’ll miss line where he says he’s acting like his mom Donna (drawing the line of everything that I talked about, psychologically speaking). Carmy feels alone - in a cold prison of his own making - but no, he’s not alone. They will be there for him. We talk about “found family,” but that’s what this ecosystem really means. It was Richie. It was Sydney. It was Tina. It was Fak. And it was Pete of all people being the one to talk to his mother tonight. He wasn’t alone. And somewhere deep down Carmy knows it. But that brings us to the real and final problem…

You just have to let them in.

Like, actually let them in. Not do the thing that makes them proud. Not be the rock for them. Not put up a good show. Not be the face of something brilliant… You have to let them in. And that’s the hard part. Because everything in our lives is a consecration. All of it. Your whole life. The good, The bad. And to be even the very possibility of your better and healed self, it takes making peace with the part of you that has always been…

EPILOGUE - “BECAUSE YOU’RE THE BEAR, AND I KNOW YOU”

Bringing personal anecdotes into essays is always precarious because there is an obvious reality that “we’re not here to talk about you.” Which is completely true. As a critic, the point of including them anyway is to highlight why a given work of media hits you personally and why you connect to it. I know I’ve done it a lot in this essay. And hopefully, it’s not so specific that it feels alienating to a reader (which can be miserable) - but instead, hopefully of us. For it’s not just about how the work makes the critic feel seen, but how it makes us ALL feel seen… But sometimes the details are hilariously close.

“I’m gonna start calling you The Bear.”

One of my best friends told me this week when he was midway through watching the second season. What he didn’t know is this always happens. My nicknames, my entire damn life, have always been bear centric. I rarely tell people this (now, I guess I’m telling everyone). But time and time and time again, I have gotten bear-related nicknames from people who did not realize this always happens. I will not try to speculate why it happens (I suppose some of it is funny), but there is a lot of history there, too. So much so that hearing some of those names again feels like an almost cutting association, full of painful reminders of times in my life I wish I was so different. But I can’t change it. Nor fix the things that happened. It is what it is. But in trying to fix yourself, you have to figure out the push / pull of where you came from - where you are now - and where you want to be. This is exactly what Carmy is struggling with, and will presumably struggle with going into the third season. And it is so achingly simple:.

It is the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Claire literally says it to him, “you are the bear. And I know you.” But it’s so terrifying because Carmy spent his whole family life both trying not to be known - and also to be seen by his mother, his brother, his sister, and his “cousin.” But it felt impossible. And he created a contorted self to try and match all that. And it really hasn’t worked. He has developed a series of half-measure adaptations for his personhood. He defaulted into things that are easy for him. Because it’s “easy” to make beautiful food. It is easy for him to clam up. And it’s easy to yell when cornered. But it is hard to speak from the heart. It is hard to tell people how he feels. It is hard for him to understand how he really feels. And it is the hardest thing to be known. To look people in the eye and talk about the worst things you’ve experienced, or done, or even the worst things that happened to you. But that’s where you start. Admitting that you are scared. And to invoke the very first image of the show with the bear on the bridge, to see that “you” are not something that has to be locked in a cage out of fear.

In fact, they  are the very things that connect you to the human race. The mistakes, the fuck ups, the errors, they are human. Though it’s perhaps easy to understand why that makes you good at cooking food, but not good at being with human beings. But you have to see that the same diligence has to be paid in order to make the changes that come from inside. It’s true for Carmy. And it’s true for me in a way that struck so deeply, so personally, and so resoundingly hard that I exploded in elative connection with this show - and then had to use 30,000 words to talk about it. Yes somehow, I feel like it only just scratched the surface. But this is what good TV does. Whether similar or specific, we see some aspect of our lives in the mobsters, lawyers, teachers, or whoever other occupation graces the screen. But most of all, in families, inherited or found. Because all of us have our versions of ghosts and Donnas and memories of chaotic cannolis - and yet we are equally saved by the young Sydneys and Marcus’ and the Claires that come into our lives and not only help, but just be there in the story of being known. The Bear brings it all to life with caution, drama, insight, and awe.

For that, it is a miracle.

And fuck am I hungry.

<3HULK