One of the most talked-about TV shows of the summer is “The Bear,” an eight-episode FX series on Hulu about an acclaimed chef who returns to his home city of Chicago to try and turn his late brother’s beef sandwich joint into a more elevated dining establishment. Those sound like low stakes, but “The Bear” delivers far more. It’s already been celebrated as a master class of acting, writing and directing; as a traumatically accurate rendering of kitchen life; as a stirring example (in these work-from-home times) of the magic and peril that happen when talented people face extreme pressure in cramped spaces.
Frantic and claustrophobic, “The Bear” is a show for anyone who’s ever wondered what really goes on in the back of a restaurant (short answer: you do and don’t want to know). It has the side effect of teaching actual cooking technique and jargon. It won’t be long before you’re carefully attending to simmering stocks and saying “chef” to everyone passing through your kitchen as a term of respect/affection, as in Yes, boss duck Thank you, boss.
The praise is all deserved. To it, I’ll add another acclamation: “The Bear” is also the best sports TV show in ages.
I know what you’re saying: Here we go, it’s the sports columnist thinking everything is about sports. And I’ll concede “The Bear” is not literally about sports, although there are occasional amusing references to the Chicago sports landscape—the local rivalry between the White Sox and the Cubs; Blackhawks wizard Denis Savard; Minnie Minoso (Minnie Minoso!).
“Kitchen life is often presented as a white-linen fantasy, with zero feeling for the grease under the surface. Sports are the same way.“
“The Bear” lands like a sports show because it’s a tribute to teamwork—not the kind that happens on a field, but in a narrow kitchen, with a comparable alignment of personalities. There is the enigmatic superstar (whiz chef Carmy), the no-nonsense phenom (sous chef Sydney) the gifted role player (patissier Marcus) and the skeptical old hand (do-it-all Tina). Hovering is the threatened veteran (Richie Jerimovich), who wonders if Carmy is saving the business by making it Michelin-worthy — or running it into the ground.
There are other characters and plot lines, but “The Bear” keeps returning to the tension of pursuing a common goal. These Chicago knife wielders may not need a last-minute touchdown to win the state title, but a kitchen that finds a rhythm can feel the same way. Carmy ( Jeremy Allen White ) is bent on instituting French Laundry-style excellence, but like an overburdened baseball manager, he’s unsure how to get there (an effort to turn the kitchen into a classic French brigade goes disastrously). “The Bear” at times emits a vibe reminiscent of “Moneyball”—who does this arriviste think he is, trying to change the way we’ve done this forever?
Kitchen life has rarely been depicted with verisimilitude in film and TV; often, it’s presented as a white-linen fantasy, with zero feel for the grease under the surface. Sports are the same way. How often have we found ourselves laughing at the movie batter who can’t really swing, the hockey actors who can barely skate, the movie quarterback who looks like he’s throwing a 20-pound jar of pennies? How many times have we watched the climactic big game on the screen and thought, Wow, that looks very realistic? Yeah: almost fists.
“The Bear” nails it. That’s a feat unto itself—a credit to its creator and real-life chef consultants. We could sit here with a stack of Carmy’s fancy sandwiches and tick off the myriad things the show gets right, but at the heart of “The Bear” is the very human desire to be part of something bigger than oneself, and the small victories and defeats that happen along the way. Take it from a sportswriter: That’s also sports.
Write to Jason Gay at [email protected]
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