FX’s/Hulu’s ‘The Bear’ is Stressful and Depressing. I’ll Have 100 More Episodes, Chef.

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Welcome to The Beef. Dine-in or Take-out? We Don’t Give a Fuck Either Way

Cousin, we finally have a fresh, interesting world to dive into. People to be scared of, people to root for, people to comfort. People to get to know.

And they’re all in a shabby Chicago sandwich shop.

The Original Beef of Chicagoland, where the knives are dull, stray bullets fire through the window, and coke is sold just around the corner.

Christopher Storer’s (Ramy, Eighth Grade) The Bear follows Carmy (Jeremy Allen White), a young, award-winning, fine-dining chef who must return to Chicago to save his late brother Michael’s (Jon Bernthal) rinky-dink sandwich shop after he unexpectedly kills himself. Carmy must navigate his new ownership of a strapped-for-cash business, rally and refine a stubborn staff who was loyal to Michael and the old way of doing things, all while coming to terms with Michael’s suicide.

In a time where remakes run rampant, voiceover exposition is default storytelling, unnecessary spin-offs spawn like weeds, and biopics are shoved down our gullets, FX’s/Hulu’s The Bear is an original show that introduces brand new people—people who both offer a breath of fresh air and take your breath away.

And they don’t have to slay a dragon, bring down a cartel drug lord, or fight yet another multiverse villain while they do it.

All they have to do is work together to make sandwiches. 

And it’s one of the most stressful, emotional, beautiful, and riveting things to watch right now.

But here’s the thing: this plucky back-of-house kitchen staff isn’t going to invite or ease you in. “Ease” is not a word in their vocabulary. They’re not going to show you where the forks are or walk you to your table. Hell, they’re barely going to introduce themselves to you. 

You have to orient yourself, learn the blueprint of the kitchen alone, and figure out who’s who before the camera fast-cuts to another shot. 

Within minutes of the first episode, you’re flooded with quick shots and hyper-zooms of overdue bills, fast chops and sharp knives, erupting flames, and shots of Carmy running all over a busy and industrial Chicago, all to the sound of searing meat, ticking timers, and intense, aggressive music.

You’re dropped into a hectic kitchen where people are yelling “corner!” and “behind!” quicker than you can process your place in the whole thing.

Carmy and his staff? They don’t give a fuck about you. Whether you stay or go—dine in or take out—isn’t any of their concern. Naw, they care about the restaurant. Their jobs. Getting better at their respective stations and crafts. Saving Michael’s beloved restaurant and legacy. Figuring out their place in the whole thing.

This means everything to them.

And you’re either going to be here for the ride, rooting for this restaurant’s success, or will get out of the way so they can fill more orders.

If You Can’t Stand the Heat, Get Out of the Kitchen

The Bear is cooking something for you. 

It is going to be one of the most exquisite, delicious shows you’ve seen in a while by the time you’re through with the first season. But the process itself is going to be… unpalatable.

It will be messy, stressful, triggering, tiring, depressing, frustrating, and ball-breaking.

Just another day in the office for Carmy.

Carmy and his rough-and-tumble crew will reveal their heart to you, but on their terms: through cuts so fast you’ll suffer whiplash, paired with uncomfortably long takes that force you to look when you need to step away for your mental well-being. You’re going to have to stick it out when they deal with malfunctioning kitchen equipment, almost set the kitchen on fire, stab you in the ass cheek, and scream in your face to “GET THE FUCK OFF [THEIR] EXPO!!!!!”.

Alright, phew. Take a beat.

You have a decision to make now: if you can’t stand this heat, you have to stay out of the kitchen.

This expression has never felt more true and literal. Since The Bear has been released, there’s been no shortage of responses from real back-of-house kitchen staff and actual chefs claiming how accurate of a depiction the show is and that they could not continue watching it without triggering very real PTSD and anxiety. 

Even viewers who’ve never stepped inside a kitchen in a professional way before have to watch this show in very small bites. I’ve had a couple friends now tell me that they couldn’t get past the first episode because of how stressful it was. And truthfully? I almost didn’t stick through it either because of how anxiety-inducing it is. But I stuck it out because I could feel something boiling, baking, marinating. And I could tell it was going to be savory.

The Bear is not your feel-good TV show. It’s not a piece of cake, no matter how hard Marcus tries to bake it for you.

PLEASE just let my man Marcus bake his cakes!!!

The Bear is more like eating lobster. It’s hard work and there’s a tough shell you have to crack through. But once you do…

Oh my fucking god, is the meat of it delicious.

The Recipe

So why would anyone sit through something so stressful and claustrophobic? What makes the meat, as I mentioned, so delicious and worth waiting for?

For starters, the performances are truly remarkable. I’m so impressed by these actors who I’ve never even seen before (although, I know Jeremy Allen White to be from the popular show Shameless). Everyone holds their weight performance-wise and there’s not a bad thing to be said about this cast of misfits.

The cast is a vibrant and realistically diverse bunch of broken people you can’t help but see your own friends and family in. You know, the cooks, the cashiers, the people in the back. 

I appreciate the way diversity appears in The Bear. It’s not tokenized, it’s not contrived. It’s breathing, real, and a true joy to see on screen.

You also get your moments of actual laugh-out-loud hijinks. In between moments of real stress and pain is dialogue and antics so good and playful, you remember that there is tenderness in this life, and you get a bit of your breath back.

But the real tenderness of the show lies in the small moments of vulnerability. Anyone would be intimidated by this tenacious kitchen staff, but The Bear masterfully peels back at their tough exterior episode by episode. 

Whether it’s seasoned chef Tina’s (Lisa Colón-Zayas) earnest smile when young sous-chef Sydney (Ayo Edebiri) compliments her dish, or Marcus’s pride at frosting a cake he worked hard on, or conversations between characters revealing their fear and grief, The Bear sprinkles throughout each episode these important and honest moments of vulnerability like salt and pepper—and it’s just the thing that elevates this show to finger-licking perfection.

One long shot of Carmy’s heartbreaking seven-minute monologue about his late brother… chef’s kiss, as they say.

As viewers, we’re so conditioned to expect explosive action or melodramatic death scenes. Sometimes, all a show really needs is two people talking to each other when the going gets tough. And we just want to be let in and hear other people in similar situations as us.

We need people to hear us out—over a meal, on the floor of a messy office, or in the back alley while sharing a cigarette.

Sometimes we: 

• Feel like a lousy father with no prospects (Richie).

• Lose a sibling to suicide and have to deal with the life-changing aftermath (Carmy).

• Are talented but feel under-appreciated and overwhelmed (Sydney).

• Don’t know how to make our passions work (Marcus).

• Have to be the adult when tragedy strikes your family (Natalie/”Sugar”).

• Are afraid of change, but don’t want to be left behind (Tina).

• Just want to be part of the group by offering help in any way we can (Fak).

And all we can really do to overcome these things is simply work through it. With friends, with food, with family.

The Bear Doesn’t Have to Eat Us Alive

There’s just something to say about The Bear. It feels so real, so needed right now. And even though it’s one of the most stressful things I’ve ever watched, it provides reprieve because it shows you that people, despite the bear, can find comfort amongst each other and work toward resolution for their seemingly unsolvable problems.

The bear is everything we’re scared of. Everything that stands to tear us to shreds.

The bear is a job that feels like an immovable anvil on our chest. The bear is a bad health inspection score. The bear is busted pipes and clogged toilets. The bear is bad news, over and and over and over again. The bear is haunting your dreams. The bear is memories of your dead sibling. The bear is responsibility you can’t avoid. The bear is the bill you have to pay to keep the lights on. 

The bear is a million orders and demands spewing out of the ticket machine.

It’s ordering us to do this, take care of that, finish this, make that better. It’s demanding our time, our attention, our money, our health, our sanity.

This is the bear, and anyone who’s alive today stands to be shred to pieces.

But we can maybe find a way to live with it. I don’t think this bear can ever truly be vanquished, but with some helping hands, a full belly, and a reason, you might be able to cage and tame it.