The Bear: Destroying Michelin Chefs with Violence and Heat

In 1999, Anthony Bourdain wrote in a column for The New Yorker:

"Gastronomy is the science of pain. Professional cooks belong to a secret society whose ancient rituals derive from the principles of stoicism in the face of humiliation, injury, fatigue, and the threat of illness. The members of a tight, well-greased kitchen staff are a lot like a submarine crew. Confined for most of their waking hours in hot, airless spaces, and ruled by despotic leaders, they often acquire the characteristics of the poor saps who were press-ganged into the royal navies of Napoleonic times—superstition, a contempt for outsiders, and a loyalty to no flag but their own."

This essay, titled "Don’t Eat Before Reading This," caused a sensation in the New York gourmet scene and throughout New York society after it was published in The New Yorker. Prior to this essay, all those who enjoyed food had only seen the glamorous side of food, kitchens, and chefs through Michelin-starred reviews, without any knowledge of the violence, anxiety, pressure, and high temperatures in the kitchen.

Gastronomy Is The Science Of Pain

"The Bear" continues the narrative and viewpoint of Anthony's thesis. The protagonist, Cami, is a chef working at a top Michelin restaurant worldwide, but due to his brother's sudden suicide, he is forced to return to Chicago to manage the almost-broken family sandwich shop. The series begins with overwhelming kitchen scenes - the continuous sound of chopping, sizzling oil, crisp metallic sounds of dishes clashing, the urgent sound of boiling water, and shouts from kitchen staff coming from all directions.

The small and cluttered corner of the kitchen becomes dramatically enlarged through fast-paced editing and montage. At this moment, the kitchen resembles the "submarine" described in Anthony's article. The atmosphere feels endless and stifling, almost as though every chef could be engulfed by the heat and oil fumes of the kitchen within mere seconds. The unique magic and vitality possessed by the kitchen seems to generate a harmful emotion between each kitchen staff member. The chefs enjoy the thrill of every cut, the surprise of every taste test, and the hidden joy of hearing the orders. Simultaneously, they grapple with the constraints of their physical endurance, the boundaries of their determination, the unpredictable temperament of the head chef, and the exacting requirements of the customers within this battlefield-esque environment. The pain caused by this struggle stimulates their adrenaline, keeping them tightly bound, experiencing the bittersweet pleasure that comes with this emotional connection amidst the pain.

Alongside portraying the love-hate dynamic between chefs and kitchens, the series depicts the anxiety and pressure that exists in the kitchen at all times.

At the beginning of the second episode, the camera focuses on Cami, who works at a Michelin-starred restaurant in New York. Besides featuring close-ups of his face, the camera alternates with shots of the organized kitchen system, showcasing chefs diligently preparing ingredients at their designated stations, reminiscent of synchronized factory machines. Cami stands alone at the front of the kitchen, nervously checking the status of each dish. At this moment, the head chef enters the kitchen and quickly approaches Cami upon noticing that a dish is not ready. Standing silently beside him, the head chef leans close to Cami's ear and whispers, "You're a fucking terrible chef. You can't do anything right. You have a dumb brain. You have no talent for cooking at all. You're just comforting yourself. Answer me quickly and tell me that I can fix this. Hurry!" While meticulously plating the dishes, Cami listens to the reprimand. Numbly, he answers the head chef's questions, channelling his anxiety and high pressure into patience, hiding them within the dishes he is preparing.

Unlike other food-themed films and TV shows such as "Eat Pray Love," "Julie & Julia," and "Burnt," "The Bear" depicts the world inside the kitchen rather than the world of food. In other films and TV shows, food is still food in the real world. It is packaged with colours, joy, taste climaxes, and collective resonance. It still represents people's pursuit and longing for quality, and it is just a glimpse into the glamorous world of the middle class. These food-related films and TV shows merely scratch the surface of food, retaining remnants of misconceptions about the kitchen world in the real world. They still portray moments of joy built upon pressure, anxiety, pain, and anger.

"The Bear" also portrays food, but its representation of the joy of food does not exceed five seconds - a satisfied smile or a short "great, thank you." Its primary focus lies in shattering the misconceived ideals surrounding food in reality and dismantling the comedic portrayal of kitchens often seen in other films and TV shows. This series crafts an unfiltered kitchen mirror, revealing the raw layers of negative emotions and frantic endeavours behind the culinary creations in a vivid and comprehensive manner. It corresponds to the tension, pressure, unease, and even emotional avalanches depicted in Anthony's essay about "naval submarines" and "medieval European battlefields," measuring the cost required for food and revealing the truth of the kitchen world.

The Disintegration of Masculinity and the Redefinition of Home

The truth revealed in "The Bear" is not only about the world of the kitchen but also about the ruthless portrayal of the identity of the chef. In the past world of film and television, the appearance of chefs was like that of knights, noble, dignified, and their every move exuded an indescribable charm, as if every action of theirs could be categorized as modern art. Their existence was like that of gods, using their hands to cook delicious food and save those famished commoners. As time passed, the image of the chef underwent a process of deification. This portrayal was thin, lacking substance, and excessively idealized, echoing Anthony's words:

"Most of us who live and operate in the culinary underworld are in some fundamental way dysfunctional. We’ve all chosen to turn our backs on the nine-to-five, on ever having a Friday or Saturday night off, on ever having a normal relationship with a non-cook.”

Kami embodies that kind of individual. In the seventh episode's seven-minute monologue, he explains the reason he wants to become a world-class chef is to prove to his brother, "I am the strongest." In the kitchen, he is focused, serious, restrained, consistent. The kitchen is his battlefield, and he is the general leading this battle. The kitchen is his own world, where he does not allow any deviations, errors, or emotions. He only cares about the perfection of the food and the echo between the taste buds and the food. He shuts down his emotions, amplifying his sense of smell and taste to the extreme. At this moment, he is like the bear in his nightmare, a predator surrounded by primal senses. This almost insane image of a chef breaks the traditional "prince charming" image of chefs. His emotions, words, actions, and movements demonstrate the destructive qualities of a top chef, fundamentally establishing a chef image that matches reality. He broadens his existence in personal, professional, and social dimensions, not through flowery words and exquisite techniques, but by creating a character with a solid foundation, not as fragile as glass.

Likewise, Kami is a fragmented male character. He struggles with expressing emotions openly and often envelops himself in sorrow and anguish. Nonetheless, he values not only his own feelings but also empathizes deeply with the emotions of others. He hopes to stop the downfall of the sandwich shop. He is a deeply sensory individual, brimming with emotions, vibrancy, and a profound sense of suffering. His existence fundamentally challenges the masculinity of the traditional kitchen system because, historically and in reality, the kitchen system is built on anger and reprimands. To Kami, the kitchen ought to be a space brimming with emotions, sensations, and an abundance of love. The methodology he implements is a challenge to traditional masculinity or the traditional kitchen system. The best example is his contrast with his cousin, one who solves problems with bullets and fists, while the other uses communication and forgiveness. Kami's character portrayal points to the widely prevalent male characteristics of our time, namely, primitive male dictatorship and male violence, often referred to as "toxic masculinity."

Kami is a victim of male violence, experiencing the disaster and pain of this violence from his brother. He learns from this disaster how to be a normal person, or rather, a man who removes traditional traits. He understands what can support him in rebuilding his family's sandwich shop-love and acceptance. As Oscar Wilde wrote in "De Profundis": "Love is fed by the imagination, by which we become wiser than we know, better than we feel, nobler than we are."

At the end of the first season, Kami unexpectedly discovers the funds left by his brother in a can of tomato sauce through reading his brother's message. He prepares spaghetti with tomato sauce for the staff, sparking laughter and banter among them. The scene culminates in the contagious sound of everyone joyfully relishing their meal together.

If "The Bear" is about exposing the truth of the kitchen system, or challenging traditional male traits, its core is actually about redefining family and community.

Returning to Anthony's review in The New Yorker, he wrote at the end:

"I made a traditional French pot-au-feu a few weeks ago, and some of my French colleagues—hardened veterans of the business all—came into my kitchen to watch the first order go out. As they gazed upon the intimidating heap of short ribs, oxtail, beef shoulder, cabbage, turnips, carrots, and potatoes, the expressions on their faces were those of religious supplicants. I have come home. "

Whether it's Anthony, Camille, or chefs in any restaurant in the world, ingredients and the delicious dishes they create are the fundamental factors that connect them. Despite having their own separate families and unfamiliar lives outside the kitchen, in that small, crowded, and hot space, the freshness of the ingredients and the aroma of the food serve as the foundation for building their home. They rely on each other's love for food and their relentless pursuit of perfection, constructing an indomitable community.