That’s Hulu’s The Bear for me. After wincing and scoffing my way through the first few episodes of this damnably addictive “dramedy” cooked-up around a tortured genius chef and his cliched supporting cast, my claws came out early, ready to shred this ludicrous portrayal of restaurant life as anything approaching reality. Still, I find myself unable to tune out all its mess for some reason.
Years ago, a guy still enjoying a half-century run as a restaurateur (Rich Huie, owner of the Salt Cellar in Scottsdale) offered me a bear metaphor in summing up one’s day-to-day fortunes, while pulling me aside one night after a long, hard shift I’d worked as his rookie waiter.
“This business is a bear, son,” he said. “Sometimes you eat bear. Sometimes the bear eats you.” Seeing the opening, dream sequence of Hulu’s vision of that same premise — a scene in which chef Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto finds himself coaxing just such a beast from its cage, I thought, “No way. Super cool. I get it. Let’s go.”
Sadly, by the end of S1 E1, the show seemed about as convincing a portrayal of life and lifers in the restaurant business as some old B-movie stuntman in a bear suit wrestling a rhinestone cowboy. For starters, stereotypical characters abound. There’s a ponytailed Mexican dishwasher, a cynical prep cook of a certain age, a hot-tempered Puerto Rican line cook (single mother, of course), and assorted other subordinate players who fit roles that outsiders looking in on restaurant life have likely heard infest that world (cokeheads, semi-shady investors, hapless ne’er-do-wells). Chef Carmy himself is talent and torment personified through tats and tussled hair, while Sydney — his late-Millennial sous — plays reluctant co-hero resigned to her generationally definable skepticism that manifests in constant, stammering snark. Sometimes, honestly, I just want to put her over my knee.
Despite the preliminary pablum in character establishment, I’ve found myself suspending disbelief and spending more time watching The Bear. Not surprisingly, the kitchen crew came into a small fortune socked away in a stock of Campari tomato cans that’s financing the repurposing of their beat-to-death Chicago Beef sandwich shop into Sydney’s vision of a Michelin starship. And that’s where I’m at with The Bear to date. So, will Jeremy Allen White (Chef Carmy) earn his Golden Globe golden boy status (best actor) in my eyes continuing to mimic a stoic, young Dustin Hoffman? Will Sydney realize her culinary dreams or simply come to the realization that we are, in fact, just living in the simulation proposed by Elon Musk? And will everyone else in The Bear’s ensemble continue to merely appear in career life-support cameos or as profiled caricatures of people purported to inhabit the food hospitality universe? Please, readers: Though I’m late to the game in becoming a (reluctant) fan of the show, don’t email me any spoilers. I intend to sit through all 18 episodes, whether I ultimately get The Bear in the end or it gets me even more irritated than I was to begin with.
Another whipping post
Consider slander versus libel. As I understand the essential difference, slander is falsely stating defamatory accusations while libel puts the effort to defame in writing. In taking Corktown’s Alpino restaurant to task a month or so ago, Google reviewer Marjorie Marr may have toed that line and then some. Between what she alleges in her beef over service she received there and how professionally and diplomatically the restaurant’s owner, David Richter, articulated his response to Marr’s charges, reading both sides of this story warrants sharing as not only a potentially glaring instance of overstepping one’s right to an online review rant, but also a shining example of admirably-put reply by a restaurant operator to reputation-threatening comments made under dubious auspice as an online consumer review.
“I came in with a good group of friends a little while ago.” Marr led in. “I’m just now getting to review this place because I have the time.” Got it, Marjorie. You brought in some business a while back and you’ve been a busy little bee since. She goes on: “I remember my server her name was Robin and she was drunk while serving us. When I notified management or who I thought was management they were just as rude and standoffish. I believe his name was Jason. The food is OK. The atmosphere is pretty decent. It has a live fireplace however, the service could be better. I believe the staff needs to be retrained, and I also believe that a no drinking or doing drugs policy (wait, what?) before work should be implemented. This woman reeked of wine and was extremely talkative.”
Hmmm. Sounds like Marjorie waited a while to get this off her chest online. While one might wonder why, it’s all out there now. She’s insisting server Robin was drunk on the job, and that Alpino management — as she perceived it — proved unacceptably responsive to her complaint somehow. And in as much as Marr mentioned at-work drinking and drugging as issues in need of address, may we deduce that her “reeked of wine” comment speaks to one while “and (Robin) was extremely talkative” strongly insinuates the other? Just imagine: a restaurant server chatting up customers. Clearly, that server must be on drugs or something.
Enter Alpino proprietor Richter, whose response to Marr’s hard charges is softly and deftly spoken:
“Thank you for choosing to dine with us,” is his first retort. “I don’t see a reservation under your name.” (I see what you did there, David, nicely done.) He continues, “I’m hoping you’ll email me the date and reservation name to further investigate your perception of our staff’s behavior.”
Then, Richter fully responds, and I heartily recommend you read his words in their entirety, as they reflect exemplary qualities of proprietary responsibility, reserve, and restraint in the face of all the social media strafing restaurateurs suffer without taking full recourse, as they sometimes should.
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