(Editor’s Note: Episode 4 recap will be posted on July 2. This recap contains spoilers.)
Last year, The bear curbed the frenetic and ulcerative energy of his first seasonas one restaurant sheds its skin to make way for the next. This bold change of pace meant that, like the confused prodigy at the heart of its story, the show is always ready to change the menu in the name of innovation.
But what happens after the renovations are done, after the culinary travels through Chicago and Denmark are over, after the dream of a high-end restaurant built with money hidden in tomato cans (and a big loan from Uncle Jimmy) becomes a reality? What happens is the real-life grind of running a restaurant, of trying to rise to the top of a notoriously competitive industry, of spending hours on your feet in the literal and proverbial heat of a bustling kitchen, of never being able to escape the people you love. such so you can wring their necks?
One of The bear‘s greatest strength has always been its ability to get viewers to internalize the characters’ emotions, and “Doors” is a whirlwind of that. Over the course of a half-hour, the episode takes us through a month at Chicago’s hottest new restaurant, as Carmy and Sydney put their kitchen brigade model into practice in a kitchen staffed by people who, there are less than a year, I was working in a neighborhood sandwich restaurant.
“Doors” opens by closing a chapter in the life of a Bear staff member. It’s time for Marcus’ mother’s funeral, and the gang heads to an echoing church to pay their last respects. Our pastry chef is a man of few words, but as we learned from last season’s excellent “Honeydew,” the things he says hit like rain on fallow ground. His eulogy is simple and direct, praising his mother for her kindness, intelligence, creativity and sense of humor – and, of course, for being cool enough to let her son watch. RoboCop When I was small.
Above all, he expresses how much she made him feel loved and appreciated. Mother and son understood each other perfectly, he says, even when the mother was too ill to speak. “Sometimes it almost felt like the communication was better, like we had to really pay attention to each other and look at each other very closely,” Marcus says. Unfortunately, that’s a message everyone forgets the moment they leave church.
Then we’re off to the races — and into the shit. The entirety of “Doors” is accompanied by classical selections from composers like Giuseppe Verdi, Pietro Mascagni and William Vincent Wallace, with Carmy and Sydney taking turns at the conductor’s desk. The soundtrack alternately gives the episode the elegance of a ballet, the absurdity of a farce and the melodrama of an opera.
The divos here are, of course, Carm and Richie, who continue to duke it out and invade each other’s territory. But the kitchen doesn’t just belong to Bear, it belongs to Sydney, too. At 5:30 p.m., five nights a week, she pours a large bottle of Coke into a to-go container and leads her troops on their ongoing mission to serve diners the best food possible.
The first evening, the atmosphere is serene and supportive, the cuisine as formal and calm as those presented by Carmy. Everything moves to the regular rhythm of the metronome: “Doors! » “Hands!” » “Hamachi!” » But the cracks are already starting to show: The cousins argue over whether to prioritize the guests’ dietary restrictions (hint: they absolutely should); Richie gets the ingredient names wrong when he prepares the waiters for the evening ahead; and Gary breaks a cork inside a bottle of red.
The machine continues to accumulate waste as The Bear’s popularity increases. Richie yells at Carm because table 17 has been waiting for their wagyu for half an hour, leading Carm to yell at Tina for her shoddy kitchen work. Richie wants speed, Carm wants perfection, and Sydney just wants them to stop yelling at each other while she’s trying to do her damn job. Meanwhile, Ebraheim (Edwin Lee Gibson) is overwhelmed as the only employee manning the beef sandwich display case.
Despite good press and a full house, the restaurant is struggling to stay afloat. While the rest of the crew scrambles to keep the engine running, Natalie and Uncle Jimmy struggle to put gas in the tank. Thanks to Carmy’s insistence on reinventing the menu every night and ordering only the most premium ingredients, they are bleeding money faster than they can make it. When the two confront the head chef, he gestures to them and abruptly says, “Get it.” Nat’s professional mask falls when she confronts her stubborn brother: “Don’t buy some fucking crap and then use it once, Carm!” It’s such a waste! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Uh! » This is why it is not a good idea to run a business as a family.
The tension at the top begins to dissipate, to the point where dirty plates and cups pile up so fast that broken glasses begin to slice into the divers’ palms. The once-spotless kitchen surfaces are now splattered with congealed sauce and blood from knife-scratched fingers. And flour splatters on the walls have made the “EVERY SECOND COUNTS” sign nearly illegible.
The cousins’ resentment has become so vicious that Carm refuses to acknowledge Richie’s truly good ideas. Richie’s writing his own non-negotiables may be a game move, but his list is on point: a 24-hour courtesy window for the kitchen to notify him of menu changes, a willingness to adapt dietary restrictions and “joy, just in general” – something that is sorely lacking. Me the most joy? “An environment that embraces and encourages dazzling in dream weaving.” Never change, Richie.
Above all, The Bear wouldn’t have lasted a day without Syd. The fact that she has less experience in high-end dining (and living) than Carm is actually an asset. His background working with toxic assholes like Chief Joel – not to mention years and years of childhood trauma – means he constantly has to fight his instinct to lash out or shut down.
Marcus’ tribute to a mother who loved him unconditionally and made him feel resonates beneath all the chaos of the kitchen. Sydney has this with her father; but the love Carm grew up with – and continues to seek as an adult – is the murderous kind. Hurt people, hurt people.
Inevitably, things between Carm and Richie reach a breaking point towards the end of the month. A minor argument over a customer’s request for a dish served without mushrooms The fight turns into a full-blown physical brawl, barely contained by Marcus’s intervention. I gasped in sympathy when all of Syd’s command cards were thrown to the ground in the scuffle.
By mid-July, Carmy is completely out of it. His unanswered cries of “Hands! Hands! Hands!” on the millionth exhausting night of his exhausting life lead to the onset of a panic attack: flashes of his imprisonment in the walk-in closet, Claire’s sweet smile, the breeze ruffling his hair on a sunny day in Copenhagen. Syd, the Berzatto whisperer at the diner, talks him out of falling off the ledge; but his patience is wearing thin. “I’m not your fucking babysitter,” she snaps.
On the final day of “Doors,” we return to the silence that began the episode. But it is a very different type of silence from the somber peace of the church. Sydney, alone in the kitchen after closing, stares at an order card abandoned on the floor, scuffed by a dirty shoe print. Stick a fork in her, because this girl is do.
Stray observations
- I hope you’ve prepared everyone close to you for the fact that you’re going to spend the next year randomly shouting, “STAY OUT OF THE DREAMWEAVE, CARMEN!” It’s the responsible thing to do.
- The show’s years-long repetition of “Hands!” takes on a very different meaning at the funeral. During the eulogy, we see close-ups of the Bear employees’ idle hands: Neil rests his on Nat’s shoulder, Nat strokes her pregnant belly, Carmy turns the memorial card in her hand, her mind on the one hanging from a shelf at The Original Beef.
- Speaking of which, “Doors” is beautifully done by a newbie Bear director Duccio Fabbri. His cuts between shots and use of close-ups are as integral to the episode’s pace and tone as the performances themselves.
- Jimmy’s utter bewilderment when he opens an $11,000 bill for “Orwellian butter” leads to a classic “Who’s On First?” moment. When he asks his nephew if the item comes from a “rare five-breasted Transylvanian goat,” Carm replies, “It’s Orwellian.” “Is it dystopian butter?” “No, Orwell, Vermont. It’s the best!” “Oh yeah? Suck me. (It’s actually a real thing; Animal Farm Creamery’s Orwellian butter sells for a modest $60 a pound.)
- “Doors” is making headlines, hailing the Bear as the next big thing on the Chicago restaurant scene. But it’s telling that all the buzz revolves around “visionary leader” Carmy. That the media focuses on the white man while ignoring his black creative partner is all too real; I have a feeling this will become a major sticking point later in the season. (Also, I bet Carm is horrible at doing interviews.)
- I really felt for Tina, who was thrown in at the deep end right out of culinary school. It was fun to see Sydney teaching her how to make ravioli, but it’s obvious that the pressure is starting to wear on T. Kudos to Liza Colón-Zayas for how easily she conveys her character’s angst through her facial expressions alone.
- While Carm spends thousands on expensive ingredients, Richie makes his mark using only plastic and papier-mâché. His cousin may hate seeing piñatas and Super Soakers pass through his kitchen. (No surprise! It’s non-negotiable!) But if Carm is really so reluctant to provide fun experiences for his guests, he never should have sent Richie to intern at Ever, where, in Jess’s words, they make someone’s day every night.
- Real chef Matty Matheson is at his best in this episode. He channels Charlie Chaplin when Neil volunteers to carry a dish across the floor with instructions to pour steaming broth over the mirepoix in front of the diners. He succeeds until he doesn’t, proudly carrying the food back into the kitchen without actually, you know, portion he.