FX
I love The Bear for a growing number of reasons. Apart from the glorious shots of sizzling salted beef, Carmy’s (Jeremy Allen White) floppy brown tufts of hair, and the hoards of people talking about how good it is on Twitter, I love how authentic The Bear feels. Having served my own time in the trenches (aka, the New York restaurant industry) and grown up in Chicago-ish (the suburbs), I feel at home watching The Bear.
At times, The Bear doesn’t even feel like a TV show—it feels like my own memories in both Chicago and the restaurant industry. Brisk Autumn days in the Windy City, huddling under a puffer coat or in a dusty old car for warmth. Nasally midwestern accents. Getting the “no ketchup on hot dogs—not even if you’re a kid” rant. “Corner,” and “Behind, behind,” two of the most common phrases in any restaurant, only behind “Shit!” and “Fuck!” Burns and cuts. So, so many burns and cuts.
But I have a bone to pick—no pun intended—with The Bear. The show feels so realistic that one tiny failure has lingered in my brain. We have got to 86 (restaurant terminology for nix, get rid of, gone and long forgotten) those terrible family nicknames.