'The Bear' offers a recipe for loss but leaves healing off the ingredient list

When it decides to dial up the tension, it does so in an unbearable way (no pun intended). And when it decides to take a break and explore the finer side of restaurant culture, it turns into a totally different creature that is incredibly serene.

The show follows Carmy (Jeremy Allen White), a skilled young chef who decides to return to his home city of Chicago after his brother's death.

Carmy, who just wrapped up a stint managing a prestigious Michelin-starred restaurant in New York, is faced with the challenge of running the chaotic sandwich shop his older brother Mikey left behind after committing suicide due to his addiction.

Under showrunner Christopher Storer, the series stars White, Ayo Edebiri, Ebon Moss-Bachrach and Abbi Elliott. Notable guest stars also include John Bernthal, Jamie Lee Curtis, and Oliver Platt.

Both seasons of the Hulu-created series are currently available on Disney+.

On a low flame

The Bear gradually unravels the intricate character of Carmy; information about him isn't doled out generously or all at once. (Flashback scenes are quite rare and can be counted on one hand.) Instead, what we learn comes through several characters' conversations about him, his past and his culinary skills.

As for Carmy, he barely talks about himself. At first, we encounter him as a restless man, as troubled as the restaurant he's trying to run.

Problems surround him from every angle, and his decision to escape this hellish situation in the first place becomes more and more understandable to viewers.

In New York, Carmy was under constant pressure due to a demanding work environment, but he still managed, to an extent, to earn the respect he deserved. Everyone who worked under him obeyed his orders without question, and standards were non-negotiable.

In Chicago, on the other hand, he struggles to be taken seriously. Staff members mock the standards he brings with him and his instructions are ignored.

When he nearly burns down the restaurant by accident, it seems more like an inevitability than a shock – a reflection of everything metaphorically turning into ashes around him.

Carmy's arrival in Chicago doesn't seem like the beginning of a new story but like the final chapter of an existing one.

The gradual exploration of his character gives the impression that all of the important and crucial events have already taken place, and we are witnessing the conclusion.

We haven't seen Carmy training to earn the exceptional opportunities he had at New York's finest spots, and we don't understand the reason for his constant anxiety, except on a superficial level.

His stoic facial expressions hide more than they reveal. In many ways, he feels like the finished version of himself at the end of a long and winding road.

A dash of anxiety (to taste)

The series does an excellent job of capturing the "back of house" anxiety – one that most customers will never be privy to.

Fast-paced editing and constant transitions between shots reinforce the frenetic feeling, which seems deeply rooted in the characters themselves. In the first season, no screentime is wasted on beautiful food shots; instead, we live in a constant state of panic as we follow the restaurant crew trying to keep the ship from sinking.

However, in the second season, when the storm has calmed down, the series finds an opportunity to present the artistic and aesthetic side of the kitchen across several episodes. Other characters are given the opportunity to discover their creative voices through cooking, too.

For example, Syd (Edebiri) takes us on a journey through "real" restaurants, where she explores various cuisines to find inspiration, culminating in an episode that feels like a love letter to Chicago as a city.

In another episode, Marcus (L-Boy) embarks on a trip to Copenhagen to invent three new dessert items. In an environment far removed from the chaos of The Bear, we see a different side of restaurant work that's full of calm, patience, and dedicated learning.

There is courage in the narrative decisions made in the second season, too.

Its beginning hinted at a season full of tension. However, the creators of the series chose to bet on the importance of pausing. They allowed the episodes to breathe and captured moments of peace wherever they were found, which helped viewers get to the heart of the show's characters.

In addition to Syd and Marcus, Richie (Moss-Bachrach) had one of the best episodes of the series, which witnessed a remarkable change of pace.

Best served unfinished

At first, the series presents itself as an anxiety-ridden expose about managing a run-down restaurant.

But after two seasons, that anxiety proves to be a side effect of a deadlier condition, which is grief and self-rediscovery.

Each character deals with their own kind of loss.

Syd deals with the loss of her mother as a child and the resulting shakiness in her relationship with her father, on top of her attempts to justify her career choices.

Meanwhile, Richie, a wandering man in his mid-40s, struggles with a loss of passion and purpose. The world changes around him at a dizzying pace, and he feels constrained, like his actions and words are being controlled. He senses that everyone is conspiring to create this new reality without his knowledge.

Carmy, in the meantime, is stuck in a different kind of hell.

In a monologue from episode eight of season one, he talks about his relationship with brother Mikey and how they developed a strong emotional bond through food.

White gave an excellent performance that practically transformed him from a weary man into the younger brother he once was, eyes shining like a child while describing Mikey's absolute confidence and immense charisma, believing he had all the solutions to the world's problems.

(White won his first Golden Globe for his performance, as well as earning his first Emmy nomination.)

It's through this scene that we discover the extent of Carmy's anguish over the idea of losing his brother. On the one hand, he sees that the only salvation for him is to save this doomed restaurant because they had once vowed to open a restaurant together.

On the other hand, Carmy completely blames himself for his brother's suicide because if he hadn't been so preoccupied with his job, he would have known about his addiction and could have saved him from his demons.

Poetically, it feels like the salvation Carmy seeks lies in digging himself deeper and deeper into this hellhole.

The series refuses to embrace the cliché of "time heals all wounds". Instead, it deals with the theme of death and loss in a more realistic way. It conveys the message that time facilitates acceptance and living with these wounds, rather than healing from them.

So far, Carmy's journey seems far from over. He still doesn't trust the momentary happiness he occasionally feels and has a hard time accepting any form of praise.

Inside, he struggles with the thought of his brother's suicide. He doesn't find himself funny, he doesn't possess an attractive youthful charm, and he doesn't bother looking for solutions to these feelings because all the solutions disappeared the moment he lost his brother.

Carmy's wounds are far from sewn shut at the end of the second season, and they likely won't be healed by the end of his story, either.