I have experienced I went to culinary school and worked in professional kitchens, so I know all too well about attention to detail. bear I quibble with some unrealistic details (Kermy's complete disregard for food costs tops my list), but the show gets a lot of things absolutely right: the slim profit margins that baffle restaurant owner Jimmy, the deep anxiety and shining satisfaction on Tina's face as she strives to become a good fine-dining chef, and especially the deeply ingrained culture, taken directly from late 19th century European military structures, that cooks like young Carmy are lumps of coal, meant to be turned into diamonds by the chefs through fear, intimidation and humiliation.
It's a well-worn trope, with a tyrannical chef yelling his junior cooks into submission and war stories being traded for laughs, just like in Anthony Bourdain's classic. Kitchen ConfidentialThis book opens the whole system up to the general public, if they so choose. About his time as a culinary school student, Bourdain writes:
“The ultimate horror, a man who fits every image of a real chef, ruling his kitchen like President-for-life Idi Amin, a terrifying dictator, a Frenchman with an iron fist – that's Chef Bernard….'You are the worst chef!' he roared. 'I make two of you in my toilet every morning!…. How grotesque! Disgusting! You… should kill yourself in shame!”
Superstar chef Eric Ripert wrote in his memoir: 32 egg yolkshas a similar story, but speaks candidly about the fear he felt while working for chef Joël Robuchon.
“He was the first truly terrifying boss I've ever had. After a month, I was absolutely terrified. Even though I could convince myself to let go of the emotional part of the fear, just trying to keep up with the pace just kept me stuck.”
I once fell in love with a chef who had the following background: bearChef Carmy Belzatto (Jeremy Allen White), a sensitive, artistic working-class man. It was performed He learned the basics of high-level cooking by working for free in a well-regarded restaurant, with his boss telling him every day that he was a useless piece of garbage. After a few months, he was happy to be given a mean nickname, because it meant that he was now part of the same team as the other guys with mean nicknames. After he was fully trained, his boss sent him to Daniel, Daniel Boulud's flagship restaurant in Manhattan, the first stop on Carmy's New York restaurant tour. There, he spent the next two years working 14-hour days, earning very little, sleeping on his relatives' couches, and wondering if it was normal to have a panic attack every morning. He knew it all sucked, but he also knew how lucky he was to work in an important kitchen, learn a lot, and be the best at what he loved.
“Some of my mentors have said and done terrible things, and I have mixed feelings about them,” he once told me, “because I love what they taught me.”
I felt the same way. On one of our rare evenings together, while I was making dinner, he noticed me pouring chicken stock into a stainless steel measuring cup.
“What are you doing?” he yelled at me.I never have “Measure liquids with a dry measuring cup.”
“I'm not one of your freaking cooks,” I yelled back.
“It doesn't matter. Use the right tool for the job.”
No matter how angry or defensive I was, his harsh delivery made the lesson stick. Our romance is long over, but now I remember his scolding voice in my head when I measure liquids and work with the right utensils. Similarly, when I dress a salad, I apply it very lightly. I always think of another chef, my actual boss, who, during a hectic moment of dinner service, would make eye contact with me as he tossed a messily plated plate in the trash and bellowed, “Too much oil!”
In both cases, the chef was right, I was wrong, I felt embarrassed, and I did better next time, and the time after. The medium (intimidation, fear, humiliation) became the message (do it right), and it worked.
In flashbacks, we learn that Carmie was mentored by the best chefs around: Boulud, René Redzepi, Thomas Keller, and the fictional Andrea Terry (Olivia Colman), all of whom are portrayed as strict but kind and generous. But it was his personal demon, fictional chef David Fields, played as a ruthless sadist by Joel McHale, who struck Carmie most deeply. Flashbacks show Fields quietly and mercilessly tormenting Carmie for minor or nonexistent faults, whispering that he was slow, worthless, untalented, and would be better off dead.
Years later, at an industry event depicted in the season three finale, Carmy says of Fields, “He's the worst, one of the best chefs in the world… a total asshole, son of a bitch, a bastard. Probably made me pretty ill.” He gets some momentary satisfaction by directly calling the chef a “son of a bitch,” to which Fields responds, “You're welcome. You were a so-so chef when you started with me, and a great chef when you left, so you're welcome.”
When Carmie accuses Fields of giving her “stomach ulcers, panic attacks, and nightmares,” Fields retorts, “I gave you confidence, leadership, and competence. And it worked really well.”
Seconds after the confrontation, Carmy is leaning alone against the wall, his face ablaze with expressions of disbelief, horror, despair, relief, amusement, and we are left wondering: was the abuse worth it to become the chef he is today?
Long shots of shelves reveal Carmy to be an avid book collector, and watching him insist on “vibrant collaboration,” as vibrant and collaborative as a cement block, makes you wish someone in his life would replace his books. Larousse Gastronomique Jennifer Romolini's Ambitious MonsterIt's a heartbreakingly honest memoir that marries Romolini's tumultuous childhood with hard-won insights into the relentless workaholism of the media and tech industries, the debilitating burnout that results, and the emptiness of perfection at the expense of satisfaction. In a chapter about overwork, Romolini writes, “…people who tend to overwork often grow up in chaotic homes. As adults, an excessive focus on work gives them a sense of control in their lives and disconnects them from painful memories and grief,” a line that reads like a lift from Carmy's official character description. Having finished her book and binge-watching season three, I asked Romolini if she saw any of herself in him.
“I worked in restaurants for 10 years,” Romolini says, “and when you have a traumatic childhood, you're vulnerable to these kinds of people. [chef David Fields]”We crave approval and try so hard to be so good that we put ourselves in positions where others will take advantage of us and treat us cruelly. As kids, we're used to that constant adrenaline rush amid chaos. Restaurants recreate that so naturally, it's so familiar that it's almost comforting.”
A chef I once loved agreed. He, too, grew up feeling anxious and insecure about who the adults around him were and weren't, day in and day out. The coping mechanisms he developed as a child ultimately influenced his work ethic in the kitchen. He became a people-pleaser, doing his best under brutal chefs, working as hard as he could to earn praise and fend off abuse.
Was it worth it? I still want to know. Should I do it?
Not at all. A few weeks ago, New York chef Jamal “James” Kent died suddenly of a heart attack. He was 45 years old. As an artistic, restless, trouble-prone teenager, he'd found solace in the kitchen and, like Carmy, honed his haute culinary chops while working for and learning from such heavyweights as David Bouley, Mario Batali, Jean-Georges Vongerichten, and Daniel Humm. He'd helmed two critically acclaimed restaurants, was preparing to launch several more ambitious projects in New York, Los Angeles, and Paris, and was writing a cookbook. He was happily married and the father of two children.
Shortly after his untimely death, I watched a short video interview with Kent in March of this year, in which he laid out a management philosophy that was clearly at odds with the old “hurt people will hurt others” approach. Like Carmie, Kent had “non-negotiable principles,” including “respecting people and treating them well.”
Kent was clearly committed to a new type of kitchen culture, which makes his loss all the more devastating, but one silver lining from his death and the attention it has given is that perhaps many of his colleagues will take the time to listen to what he had to say.
“I try to be a good person. I think being a good person and being kind is a good skill. I tell younger managers, at a high level, you just need to make your employees feel comfortable when they see you walk into the room.”
lastly bearIn the third season of “To be continued,” a title card was left, revealing that Chicago Tribune This review will make or break the restaurant that Carmy has given his all to. To me, the bigger question is whether he can get out of his own way and be the leader who breaks the centuries-old cycle of fear, intimidation and humiliation.
Laurie Woolever is a writer and editor, and her memoir is Care and feeding, It is scheduled to be published by Ecco in spring 2025.
