Tried to make eight dishes from The Bear, it nearly broke me

From the Original Beef’s signature sandwich to the mortadella cannoli and a Boursin omelette, I set out to achieve culinary genius – without Carmy’s training, talent or experience

‘Iwanna cook for people and make them happy and give them the best bacon on Earth.” Wise words from Sydney (Ayo Edebiri), one of the chefs whose passion makes The Bear such a delight to watch. I’m struggling to relate, though. After setting out to make some of the show’s iconic dishes, I’ve lost all hope of making anyone happy with my cooking. I just want to do a passable job without destroying my kitchen.

For those who haven’t seen The Bear, it follows the lauded prodigy Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), an award-winning chef who returns to Chicago to take ownership of his late brother’s ailing sandwich shop. The FX on Hulu show was a surprise hit last year, each episode an elegantly constructed panic attack portraying the mania of Carmy’s kitchen, as he wrestles with trauma, talent and dysfunction. Both seasons come with an exceptional ensemble cast, a banging soundtrack and food that’s always on point.

Recreating said food turns out to be a gargantuan task, even though I have zeroed in on the dishes that seem most appropriate for replicating at home. I have omitted everything where the specifics aren’t quite clear (did anyone catch what was in the bucatini?) or where I would just be Googling recipes for making, say, focaccia. But at least I can replicate the show’s gruelling anxiety.

Unlike The Bear’s, my kitchen is not at constant risk of being shut down. But I’ve got my own stresses. For a start, I lack Carmy’s training, talent and experience; I’m a home cook whose best skill in the kitchen is carefully following instructions – a recipe merchant who’s never been one for presentation or precision. And I’m working in a kitchen so small there’s no point shouting “Behind!” as there’s no room to pass anyway. To ramp up the tension, I’ve invited friends and family over to sample my cooking, all of whom would delight in my failure.

But hey, I’ve got a heavyweight white T-shirt, a blue apron and an internet connection. What more do I need?

The Original Beef of Chicagoland’s braised beef sandwich

The Italian beef sandwich is the obvious place to start, partly because it stars in the first episode, partly because it requires the most advanced prep. Working out how the sandwich is made is easy, as the show’s food consultant Courtney Storer and actor Matty Matheson (who plays Neil Fak) have made a video showing exactly that. There are plenty of other recreations online too, including from the chef Matt Abdoo, who made his version on the Today Show.

What makes the sandwich come together is the “beautiful savoury roast beef” mixed with “this incredible delicious, vinegary vegetable medley,” says Abdoo, when I call him for advice.

The giardiniera, or vegetable medley, is the first thing on my list. Abdoo says there’s a base of carrots, onions, celery and cauliflower to every giardiniera. Then “some fennel, some peppers, whatever you’re looking to pickle, really”. I opt for red peppers and jalapeños. It’s extremely easy to make, but does involve a lot of foresight, leaving the vegetables in salt water overnight, then draining, jarring and pickling them for at least a few days.

For the braised beef, I follow a combination of Storer’s tutorial video, a recipe from the LA Times and Abdoo’s tips. I get a topside joint from my local butcher’s, season it as soon as I get in and wait for the joint to reach room temperature before cooking. I sear it on both sides in a casserole dish before removing it. I then cook garlic, onion and peppers until they’re soft, before adding the beef back in, along with stock, herbs and spices. It goes in the oven for just over an hour (until a meat thermometer reads at least 51C). When it hits that magic number, I take it out, leave it to cool and move it into the fridge where it will spend the night.

Shortly before serving, I take the beef out of the broth and carve it as thinly as possible (five years working on a supermarket meat counter come flooding back). Then I add it back to the broth and reheat.

For the bread, Abdoo recommends a hoagie roll, something that’s “soft and squishy but still strong enough and crusty enough to hold up to the broth”. The bread, he says, “makes or breaks a sandwich every single time”. Regrettably, I have to settle for a supermarket sub roll.

To assemble the sandwich: toast the roll, add plenty of beef, use tongs to dunk each corner of the sandwich into the broth, then top with the giardiniera. I wrap mine in baking paper, partly to keep it together but also because it feels more in the spirit of the Original Beef.

Verdict: The sandwich was delicious. But I’ll definitely spend some time tracking down a higher-quality roll next time – the supermarket sub held its own but deep down I knew it would be so much better with a proper hoagie roll. My sister, one of the dinner guests, agrees: “The sandwich was delicious: the beef was tender and the pickled veg had a nice bite, but I could tell the bread was shop-bought.” It’s a dish that takes planning, but it’s well worth it. I don’t think I’ll waste a beef joint on a roast dinner ever again.

Sydney’s Boursin omelette with sour cream and onion potato chips

The key ingredients in Sydney’s omelette are creamy Boursin cheese and a garnish of crushed sour cream and onion crisps. I make mine with three eggs, cooking them in butter and stirring constantly. When they have nearly set, I dollop a couple of spoonfuls of Boursin into the middle and roll it up. Did it break as I tried to get it out on to the plate? Sure. But the beauty of the Boursin is its cloying glueyness, which allows me to easily conceal my mishap. Served with fresh chives and crushed cheese and onion McCoys, I can see why this easy-on-the-eye, simple-ish French omelette has become a viral star (there had been 85m views of “Boursin cheese omelette” on TikTok at the time of writing).

Verdict: I’m not usually a fan of omelettes and never make them at home. I exclusively eat them in cafes with a side of chips. But this was cheap, quick, forgiving and tasty.

Mikey’s family spaghetti

The sauce for the first season’s climactic spaghetti consists of just three main ingredients: 10 peeled, smashed garlic cloves, basil steeped in oil and 56oz (1.5kg) of canned tomatoes. I gently fry the garlic in a glug of olive oil, then briefly add the basil until it wilts, before removing. I pour in the tomatoes and heat them up, then take it off the heat, let it cool, blend it into a puree and back on to simmer until it’s thickened. It’s a sizeable batch of pasta sauce, so I siphon off more than half to be frozen. I cook the spaghetti in very salty water (and remember to reserve a cup before draining) then dump it in the pasta sauce, adding pasta water in increments until it reaches the right consistency.

Verdict: This recipe bangs. It’s simple, economical and tastes so good. Plus my freezer is now stacked with tubs of good-quality pasta sauce. “A party in your tastebuds,” says my sister. “Hangover-quenching comfort food,” says my boyfriend.

Carmy’s lemon chicken piccata

To make Carmy’s chicken piccata, I broadly follow another of Storer and Matheson’s videos, along with a seemingly faithful recipe I find on the internet. Take a couple of chicken breasts and bash them with a meat tenderiser (or rolling pin, hammer etc) until they’re all even in thickness. Coat them in flour, then fry in a bit of olive oil for a few minutes either side until cooked (timings will depend on how thick they are). Remove the chicken from the pan, then fry smashed garlic, capers and white wine, add stock, and cook until it’s thickened. Add the chicken back in to reheat, then squeeze a lemon over it. You’re meant to serve this with fresh parsley, but by the time I realise I’ve run out it’s too late, so I just chuck a handful of fresh basil over the chicken instead.

Verdict: I really, really liked this and will definitely be folding it into my midweek repertoire, especially given how relatively low effort it was.

Sydney’s cola-braised short rib and risotto

Next on the list is Sydney’s cola-braised short rib served on risotto, which frankly sounds incredible. But by now every hob is occupied and the washing in my sink is piling up. Does Abdoo have any tips for how to avoid spiralling when it all gets a bit much? “Never be afraid to just turn the burner off or move the pot off the stove if you feel like things are getting away from you,” he says.

This is good advice for this dish in particular, which is actually two separate dishes in one. As Abdoo points out: “You don’t have to cook them both at the same time. Take a breath, maybe have a glass of wine and just focus on what you can manage. Break them up into processes.”

The first process is to prepare the short rib, which Abdoo recommends cooking the day before (a wise idea that I do not do). I follow a mix of two recipes: one from Food & Wine and the other from a food blog called Bell’ alimento. Both follow a similar pattern: season the ribs, brown them off in a casserole dish then remove, add the veg and cook until softened, return the ribs, then add the stock, spices, cola and tomato paste, before putting them in the oven for a few hours. Once they’re cooked, remove them from the pan and cook the sauce over the hob until it’s thickened.

For the risotto, Abdoo recommends keeping it simple. “I would keep it a neutral risotto, something that’s basically just parmesan and butter … so the flavours aren’t overpowering that beef.” I fry the onions till soft, add the rice, then some white wine and cook until it’s reduced, then carefully add a ladle of stock at a time. When the rice is cooked, I chuck in butter and parmesan, stir, then plate up, placing a piece of short rib with some of the sauce over a small ladle of risotto.

Verdict: This was a winner. “The short rib was full of flavour and falling apart, which was perfect in combination with the luxuriously rich and sticky risotto,” says my brother-in-law. It was a rich and indulgent treat, and one I’ll definitely make again. No notes, Sydney!

‘The Michael’ cannoli

I figure I should try something from the fine-dining menu, and thankfully the Babish Culinary Universe YouTube channel has already decoded what’s inside this savoury dish – a parmesan cannoli, stuffed with a mortadella mousse and served on a black olive tapenade. The tapenade is simple enough: pulse olives, anchovies, capers, oil and lemon juice in a food processor until you get the desired consistency. The mortadella mousse involves blending chunks of mortadella and milk into a frothy ham milkshake, before folding it into whipped double cream. (Honestly, it’s a bit much.)

To make the parmesan cannoli, you mix parmesan with corn flour, then fill the inside of a cookie-cutter to create a disc. Put it in the oven for six minutes or so, then when it comes out you wrap it around a rolling pin and slide it off. My cannoli had a one-in-three success rate, and I came close to just repurposing the dish as loaded parmesan nachos.

Verdict: My dinner guests were lukewarm at best on the cannoli. “I did like the cannoli,” says my friend Chesca. My sister could “take it or leave it”. I wasn’t a fan. Maybe it just wasn’t to my taste. Maybe I had the image of the mortadella milkshake stuck in my head.

Marcus’s chocolate cake

The cake from season one is the recipe I’m the most nervous about. It was created by the former Michelin-starred pastry chef Sarah Mispagel-Lustbader, while I am not a baker and hate precision. Luckily, Mispagel-Lustbader has written up her recipe for the Food & Wine website.

The cake has three components: the mousse in the middle, the cake layers and the icing. I start with the mousse, as this will benefit from sitting in the fridge overnight. It starts simple enough: melting chocolate in a bowl over boiling water, then heating beaten eggs in a separate bowl over the same pot of water. I use a handheld electric whisk to beat them for a few minutes while slowly adding sugar. I then need to fold all of this – the chocolate, eggs and cream – together, which is a problem as folding is something I’ve never really been able to get the hang of. By the time I’m done there is nothing light and airy about my mousse. I put it in the fridge and try not to think about it.

Next come the layers, which is just more sifting and beating and folding and beating. Sugar, cocoa, flour, eggs. You get the picture. The most interesting addition here is the tub of creme fraiche. Everything goes in the oven, where it stays until you can stab the centre with a toothpick and it comes up clear. When it does, you take it out and let it cool. I have to do this in two batches as I only have two cake tins and this is a three-tier cake, but I suppose this just adds to the experience.

Finally, the icing. After sifting 1.2kg of icing sugar with a tin of cocoa powder, it occurs to me that there’s no way I could possibly need this much – I have enough white powder in my bowl to go full Scarface. Sure enough, I’ve got my cups-to-grams conversions wrong and I only need half. Using my electric whisk, I beat butter into the correct amount of sugar – eventually adding cream and vanilla – until the icing is ready (“You have to beat it until it doesn’t taste grainy,” was my sister’s advice – asking your family for advice is not in the spirit of The Bear at all, but she is a very good baker). The recipe then directs me to put icing into a piping bag. At this stage I wonder if it would be less effort to fly to Chicago and just buy one of the cakes?

I assemble the cake, layering the sponge and mousse on top of each other. Adding the final layer involves some jeopardy – mostly because it becomes quickly apparent how crucial a cake leveller is. After consulting with my sister about the effects of piping v not piping, I choose the path of least resistance and start slathering the cake in icing with speed and aggression. I’m over this cake. Once it’s ready, it needs to be chilled so it can set. My fridge is pathetic, and the only way the cake fits in is if I empty it almost entirely.

Once the cake is suitably chilled, I place it down, step back and marvel at its imperfect, enormous glory. It feels as if I’ve done nothing but make this cake for 36 hours straight; it is the most impressive, most labour-intensive dessert I have ever made. It leans prominently to one side (really should have bought a cake leveller) and the icing is uneven at best (should have learned to pipe), but this just adds to the charm. “Dip a palette knife in warm water and use it to get the smooth ganache finish,” says my mum over WhatsApp after inspecting the picture I proudly send her. It’s a well-meaning suggestion, but I’m very much done.

Verdict: I’ve eaten my fair share of chocolate cake and this one takes the crown. “Fucking fit,” says my friend Will. By some margin, this is the best cake I’ve ever had. I will never make it again.

The chocolate banana

Fresh from the triumph of my chocolate cake, I thought I’d try one more dish – something from the Michelin-star-worthy offering in season two. I settle for the coward’s choice: a simple chocolate banana that was presented to Uncle Jimmy (Oliver Platt) in the season finale as a nostalgic throwback. No need for recipes for this one; it’s a banana covered in chocolate – how hard can it be? I start by melting chocolate in a mixing bowl over a saucepan of boiling water. I try to attach bananas to sticks to dunk into the chocolate, but there isn’t an angle that works, so I just submerge the bananas then shake the bowl a bit. I stab the bananas with the skewers to fish them out and plop them on to a plate, put them in a freezer and wait for them to set. The bananas, which would ideally have been suspended somehow so that the chocolate could cool evenly, come out looking like turds, and no amount of artistic carving improves the situation.

Verdict: Stick to recipes.

Source: The Guardian