The Bear recap: What's your legacy?

[Editor’s note: The recap of episode eight publishes July 8. This recap contains spoilers.]

Even the most legendary TV shows have fallen prey to the dreaded midseason slump—and it turns out that even a series as well-crafted as The Bear isn’t immune. Maybe it’s because season three lacks the propulsive drive of the previous chapter, when everyone was working toward a common goal on a tight deadline. But now that The Bear is up and running, the fire under the gang’s collective ass has dwindled to a low simmer. Which leads us to the disjointed, meandering “Legacy,” an episode that’s as low-energy as its characters feel.

Carmy is once again daydreaming about the good ol’ days with Claire (without actually reaching out to her); Sydney continues to be fed up with her creative partner’s inability to, y’know, partner with her creatively; and Richie’s dogged positivity has gone dark in the shadow of Ever’s imminent shutdown—not to mention Tiff and Frank’s upcoming nuptials.

Meanwhile, actual expectant mom Natalie continues to play the role of surrogate mom to every adult at The Bear. She’s there when Richie needs a pep talk, or when someone needs to bug Syd about signing the damn partnership agreement already (more on that later). But most of all, everyone is clamoring for her to restock the damn C-folds. For those who’ve never done food-service inventory, this is industry jargon for those pre-folded paper towels you find in every public restroom—and, apparently, every professional kitchen—in America.

Nat’s imminent delivery date is one of several plot threads still dangling this deep in the season. There’s also the elusive restaurant review from The Tribune, Carm and Richie’s ongoing cold war, the “funeral” for Ever, and the question of when Donna will make a much-teased comeback in her children’s lives.

“Legacy” resolves the most pressing plot point, at least. The moment Nat insists on making the trip to Restaurant Depot solo, it’s all but inevitable that her water is gonna break before the half hour is out. When Nat starts balancing giant boxes of C-folds on her baby bump so she can cram them into the trunk of her car, we know that kid’s coming.

Elsewhere in cardboard, Sydney is now every bit as fed up as Carmy with the staff’s blithe flouting of the “break down all empty boxes” rule. Afternoon finds her having a breakdown of her own whilst knee-deep in the recycling dumpster. (You can tell Ayo Edebiri had a Bottoms-style blast with this particular bit of slapstick.)

You know where Syd wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of crap? Adam Shapiro’s upcoming restaurant. Before heading into work, she meets Ever’s erstwhile chef de cuisine for lunch at the Doma Café, where he floats the offer of a lifetime: He’s got the financial backing to open a spot of his own, and he wants Syd to be his CDC. When she asks about the vibe he’s aiming for, he tells her, “Whatever you want it to be.”

The $80K starting salary is a little low, but I bet it’s a hell of a lot more than she’s making at The Bear. Adam says he wants to start with a clean slate—he’s not interested in carrying on Ever’s legacy. That’s fair; but considering how special Chef Terry’s restaurant was for so many people, his philosophy feels a little myopic.

While searching for inspiration in another of Carm’s journals (I would, too—they’re true works of art), Marcus stumbles on a photo of a group of chefs, captured in a moment that’s half pose, half spontaneous laughter. Among them are three legends: Nobu Matsuhisa, Daniel Boulud, and Thomas Keller. It’s the kind of shot that makes you wish you’d been there; you can practically see the golden thread connecting these guys to each other.

Carmy says he cut the shot out of a magazine, though we know he’s staged under Boulud and Keller. He explains that for him, the shot is all about legacy: chefs mentoring and collaborating with other chefs, sharing recipes with each other, fostering ethos and aesthetics that carry over from restaurant to restaurant. Colleagues come and go, but they always leave you with something; then you, in turn, bring a piece of that something to the next person you work with.

Syd interrupts at this point in the conversation, because she just heard Carmy say the same word that Adam did an hour ago. (So crazy! It’s almost like they’re characters in the same TV episode.) When Marcus asks Carm what he wants his legacy to be, he offers an answer that only a child of the Berzattos could: “Panicless. Anxiety-free. I think in order to do that, I would have to be square with everything and everybody.” Like every goal this man sets for himself, it’s completely unreachable.

Marcus’ answer is further proof that he’s the best egg in the bunch: He wants to be remembered as someone who was positive, hardworking, honest, and a good listener—and also, “fun to be around and an excellent emergency contact.” The discussion leaves Sydney with something to chew on: Is it better to, like Adam, start off with a clean slate, or to, like Carmy, plant your life’s work in the soil of those who came before you?

Legacy is a beautiful idea—but in practice, being too obsessed with legacy can be a trap. Syd witnesses this firsthand when, yet again, Carm sets the whole menu without her input. His single-minded quest for perfection is fueled by all the ghosts inside his head, both living and dead: his abusive ex-boss, his abusive mom, his abuser brother.

So maybe it would be better to throw out all those ethereal notebooks and start with a clean, white page. This deep in the Carmy labyrinth, it may be the only way for Syd to start building a legacy of her own.

Stray observations

• This episode gives us a glimpse into Richie’s notebook, too, which is as disorganized and sloppy as Carmy’s is immaculate. The sole illustration inside? A crude doodle of a blobby head with a curly mop of hair announcing, “I’M CARMY CHEF! LOVE ME!” Find those healthy outlets for your anger wherever you can, Rich.
• Carm goes to an Al-Anon meeting for the first time this season, where he listens to a woman give a speech that he could definitely stand to hear: “It seems easy to apologize. It’s just a couple of words sitting in the back of your throat, and you just gotta get them out. But if you don’t let them out fast, those words go deeper and deeper into you until you can’t find them.”
• We need to talk about The Bear’s Fak problem, because it’s only getting worse. Throughout the episode, Christopher Storer splices in the brothers’ banter about getting “haunted,” a practice we’ve already heard way too much about. They also get a visit from their Uncle Gary (Bill Reilly) that, while funny, feels like a complete non sequitur. But the main issue here is that the episode comes to a standstill every time Neil and Ted hog the spotlight.
• When Nat turns on her car, an audiobook narrator is discussing the five personality types displayed by the children of alcoholics: the Enabler, the Hero, the Scapegoat, the Mascot, and the Lost Child. Natalie—a classic Enabler—recites the words in unison with the recording before shutting off the stereo. As for the other Berzatto kids, it’s a safe bet that Mikey’s the Mascot and Carmy’s the Lost Child.
• Dear employees of Restaurant Depot: Did none of you think it might be a good idea to help the severely pregnant lady with her giant boxes of paper towels?
• At least one thing is going very right at The Bear: the sandwich window. The partners have finally brought Original Beef OGs Chi-Chi (Chris Zucchero) and Chuckie (Paulie James) on to help Ebraheim—and to the sick licks of the Beastie Boys’ “Fight for Your Right,” the trio falls into an effortless rhythm. Chi-Chi reestablishes the system that made The Beef work in the first place; and as he and Chuckie talk shit about customers who dare to order their sandwiches with mayo, Ebra grins from ear to ear.
• Do we think Adam is actually a good dude? Sure, he seems to be competent and smart, and he rightly recognizes Sydney’s talents as a chef and leader. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is all some kind of elaborate scheme to fuck with Carmy.
• How is this the first time I’ve noticed that the Faks family supply company is called “Matter of Fak”? Excellent work, chef.