'The Bear' Recap, Season 3, Episode 3: 'Doors'

Every season, The Bear has at least one episode that sits at a rolling boil the whole time, makes your heart race and your anxiety pop, and leaves you feeling utterly exhausted. This year, that episode is “Doors.”

It opens quietly at Marcus’s mom’s funeral, where he enters with his restaurant family and gives the sob-inducing eulogy. Angela Brooks, Marcus said, never let him be scared and kept things moving. She let him watch Robocop as a kid, and she was a good cook. She loved flowers, too. But more than anything, she was a good listener. “I don’t know what it’s like to be a parent, but I know what it’s like to be a kid,” Marcus says. “Having someone really pay attention to you was really special.” Cue the title card and me curling up into a little ball to wail.

The rest of the episode focuses on The Bear’s first month of service. It starts off well. They’re packed on opening night! Everything seems to be going smoothly … until Sweeps corks a bottle, and that’s when “Doors” becomes a cavalcade of restaurant monotony, of broken plates, misfired Wagyu, and confusing menu changes. Despite being packed every night, the restaurant is losing money. Not that Carmy seems to care; he’s too busy spending $11,268 on “Orwellian” butter. Cicero, naturally, is pissed. (Frankly, if Carmy’s going to splash out on dairy, then he should be charging more than $175 for nine courses. Bump that shit to $200, minimum. Is there even an optional wine pairing?)

It’s not made any better, either, by the fact that Carmy and Richie, representing the back and front of the house, are still at each other’s throats constantly. I’m on Richie’s side here for once, though I think he’s being a dick in the way he’s going about getting Carmy to compromise on his perfectionism to make room for a bit of joy in the workplace. I get what Carm’s doing with the menu changes, but no one says they have to change every night. Are they changing every dish every night, or just some? Could you change one dish one night and another a week later? Do a seasonal clean sweep. But as Natalie points out later, changing the menu constantly is what’s dragging them under, with wasted food costs and tons of waste. The Bear can’t afford to do that yet, no matter how much Carmy would like. (Again, raise the price, especially if you’re already packed every night.)

No one seems to be having any fun at The Bear, from the lined-up faceless runners to the servers who are surprised by the 9:30 turn. There are never enough teaspoons. Pots are always boiling over. Ebra can’t handle the beef window alone. Richie’s just trying to create “an environment that embraces and encourages razzle-dazzle and dream weaving,” and Carmy’s fighting him about whether they should accommodate a mushroom substitution. If Carmy were 20 percent more flexible and Richie was 20 percent less dickish, it feels like the whole kitchen would run a lot smoother.

I’m sure that the sheer repetitiveness of “Doors” was meant to drive tension, but it also reminded me of just how tedious and unpredictable it is to work in a restaurant. You’re doing the same prep, washing the same dishes, mopping the same floor. There’s variety in the front of house and a bit in back thanks to Carmy’s menu changes, but more than anything it’s a grind. You have to do every motion one million times to make it become second nature, and before that, it’s just tedium. But when it becomes mindless, mistakes are made, whether it’s the fork on the floor, the tipped purse, or some misfired agnolotti.

Watching Carm hulk out, shaking and rumbling like a volcano about to explode, it became evident that something will have to give soon. I don’t know if that’s someone getting hurt, Syd walking away, Cicero pulling rank, or Natalie having the baby (well, that’s definitely happening), but right now, nothing good can come out of that kitchen … besides the food.

• Just how thick is this glass wall between the kitchen and the dining? Because with the screaming and the doors flying open and closed, I’d be absolutely shocked if the patrons couldn’t hear it, especially at the table right up on the wall. I suppose this is a case where some disbelief will have to be extended, but good lord. It’s like being in the Wiener’s Circle in there.

• Richie kills Carmy with the zingers always. The one I loved in this episode was, “You’re not fully integrated. Don’t talk to me until you’re integrated, jagoff.”

• I know that yelling “Opa” is because of the quasi-lost art of smashing plates in Greek culture but I’d love to know when it really took off in restaurant world. The immediate “Opa!” that came up when Richie dropped that plate was positively Pavlovian.

• I need to know everything about “Tuesday surprise,” which Natalies says is “actually really fun” and somehow also involves Super Soakers.

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