Montreal chefs dish on The Bear: Are kitchen conflicts finally a thing of the past?

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The chefs at some of Montreal’s top restaurants have seen the latest culinary TV show gripping our screens — that pressure-cooker comedy-drama called The Bear — but when they watched it, something felt unsettling.

The show, which drew around 5.4 million viewers in the first four days of its third season’s release, follows a young chef named Carmen as he turns around his late brother’s restaurant. But its raw, unfiltered and intense restaurant scenes hit all too close to home for these top chefs.

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“It’s triggering,” said Janice Tiefenbach, head chef at restaurants Elena and Gia Vin & Grill. “Swallowing you up with feelings of stress and anxiety because you take the job so seriously.”

“It’s the urgency you feel is very much present all the time,” explained Jessica Noël, co-head chef at Mon Lapin alongside Marc-Olivier Frappier.

For Joe Beef executive chef Jean-Philippe (JP) Miron, the show depicts restaurant stress so accurately he can’t bear to watch it after a shift.

Joe Beef was catapulted onto the global food map by the late Anthony Bourdain, who featured its founders, David McMillan and Frédéric Morin, in a special Quebec episode of his CNN show.

But Joe Beef also has a history of conflict in its kitchen. Nearly three years ago, McMillan left the restaurant following a clash with its former head chef. At the time, McMillan remarked: “I came up in restaurants where you still got punched, where screaming in the kitchen was absolutely fine.”

For decades, the veneration of male rock-star chefs — and the machismo-fuelled kitchen culture that comes with it — has risen like house prices. Figures like Gordon Ramsay, whose tirades have become a sort of cultural amuse-bouche for TV audiences, have propelled this ruthless, win-at-all-costs image, often leaving a trail of workplace toxicity behind.

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But Joe Beef’s top chef and rivals at Mon Lapin and Gia say relentless conflicts in the kitchen are becoming a thing of the past. Out are yelling and fighting. In is a more collaborative, respectful culture — or at least that’s the goal.

“We have a zero-tolerance policy,” said Joe Beef general manager James Graham-Simpkins, speaking on physical confrontations between staff. “Zero.”

The COVID-19 pandemic’s aftermath, oddly enough, also helped bring about a cultural reset.

Graham-Simpkins explained the Joe Beef group, which includes four Montreal restaurants, lost around 95 per cent of its 100-plus staff over the course of the pandemic. This upheaval prompted a more thoughtful approach to the work environment.

Miron also emphasized the importance of positive mentorship, rather than the yelling and bullying showcased in The Bear.

“It’s not only just about you,” reflected Miron, who looks a bit like a Québécois Viking, with a nose ring and a bushy beard. “It’s about having people who are actually eager to work and come in, and not going like, ‘Oh, I really hope chef isn’t in a bad mood today.’”

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These days, Montreal’s culinary crown may well rest on a different head than Joe Beef’s. As a matter of fact, wine bar Mon Lapin, in Little Italy, was celebrated this year as the best restaurant in the country by Canada’s 100 Best guide.

The restaurant’s two chefs, Frappier and Noël, say The Bear reminds them of stories they’ve heard, but they are trying to leave that chaos behind.

Frappier, who exudes an assured cheerfulness that probably earns him an extra sausage or two from his butcher, was formerly at Joe Beef and co-founded its wine-bar offshoot, Vin Papillon.

Noël’s journey to picking up the knife was more unconventional. She studied marketing and initially worked in fashion. Her career has since seen her in the kitchens of many top restaurants, including Vin Papillon. She retains a down-to-earth demeanour that makes that macho kitchen culture seem a bit silly.

The duo explained how they have fostered collaboration and dialled down the intensity in their kitchen by cross-training staff in different roles. This approach has softened the rigid hierarchy of the traditional French brigade system, the organizational structure depicted in The Bear that most restaurants follow.

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One prize, however, has remained out of reach for Quebec’s top restaurants: Michelin stars.

In The Bear, the Michelin star is the elusive holy grail. Sydney, the fervent co-protagonist, is hell-bent on earning this accolade. In the first episode of Season 2, she and the brooding Carmen sit down with their financier to announce their audacious plan: snagging a star within 18 months of launching their new venture.

“I don’t like people doing things just to get Michelin stars. I think that becomes inauthentic,” Frappier said. “People have figured out a formula on how to do it, and that kind of turns me off.”

Noël added: “I find it crazy to put effort into that instead of just making sure your guests are having the best time and the best food.”

Across town at Italian restaurant Gia Vin & Grill, Tiefenbach has a special term for the offerings of Michelin-obsessed restaurants.

“We call it tweezer food here.”

“There’s actually a lot about that system that’s kind of broken,” she explained.

“I don’t think it rewards the actual experience that is special about eating in a restaurant. I find it very disconnected. Like at Noma, for example, which has been at the top of the list forever, it is supported by an army of people working for free. That, to me, is insane.”

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Tiefenbach, with her warm conversation and infectious laugh, is also head chef at Elena, but now spends most of her time at Gia.

Before joining Elena, the popular pizzeria in St-Henri, she struggled to see herself as a chef, believing the role demanded ego and single-mindedness. With few female role models, she doubted she fit the mould. But at Elena, she realized the job didn’t have to involve anger and shame.

When they opened Elena, she said, many incoming staff were exhausted by the industry’s demands and grappling with addiction, so management sought to implement a better work-life balance.

“I think we’re all better for it,” Tiefenbach said. “We used to see staff in the industry leaving because they were burnt out, but now they leave because they’re going to open their own business or do something really cool.”

Tiefenbach’s new venture, Gia, opened in late 2021 and has already faced the unprecedented challenge of the pandemic and extensive renovations — something The Bear hammers home, she said.

The restaurant, which from the outside has the drab facade of a Soviet safe house, sits opposite a Home Depot and alongside desolate industrial structures on Lenoir St. in St-Henri. The location was chosen for its lower rent, but they still had to construct the interior from scratch. Break-ins were initially common, and they faced numerous plumbing and gas issues.

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“You just have to deal with it as it happens,” Tiefenbach said.

“We even had some squirrels living inside the ventilation system at one point at Elena,” she laughed.

In the show, scenes like discovering mould or nervously awaiting a decision from the safety inspector resonate all too well for these restaurateurs.

“The fryer is broken. The gas doesn’t work. There’s a plumbing issue. Two of your staff haven’t shown up. You haven’t slept,” recounted Graham-Simpkins. “And you’ve got to open.”

Miron sees The Bear as a coming-of-age story, dealing with all of these mishaps and learning lessons “in the most harsh and fast way possible.”

“It’s brutal to watch,” he said. “But the only way past that is to develop the skills of self-awareness and empathy.”

Meanwhile, chefs Frappier and Noël are in the process of opening a new restaurant and find the paperwork and permits — just as portrayed in the show — a constant battle.

Minus the chaotic conflicts, Frappier sees The Bear as the most accurate culinary-related TV show yet, and thinks the conversations it sparks are positive for the industry.

Today, Frappier remains confident Montreal’s food scene is one of the best in North America.

“I have people eating at our bar. They’re here for three days, going to a food festival, visiting Wilensky’s and trying the bagels,” he said.

“I ask them: ‘What about Mont Royal? Or the music scene?’ ‘Oh, no, we’re just here to eat,’ they respond.

“We’ve had a great reputation for a long time, but the behind-the-scenes culture wasn’t always the best,” he reflected. “Now, it’s changing rapidly. I feel like we’re in a good place.”

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