I yearn to love anything or anyone with the same fervor that The Bear exhibits for Chicago. This affection feels both immense and practical, a blend of exuberance and realism.

This weekend, I encountered a dog and instantly thought, “I’d take a bullet for you,” so perhaps I’m making progress.

The Bear, crafted by Christopher Storer, serves as a heartfelt tribute to Chicago, artfully presented as a serialized drama available on FX and Hulu. It transcends the typical television experience, resembling a heartfelt mixtape created for someone so cherished that you would go to great lengths for them, even if you struggle to articulate those feelings.

Why did it take me so long to engage with a show that received acclaim a year ago? Sometimes, I procrastinate because I know I will become completely engrossed and unable to think of anything else for days.

That might not be healthy, but self-awareness is key, and sometimes there are Midsommar-themed birthday celebrations and costumed dogs to engage with. I participated in those activities this weekend, yet I also found myself immersed in The Bear. (In its way, Midsommar also explores the consequences of a young man trapped in the bear.)

This is not an essay celebrating the most uplifting romantic comedy of the summer of '19; it’s about The Bear and its connection to Chicago.

Chicago is a challenging city. It can be cold and harsh, even amidst its friendliness and warmth. People tend to shed their clothes at the first hint of warmth, which can be startling for newcomers.

Though I’ve only visited Chicago casually a few times, something about it has lodged itself in my heart. It’s the stories of the people that resonate, not just the city itself, or perhaps the stories and the city are intertwined.

What is it about Chicago? The Bear stands out as the latest artistic endeavor prompting such contemplation.

America boasts numerous remarkable cities. I reside in New York, which feels like its own universe, and I find it endlessly intriguing. I have a fondness for Philadelphia, thriving on its delightful chaos. And let’s not forget the abundance of attractive individuals there—it's a well-kept secret!

I have friends in Boston and enjoy my time there. If I ever want to watch a film drenched in a grey hue, depicting tragic stories amidst the backdrop of snow and heartache, Boston is my go-to.

Yet, there’s something uniquely compelling about Chicago. Perhaps it takes a particularly biting wind chill to spark creativity.

Is this reflection on a television show or an exploration of a city? Is it merely a Jersey-born person's way to poke fun at the Boston art scene she genuinely appreciates? Is the art of teasing a form of affectionate expression, contributing to the greatness of The Bear? The answer to all these questions is: yes.

On a personal note, or perhaps a professional one, the highest praise I can offer is that it inspired me to write—a task that has grown increasingly difficult since I embraced sobriety. Writing used to flow more easily, even if it was often painful, as I had my escape route through a haze of bourbon. Now, when darkness looms or discomfort arises, I must simply endure until it passes.

Crafting short-form content—essays, articles, humorous pieces for Mystery Science Theater 3000—has remained enjoyable, and I’ve improved in that arena since eliminating alcohol.

However, longer works—books and scripts created in solitude—have become significantly more challenging. Coffee helps, but not sufficiently. I’ve started to seek out inspiration to motivate me, maintaining a list taped above my desk.

Ultimately, The Bear does for me what various artists and experiences have done: it compels me to write. Not just to want to write, which I always do, but to actually do it.

For that reason alone, I would sing its praises far and wide, but that feels selfish—praising something because it propels me towards my desires is not enough to warrant an entire essay advocating for its viewing.

Others have adeptly covered the show’s themes of culinary chaos, addiction, mental health, grief, and complex relationships, so I’ll focus on its ties to Chicago—a city I’ve primarily visited for food, humor, and nightlife.

Years ago, when I moved to Los Angeles for an extended period, I established a rule: if given the choice to befriend someone from Chicago or anywhere else, I’d always choose the Chicagoan. They possess an authenticity that’s hard to find—loud, lively, and enjoyable.

Art originating from Chicago often exclaims “YOU’RE FUCKING WELCOME!” before disappearing into the night, embodying a joy that artists from the city—regardless of background—infuse into their work.

Even the darkest narratives carry a sense of tender love. It may not resonate with everyone, but there’s a feeling of gratitude for witnessing it—“you’re lucky to see this, and you’re fucking welcome.”

For viewers with dysfunctional families or high-pressure jobs, The Bear offers various entry points. Some have told me they can only watch it in small doses due to the tension it incites. I understand. Yet, we continue watching, drawn to the same chaotic energy that defined our childhoods.

This reflects the journey of our main character, Carmen Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), who thrives in a high-stress profession where cuts, burns, and yelling are commonplace.

“It’s addictive,” we say about shows like this and about people who embody that same thrilling, creative chaos that can lead to early graves. We make these choices despite having other options—perhaps because they tap into something we’ve tried to forget. Because they feel familiar, even when they’re not.

Sometimes, it’s simply that we recognize greatness when we see it.

I hail from New Jersey, a place that shares some characteristics with Chicago. We send many of our people into the world to pursue opportunities that may not exist back home until they’ve found success elsewhere. If you return with an air of superiority, both places will keep you grounded, even if loved ones are proud. Mockery is affection; it signifies devotion.

Moreover, both Jersey and Chicago boast superior pizza compared to New York. (Just kidding—deep dish is essentially a bread cake, akin to consuming a thicker woolen coat, perfect for winter warmth.)

Mockery is affection; it’s devotion.

Having spent much of my adult life oscillating between New York and Los Angeles, people often inquire which I prefer. My honest answer is, “Both.”

I have friends from Chicago who have navigated similar bicoastal paths, yet none engage in the city rivalry in my presence. Their answer to “Which is better, New York or LA?” is invariably “Chicago.”

Not all wish to return, just as Carmen, a culinary prodigy from Copenhagen and California, hesitates to go back. Home can evoke painful memories: past friendships, loss, and family strife.

Going home can be daunting. My affection for New Jersey is undeniable, yet I don’t reside there. Some things are better loved from a distance, even though my roots are close by—a mere river away, where Carmen once worked for a ruthless chef who disregarded boundaries.

Can you think of art that evokes your origins, even if it doesn’t mirror your experience? Something so relatable it lingers in your dreams long after?

The pinnacle of artistic representation for New Jersey, aside from everything Bruce Springsteen and Lauryn Hill have created, is The Sopranos. But of course, I would claim that, right? An Italian Catholic girl from Jersey, raised in a town filled with anxiety, finds much to connect with in The Sopranos.

Oddly enough, The Bear resonates with me similarly. Carmen Berzatto isn’t Tony Soprano, and Donna Berzatto (Jamie Lee Curtis, an award frontrunner for her performance in “Fishes”) is not Livia Soprano. Richie Jerimovich (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) isn’t Christopher Moltisanti, and I sincerely hope Tiffany No-Longer-Jerimovich (Gillian Jacobs) doesn’t meet the same fate as Adriana La Cerva.

Sure, there are Italian elements, family dysfunction, and the hallmark of quality television. Yet tonally and stylistically, they are distinct. Star Trek isn’t Star Wars, although I appreciate both franchises.

While The Sopranos could be entertaining, it often delves into misery, revealing little genuine love amidst its tales of sociopathy. In contrast, The Bear can be somber but remains hopeful and profound. So why do these two series feel connected to me?

I realized part of it lies in how they both capture their setting. It’s cliché to echo the sentiment that “the city is the other main character,” but honestly, it is. The city’s beauty and ugliness make it worthy of being featured in long shots or meditative drone footage.

I can’t definitively say the Chicago portrayal in The Bear is accurate, but it feels authentic. The magic of a show like this lies in its ability to create a world that feels intimately familiar.

I’m sure it has its inaccuracies, and there are undoubtedly Cubs fans with opinions, but I’m not among them; I can only share what I feel.

If you gathered every Chicagoan I’ve met at social gatherings and merged them into a vibrant collective, the outcome would be The Bear. It encapsulates the essence of those individuals I’ve encountered and those I haven’t, as well as the stories I’ll never know.

I don’t claim that The Bear, or other Chicago-inspired works like South Side, The Chi, or E.R., represents the entirety of Chicago’s experiences. Each Chicagoan has their unique narrative, and I wouldn’t want to know them all, as I have dogs to meet and adventures to pursue.

Yet, viewing various artistic interpretations can reveal different aspects of a place, and occasionally the perspective is so profound it feels like an honor.

You could extract The Bear from Chicago and place it elsewhere, with the same cast and crew, and it would still shine as a remarkable show. I recognized several names in the credits and thought, “They’re fantastic; it’s no surprise they’re involved in this project”—but it wouldn’t possess the same charm, and my affection for this specific version remains strong.

Watching it all unfold in the comfort of my apartment—my home for the past two years—felt meaningful. I have lived longer in this space than anywhere else in my adult life, as geographic changes aren’t the solution; however, my mortgage certainly is.

In my way, I’m still searching for a sense of home. This show is grounded not in tragedy but in a universal hope.

It’s a series that instills the belief that wonderful things are achievable and that perhaps you can love something or someone as deeply as The Bear loves Chicago.

Can you envision that? Maybe you already possess that profound, complex love, a bond that’s both flawed and pure, without reservations. If so, I genuinely rejoice for you. I’m merely a stranger, yet I share in your happiness—much like the joy I felt when, at various gatherings, I would ask a Chicago native when they planned to return home and witness that bright smile as they replied, “Soon.”

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