Posh fish and chips in Ancoats? What The Bear UK might look like

I was halfway through a bag of Scampi Fries, fingers powder-coated in salt, paprika and MSG, when my mate asked a question that stopped me in my tracks. 

“What would The Bear look like if it were set in the UK?”

It doesn’t sound like a particularly life-changing question; it isn’t one. It’s certainly not as difficult to answer as: “Would you rather have hiccups for the rest of your life or constantly feel like you have to sneeze?” But it made me think. As someone passionate about restaurants, food and good television, I’m not ashamed to admit I love The Bear. I love it so much, I’m in the sad camp of people who googled where all of the white T-shirts Jeremy Allen White wears in the show are sourced from. Unfortunately, I’m also in the camp of people who can’t afford to drop £70 on a white T-shirt. 

Although season three was a bit of a dud, I’m excited to see where the new season takes us when it returns to Disney+ on 26 June. One of the strengths of The Bear is its tight control of character. From Tina and Sydney to Richie and Carmy, every brigade member is a fleshed-out, 3D person with their own interests and motivations. It’s more than just a show about shouting “hands!”, julienning carrots and PTSD. Forgive me for using a well-worn cliché here, but one of the most important characters in The Bear is, in fact, the city of Chicago. The show reeks of the Windy City. The Chicago Bears. The Blackhawks. The Bean. Hot dogs in poppy seed buns with dill pickle spears. It’s a grungy love letter to the city and a breath of fresh air compared to the glut of American shows set in New York and Los Angeles. 

If I were setting The Bear in the UK, I’d use Manchester in its place. Like Chicago, it’s a city with a strong industrial history. A firm sense of identity. An attitude. It’s the ‘Second City’ with a chip on its shoulder, and the people who live there are immensely (and rightfully) proud of where they’re from. Just like how the music of Chicago adds texture to The Bear – Chicagoans Eddie Vedder, Wilco, Mavis Staples and Smashing Pumpkins all appear on the soundtrack – my British pub-fantasy version would be soaked through with Manchester’s finest, like Joy Division and The Stone Roses.

A few of the characters would need different names. Carmen would become Callum, for instance – the "Cal" to his "Carmy"; Sydney would become Safiya, a driven chef from Rusholme; Richie can stay as he is, based purely on the rationale that I've met heaps of British blokes called Richard; and then someone like Neil Fak would become Neil “Fackin’ 'Ell” Faulkner. He'd still be the size of the fridges he fixes. 

We’d open up to a shot of Cal cooking up a storm in an empty kitchen as Blue Monday by New Order blares over the speakers. Taking over an Italian beef sandwich shop wouldn’t make much sense over here. I’d have Cal take over the family chippie – a spit and sawdust dinosaur in danger of becoming extinct as a new generation of yuppies has moved on from beef fat-fried chips to small plates and natural wine. You’d still get the same push-and-pull dynamic with Richie wanting to retain the original ethos of the business, serving your standard newspaper-wrapped haddock-style fare, and you’d get the financial tension of trying to lure in the Stone Island clientele without alienating the loyal high-vis crowd. Imagine the look on Manc Richie’s face when Cal tries to introduce an upmarket pasty barm, a rag pudding-inspired risotto or his take on a deconstructed saveloy and chips.

You couldn’t call the restaurant The Bear. Again: too Chicago coded. Their glossy take on a chip shop would be called something like Produce Exchange or Strangeways Café. Rather than being tortured by a tweezer-obsessed Eleven Madison Park-type played by Joel McHale, Cal would have worked under one of those red-faced TV chefs who, after getting awarded a spate of Michelin stars and an even larger spate of bullying accusations in their heyday, decided to cash out and open up a fast-casual restaurant chain. You’d need someone capable of being both mum-friendly and terrifying in the role, like Eddie Marsan. 

Poor Cal can’t watch Saturday Kitchen for fear of seeing his tormentor gurning on screen with a sponsored non-stick pan while he makes the perfect scramble. He can’t even walk through the cookbook aisle of big Tesco without seeing his gargoyle face leering at him on a keto cookbook nestled next to lovely, lovely Nadiya Hussain. 

Safiya, of course, would be spending her time trying (and failing) not to get caught up in Cal’s toxic approach to work. One of my favourite scenes in The Bear is in episode three of season two when Sydney goes on a food tour of Chicago, eating meals at several iconic Chicago restaurants like Pizza Lobo, Margie's Candies, Lao Peng You, Kasama and Avec, among others. If r kid was eating her way around Manchester in the name of research, then I’d have her hit up hot spots like Winsome, Erst and Higher Ground and icons such as This & That, Pho Cue and Mei Dim. Maybe she’d even make the pilgrimage to Sam Buckley’s Where The Light Gets In to do a spot of foraging. That feels apt. 

The ingredients would be different. They’d use rocket instead of arugula in their salads. They’d blitz up wild garlic, not ramps, into a Wimbledon-green pasta sauce. Eggplant and zucchini wouldn’t get a look-in on the family meal ratatouille, but aubergines and courgettes would. Despite all the differences, though, one thing that would remain the same is the heart and camaraderie which make up the gooey molten core of the show. 

Working in a kitchen is a uniquely intense environment where tempers can fray and vats of piping hot marinara can get kicked over in fits of rage – but it’s also a real labour of love. Yes, there’s interpersonal conflict and drama, but that’s what happens with families. And a brigade is the closest thing to a family you’re going to get from a workplace. Tensions run high because everyone cares so much. Because even if you’re in deep the weeds, you’re all wading through them together. So no matter whether you’re shaking pans at The Bear in Chicago or cleaning pots at the Produce Exchange in Ancoats, getting palmed £50 at the end of your shift, you’ll never be in danger of being alone. Part of the ship, part of the crew. Maybe we’re not so different from the Chicagoans, after all.