Fever Dream Dinner: A Yelp Review of The Bear

Jodi W, Elite 24

There are certain fine-dining establishments you walk into where you just know: The weight is off my shoulders. For the next three hours and nine courses, I can sit back, relax, and experience a culinary adventure, a marvel of modern hospitality …

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The Bear in River North is not that fine-dining establishment. Oh, there are marvels, to be sure: the food, for one, which we will get to; plus, a menu that changes daily; a fresh flower budget to rival that of a Kardashian’s home; and the palpable scent of generational trauma that the aforementioned flowers can’t quite drown out (and, dare I say, the occasional whiff of cig smoke as well?). No, effortless is not the vibe at The Bear. It’s more like … a rock concert where everyone in the band is really mad at one another, but also really loyal to one another; they’re all experiencing some invisible, looming force that’s getting closer and closer; and the encore song/dessert course just might kill them. Yes, The Bear is the Rumours Tour of fine dining! (If you liked that timely joke, feel free to give this review an upvote and follow my food Instagram, @YouCantSpellMichelinWithoutChicago.)

As a local Yelp Elite Squad member for more than eight years, I’ve dined at Ever, Alinea, Oriole, and less starred but just as fine restaurants many times over. I thought I’d seen it all. But at The Bear, I learned to expect the unexpected. And I’d hate to spoil any of the fireworks for future diners, but let’s just say you might see the executive chef storm out to the alleyway dumpster in the middle of service to go jump on boxes like he’s entering a new level of Super Mario Bros. Even more unexpectedly, the chef de cuisine might follow right behind him to do some dumpster jumping herself. It’s all part of The Bear’s enigmatic charm, but be warned—if you have any kind of anxiety disorder, I might recommend a different restaurant. Or at least an earlier reservation, before tensions have come to a boil and the gorgeous earthenware begins shattering.

Ultimately, I left my meal at The Bear with several questions, chief among them: WHERE’S THE BEEF? Lol, JK. But for those not in the know, The Bear was formerly the location of the iconic Original Beef sandwich shop. I was pleased to discover that sandwich service still operates out of a window in the back, run by a lovely man named Ebraheim, whose general aura of sweetness kind of makes you want to cry (if it weren’t for the fact that he appeared to be Scrooge McDuck–ing a mountain of cash when I ordered my two Italian beefs to go). As for The Bear’s other curiosities and the reason for my four-star review, I’ll break my experience down into four categories:

Service

We passed by The Bear twice before knowing where to enter because it is identifiable only by a brass bear head and not by the actual name of the restaurant. The overall theme must be animals, then, because when we arrived, we were welcomed by a man with glowing blue eyes who told us only, “Greetings, lizards,” before seating us at our two top.

From there, we were checked on often but served food inconsistently, and by several different people. One man in a George Jefferson suit came by and simply poured a pitcher of water directly into the middle of our table. That was either the mid-meal palate cleanser or a stranger who broke into the restaurant, but he simply couldn’t have been nicer about cleaning it up. The Bear is also VERY into birthdays. We saw several birthdays celebrated over the course of our three hours inside, each recognized with a unique twist. Personally, my wife had a cupcake lobbed into her face with a T-shirt cannon before we were able to communicate that we were actually celebrating her retirement. Either way, she loved it. Coconut buttercream!

Those were the positives of The Bear’s unique approach to quirky, personality-driven service; the one negative is that I don’t think this newly assembled staff realizes that the thin piece of glass separating the dining room from the kitchen is not soundproof. If anything, it seems to amplify the staff’s screams. Our entrée courses were mostly scored by the sounds of “LET’S FUCKING GO” and “REFIRE! REFIRE!” with the occasional interlude of R.E.M.’s “Strange Currencies,” which, I must admit, I did enjoy. At the end of our meal, we were unexpectedly taken back to visit the kitchen, and I think it was unexpected on the staff’s end as well, considering that several small fires were simmering in several large trash cans and at least one screaming match was happening near the walk-in. It was terrifying but also a little exhilarating, like the beginning of an apocalypse. I learned several new curse words and saw a photo of Duke University’s Coach K covered in stickers. This is one strange and sassy $200-plus restaurant!

Food

The food was, with only one exception, impeccable. I do prefer my mirepoix to come precooked, but I’m funny that way; the tableside broth service was visually stunning. I’ve heard that the menu changes daily, and while I cannot imagine how that could be profitable for The Bear and any uncles who may have invested in its financial success, it would explain why each dish was so fresh and innovative and also, without fail, incorrectly introduced by our servers. We were served gorgeous cavatelli that turned out to be agnolotti—even better! The pork was actually duck, the brussels sprouts turned out to be cauliflower, and the cherry jus was an apricot gelée—but each course was more delicious and mysterious than the last. Chef Marcus’s creative desserts are not to be missed. This is clearly a man who has studied at Noma and also maybe googled “magic” after experiencing a great tragedy in the past several days.

Now that I think of it, maybe there’s a carbon monoxide leak at The Bear? It would explain why the executive chef, Carmen Berzatto, stared off into the distance for several minutes muttering “Claire” and “Copenhagen” when he came out to personally deliver our Wagyu bordelaise. (CDC Sydney only entered the dining room to physically pull him back into the kitchen, but she seemed lovely, and her Thom Browne white coat was incredibly chic.) It’s possible, though, that I simply got lost in Chef Carmy’s eyes, which were so soulful and positively Eeyore-like that I want to weep at the mere memory of them. Come to think of it, kind of wanting to cry is a big part of being at The Bear, whether it’s because of the delicacy of the scallop preparation or the pulsing undercurrent of irreparable trauma that beats just behind the dining room’s (again, VERY THIN) glass.

Atmosphere

The atmosphere at The Bear is one of Scandinavian simplicity, most likely to physically and spiritually allow more room for all the previously mentioned flowers and screaming. And it works! By meal’s end, our stomachs were full, our shoulders were tense, and the overall experience was like that of an escape room, but with linen napkins and a caviar sundae waiting behind each new lockbox. Plus, the wine was served by a former Triple-A baseball player who struggled with the wine key but knew exactly how each one would smell (a fun twist on knowing how they would taste!), and his analysis of the Cubs’ current roster was unrivaled by that of any other sommelier we’ve experienced. Strangely, I’ve heard that The Bear has also become one of Chicago’s best spots for celebrity sightings. Joel McHale is apparently in there all the time wearing dastardly glasses, and I’m pretty sure I spotted Josh Hartnett loitering outside, rehearsing a monologue as we were arriving.

Overall

In the end, I’m not positive that my dinner at The Bear wasn’t a fever dream. I’m also not positive that it was … positive. But it was an experience, and what is money for if not that? (On the money front, there WAS a small brawl between the executive chef and his cousin at our table when our check came, and it turned out that the restaurant still hadn’t decided between a service charge or the option to tip. We decided to split the difference and simply leave a detailed and invaluable Yelp review in lieu of cash—as a result, we’re no longer allowed inside The Bear, but the memories will last a lifetime.)

The Bear is maybe a mess, but in the way that abstract art is a mess. I do believe that there’s a method to the madness, and as previously mentioned, everyone has such soulful eyes. I leave my coveted fifth star off this review in hopes that it may be filled in by some “dusty French tire exec’s” (quoting the lizard man, LOL) star instead. If you make it to The Bear before it’s impossible to get a reservation—OR burns to the ground—my only recommendation is to arrive with an empty stomach, an open mind, and earplugs!