I missed this one when it was out in theaters. So glad I was finally able to catch it on DVD.
Although it touches upon things that are super au courant—Twitter, food blogs, reality TV competitions—in some ways, Jon Favreau’s Chef couldn’t be more old-fashioned.
It celebrates being good at something, taking pride in that thing you’re good at, and passing that ethos onto your child.
When the film starts, Favreau’s Carl Casper, the chef du cuisine at a successful LA restaurant, is preparing for the arrival of wildly popular food blogger Ramsey Michel (Oliver Platt). Instead of serving the French onion soup, caviar stuffed egg, and molten lava cake that put him on the map, he’s devising a whole new menu—he’s already skillfully butchered a whole pig—and he’s pumped about it. That is, until the restaurant’s owner (Dustin Hoffman), comes in and says, “When you see the Rolling Stones aren’t you disappointed if they don’t play Satisfaction?”—and insists that Carl stick to his greatest hits. He does, and gets blasted. Ramsey calls him needy and desperate for approval. He also makes a point of saying that Carl’s molten lava cake was overcooked, leaving the interior too firm. To make matters worse, the review goes viral, not that Carl has any idea what viral means.
It takes Carl’s 10-year-old son Percy (unaffected and utterly adorable newcomer Emjay Anthony)—who is desperate to spend more time with his busy dad—to explain Twitter to him. Carl opens an account but doesn’t quite get it. He sends Ramsey a scathing Tweet along the lines of “You wouldn’t know a good meal if it sat on your face!” thinking it was a private message. That, too, goes viral and suddenly he and the food blogger are having a bit of a flame war, until Carl invites Ramsey back to the restaurant to taste his “real” food.
Here’s where you’ll have to suspend your disbelief a bit, because Hoffman still insists that Carl stick to the old menu, arguing that Carl cooks for customers, not bloggers. I didn’t buy this, but it sets the plot in motion. Carl quits, leaving his friend and sous chef (Bobby Canavale) behind to make the meal.
Oliver Platt has a wonderful bit as he settles in for his dinner and the same fusty old food emerges from the kitchen (the look of palpable disgust on his face when the French onion soup is set before him is priceless) but then Carl—worked up into a fine lather at this point—comes storming back in and really lets Ramsey have it. Food is thrown, including that molten lava cake. (In a tiny dig at food bloggers, Carl points out that it doesn’t have a liquid center because it’s “undercooked” but because of a special preparation.) Naturally, his tirade is caught on camera and ends up on YouTube.
Out of work, and now virtually unhireable, Carl is forced to open a food truck that specializes in Cubanos and fried yucca and—you guessed it—he falls back in love with cooking while simultaneously bonding with his son. There is a great scene—a key moment in the film—where young Percy, learning the tricks of making a perfect Cubano, deems an overcooked sandwich “good enough.” Carl literally pulls him off the truck and talks to him about loving and taking pride in what you do. Percy nods comprehendingly. He will never serve an overcooked sandwich again. (Carl also makes Percy work hard on that truck—scrubbing its interior for hours to make it road ready; then working the fast-paced cooking line. Again, this is a hipster film your grandfather will love.)
Chef is sure-handedly directed by longtime pro Favreau, who started his career with the indie breakout hit Swingers but then moved on to more mainstream fare. This is a welcome return to his roots. All of the cooking scenes crackle with authority and, as is in the case with any great food movie, you’ll leave the film craving a Cubano (or a beignet or the perfect grilled cheese.) I once saw a supercut of orgasmic tasting moments in food films and Chef would fit in with that perfectly. The film focuses on the brotherhood among chefs (alas, not too many sisters in Carl’s kitchen). Carl bonds with men—and eventually his son—over a perfect chimichurri or a mouthwateringly tender slice of BBQ brisket.
Favreau himself is a surprisingly appealing leading man—I’d forgotten how good he can be—and he even inspired the following tweet, which I will deny I wrote, unless under oath.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Favreau is not a scrappy little indie director anymore, but a very powerful Hollywood player, so he populates his film with great and major actors in even the small parts. Along with Dustin Hoffman, we have Scarlett Johansson as a hostess at the restaurant who is seduced by Carl’s cooking, Robert Downey Jr. as the wealthy ex husband of Carl’s ex wife (got that?), and Sophia Vergara as the ex. Also on hand, in a bigger role, is the always welcome John Leguizamo as Carl’s loyal friend and line cook.
The heart of the film, though, is the relationship between Carl and his son. Percy idolizes his father, who’s often too busy—too wrapped in his love of cooking, his life in the kitchen—to spend time with him. By the end of the film, Carl realizes that there’s no point in having a passion in life if you can’t share it with the ones you love most.