In order to enjoy Chef, itâs necessary to swallow the notion that thereâs anything novel about a fancy chef starting a food cart. Itâs a bit of a strain, but itâs worth making the leap. Chef might be a little too taken with the concept of twittering food trucks, but on the whole, Jon Favreau (who wrote, directed, and stars) has put together a smart, ramblingly charming little film.
Favreau plays Carl, a once-promising chef whoâs settled into comfortable mediocrity at a high-end LA restaurant. When a critic (Oliver Platt) pans his food as âneedyâ and uninspired, Carl promptly has a public breakdown that goes viral and renders him unhireable in the fancy food world. Eventually, though, Carl finds his bliss: cooking Cuban street food from an old taco truck.
Itâs no coincidence that as I write this, thereâs a Cuban-style pork shoulder slow-roasting in my oven. Iâll wager that anyone who enjoys cooking will walk away from Chef feeling similarly inspired. Chef is a great food movie, in touch with both the pleasures of home cooking and the pressures and camaraderie of high-volume restaurant cooking. The food-truck conceit even allows for a little cross-country culinary tourism: barbecue in Austin, beignets in New Orleans.
But for all its foodie bona fides, Chef is mercifully unfussy. Carl is an awkward grouch, competent only in the kitchenâyou know, just like most chefs youâve met. And while a subplot about Carl reconnecting with his kid (Emjay Anthony) is cloying, itâs offset by some legitimately insightful observations about how anxiety and unhappiness can sneak up on a person, quietly poisoning relationships. (We see this unfold via Carlâs relationships with two of the prettiest women in the world: SofĂa Vergara and Scarlett Johansson. Well played, Jon Favreau. Well played.)
Sure, Chef is a little long, and the plot offers exactly zero surprises. But in its palpable enjoyment of food, and friendship, and music, itâs awfully hard to dislike.