I pass a mother heaving in grief while her son’s heart monitors flatline. It is the last time she will ever hold his hand. For me, this is another day on call in the intensive care unit as a pediatric physician. For her, this is the day her life shatters.

Later that night, a striking, charismatic surgeon from work treats me to an exquisite meal. Served outside a trailer, humidity barreling through our scrubs, the food is neither extravagant nor decadent. It is, however, the most succulent Texas barbecue brisket I will ever taste. This is the night I rest my head on his shoulder and he doesn’t flinch. This is the night an “us” was born.

A shared humanity links doctors and chefs. We both craft life’s most tender moments. Some will ricochet off your brain for years, dull with ache. Others will leave you heady, craving more. The television series The Pitt has garnered well-deserved praise for its excellent depiction of an emergency room staff battling insurance companies, mass shootings and mental health crises. In fact, I was one of many healthcare providers who shared my insight for The Pitt, and consulted to help craft narratives true to reality, so I deeply respect its advocacy for destigmatizing mental healthcare for physicians.

And yet, I have never been more convinced that The Bear is actually the reigning television show for accuracy in its depiction of hospital medicine. From the delayed gratification of abusive, humiliating training to the chaotic intensity of its work-hard-play-hard ethos, training for chefs is, in many ways, comparable to physician pedagogy. Both professions spend infinite hours mastering minutiae no one will ever discern. Both lose themselves in the relentless pursuit of precision, and in their dedication to service, an art form few will appreciate.

Both........

© The Guardian