The hit show shows how kitchens are pressure cookers of stress, but not how professional cooking ravages the body

The opening scene of the popular F/X drama The Bear’s latest season opens with troubled chef Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto gazing at a deep scar in his hand. He vaguely explains its origin to his doctor girlfriend, Claire; the now-healed injury seems like nothing much to him. Attuned to what Carmy leaves unsaid, she asks if the wound hurt so much that he couldn’t feel it at the time.

That delayed pain applies to Carmy’s other wounds: the mental health damage sustained in an abusive kitchen and a harsh upbringing. But now he’s passing his trauma on to his own restaurant staff as he pushes them toward their breaking points.

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Michel Roux Jr has been at pains to say that he’s no longer chasing Michelin stars, but is that possibly a way to manage expectations?

Hot on the heels of Michel Roux Jr shutting up shop at the much-genuflected-over Le Gavroche , he’s recently opened Chez Roux at the Langham hotel in central London. Roux has since said that he does not plan to cook much at all from now on: daytime TV and caring for his grandkids are much more his penchant these days, he says, rather than sweating over homard grillé and salsif i au beurre noisette .

And who can blame him? Fine-dining restaurants may be glamorous, but cooking in them is hot, filthy, smelly and often thankless. Roux deserves endless happy, horizontal moments wearing his athleisure pants while solving the ad-break conundrums on Countdown , but where that leaves Chez Roux is something of an enigma. It operates evenings-only in the Palm Court space of the hotel, which cannot fail to feel chintzy no matter how much they spend on modernist objets d’art , because its tables are rather low and the accompanying velvet chairs are on the low side, too. This is the sort of low table you more commonly associate with a seaside fortune teller, and causes even a titch of a woman such as myself to stoop over her lemon sole meunière .

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He has been championing the cooking of his home country for 25 years. On his summer menu? Prawn pil pil tortilla, chicken chilindron, flan de fresa

When José Pizarro first arrived in the UK in 1999 seeking to expand his horizons as a chef, he found a country in a benighted state of ignorance as far as Spanish food was concerned. “People were confusing jamón ibérico with parma ham,” he says with a shudder. “Everyone thought it was all just patatas bravas and sangría. I like patatas bravas and sangría, don’t get me wrong, but Spain is so much more than that.”

Fortunately, the public were eager to learn and Pizarro, who grew up eating his mother’s “simple but amazing” food in Extremadura, made it his mission to spread the word. He worked at several Spanish restaurants, including Brindisa, where he was executive chef. Then, in 2011, he opened two restaurants of his own on Bermondsey Street, south-east London: a tiny tapas bar named José and the larger Pizarro, both smash hits. Five more restaurants followed in London, Esher and Abu Dhabi, all temples to his native cuisine, with more on the way. At the same time, he has been championing Spanish food on TV, in six cookbooks, and at festivals and industry talks. In March, in recognition of his “extraordinary services to Spain”, Pizarro was awarded the officer’s cross of the Royal Order of Isabella the Catholic by the Spanish ambassador in London. (His mum, in attendance aged 90, was “very happy” about it all.)

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The South African soprano on her love of Star Trek, a Stockholm gallery that used to be a squat, and where to find a great negroni in London

The soprano Golda Schultz was born in Cape Town, South Africa, in 1983. She studied journalism before switching to singing at the University of Cape Town and then Juilliard in New York. In 2011 she joined the Bavarian State Opera. Since then she has sung at La Scala, the Met and, in 2020, at the Last Night of the Proms , as well as releasing two acclaimed albums. Schultz, who lives in Berlin, makes her debut at the Royal Opera House as Fiordiligi in Jan Philipp Gloger’s production of Mozart’s Così fan tutte , from 26 June to 10 July. She also appears at Buxton Opera House on 8 July.

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Platforms send targeted messages to customers, reducing cancellations and encouraging them to return

Booking a table at your favourite restaurant no longer involves simply contacting the establishment and giving your details. Now it often involves the restaurant contacting you too – sometimes several times over.

Online booking platforms used by hundreds of restaurants in the UK now send out reservation confirmations, reminders, requests for feedback, future deals and news. Some send certain customers a “personalised booking link” after their visit, to encourage them to come back. “I hope you had a great time on your last visit … and that you’ll come back to see us again soon,” reads one example, sent on behalf of Som Saa, a Thai restaurant in east London, via booking platform SevenRooms.

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Rich, delicious food in an elegant, charming space – hidden inside a futuristic block that looks like the set of The Office

Dipna Anand, a talented Indian chef, has opened a bright 90-seater restaurant in Milton Keynes. For so long, merely the phrase “Milton Keynes” was a punchline; this “new town’, established in 1967, was inhabited only by the spiritually adrift, depressed newlyweds and some cows made of concrete. Those days of mega-LOLs about the mighty MK may have passed, but there’s still something oddly futuristic about Unity Place, a new “destination for dining, work and leisure” just two minutes across a pedestrianised square from Milton Keynes station, and where Anand has set up shop selling her delicious Punjabi and south Indian menu with a smattering of modern British-Indian favourites. Yes, there are curries, biryani, thalis and small plates; yes, there’s black dal, Delhi wala makhani chicken, pillowy deep-fried bhatura bread, and gajar halwa – caramelised carrots – for pudding; but there are also dynamite wings, masala fries and chocolate brownies, if that’s your thing.

But what exactly is Unity Place? Well, having spent two hours there, then a further two hours reading its marketing bumf, I don’t know. Anand’s restaurant is certainly an elegant, welcoming space, but within a block that looks like The Office’s Wernham Hogg building. Then inside, things flip again: Unity Place’s main reception area is a gargantuan space reminiscent of Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall, except it’s not an art gallery. Then there are some lecture hall areas, a café by Santander the bank and, rather incongruously, a barbershop. This building is, apparently, an “accessible hub … seamlessly integrating sustainability and connectivity into its core”, while also “embodying a planet-first approach and fostering an environment of unity”. Perhaps this confusing definition is why I was alone as I wandered around Unity Place looking for my Sunday lunch, feeling like Cillian Murphy in 28 Days Later. The “urban food market” sounded fun, but that’s closed at weekends.

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Bliss in St Louis has made headlines by announcing that only men over 35 and women over 30 can eat there. Is this the future of grown-up dining?

Name: Youth-free dining.

Age: New.

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This is essentially 16 years of the chef’s homesickness for Wales on a plate, complete with a laverbread garnish

The Shed , close to the waterfront in Swansea, lives in a hulking industrial Victorian redbrick warehouse that once served the former docks. Now, chef Jonathan Woolway , after 16 years at London’s beloved St John , has finally returned home to Wales and set up shop, or rather a big, beautiful shed, here. Woolway is from Swansea, and passionate about fanning the flames of the local food scene. He’s serving bara brith – a traditional fruit loaf flavoured with tea – with slices of heritage teifi cheese , as well as family-recipe Welsh cakes with a shot of whisky; there are also hot, crisp croquettes made with local cockles and potted Câr-y-Môr crab with warm flatbreads.

Swansea, which is Wales’ second city, does not enjoy the same tourist attention as Cardiff, or lure book-lovers as Hay-On-Wye does, or draw the Gore-Tex-clad visitors to Snowdonia. But it does feel like a slice of living, breathing, everyday Wales, with a diminished town centre grappling to find new purpose. Yes, there are bits that look rather forgotten and shabby, with numerous boarded-up shopfronts, but there are also sleek, hopeful areas such as the SA1 Waterfront Area, which is where Woolway and his team are now showcasing Welsh produce and the future of local culinary talent.

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The term evokes cosiness, affordability and community. But it’s being used as a cynical marketing ploy

What makes a neighbourhood restaurant? The phrase itself is evocative, bringing to mind the types of local trattorias or ocakbaşları or tavernas that punters return to regularly. The definition might vary from person to person, but surely a neighbourhood restaurant is defined by some combination of its longevity in the community, an accessible feel and affordable prices.

Over the past six months, though, I have seen the “neighbourhood restaurant” label deployed constantly in PR emails previewing a very different sort of establishment. The aim, I imagine, is to evoke a sense of cosiness and community – but there’s something off about it.

Lauren O’Neill is a culture writer

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