The new Netflix miniseries, “Being Gordon Ramsay,” attempts to frame its portrait of Gordon Ramsay as a gripping story of the chef balancing professional aspiration with domestic strain. Yet for such emphasis on struggle and success, the series never anchors that narrative in stakes that feel genuine or inspiring.
The six-episode series documents the progression of Ramsay’s latest project: opening five restaurants and a culinary school on the top floors of 22 Bishopsgate, the second-tallest building in London. But as viewers gain insight into Ramsay’s day-to-day life, his globe-trotting and glamor undermine what used to be the chef’s edgy ambition.
While there are occasional comments on Ramsay’s difficult childhood and early stages of his career, the bulk of the TV show focuses on his over-20 million pound investment into the establishments — and the potential losses he would have to shoulder if his projects were to go awry.
The stress is admittedly palpable as the show counts down the weeks until the restaurants open for business and face numerous setbacks. But the mistakes, delays and difficulties — all of which amount to multi-million pound losses — do not distract from the disconnect between Ramsay’s show and the realities of the restaurant industry. For most restaurants, the losses that Ramsay’s businesses suffer would be fatal. But for him, they are minor inconveniences and merely dramatic stakes in his TV show.
The camera lingers on sweeping views of the London skyline and the mechanics of the kitchen with more devotion than it grants the food itself, framing the restaurant as a spectacle. Ramsay provides a knowing performance of his fame — rubbing elbows with food influencers during the first public showing of one of his business ventures. They gasp at the scenery, vlog and nibble on canapes that seem less like cuisine and more like props.
Combined with the many private trips Ramsay takes across the world to fulfil his duties as a media personality, these glamorous snapshots of Ramsay’s life remind the viewer that the celebrity chef is a celebrity first and a chef second.
The show attempts to ground Ramsay’s immense global popularity by including more personal interviews, following the family to their multiple homes in the United Kingdom and explaining how the chef struggles with stress. But these attempts are ultimately futile.
One can’t help but notice that this project stems from his own ambition, a stark contrast to the vital — yet terrifying — risks he took early in his career, risks that he could barely afford. But the 22 Bishopsgate projects now just seem like a needlessly large whim — perhaps even a product of boredom or the hunger for expansion — resulting in the stress of his family and, of course, staff.
Despite affirmations of his soft interior from his wife, Tana Ramsay, the show, in true Gordon Ramsay fashion, is full of verbal abuse, including yelling and swearing at staff. By the end of the show, viewers are far more sympathetic to the builders and working chefs than the man himself.
The series does offer an informative snapshot of Gordon Ramsay’s life now that he is removed from his early-career precarity, and it induces a notable level of stress for the viewer, as any good cooking show should. Yet this stress is curiously untethered from consequence, especially in a show conspicuously light on actual cooking.
The scale of his ventures — the several restaurants and a culinary school, all in a skyscraper setting — offers high stakes, but also reminders that Gordon Ramsay’s fame would never allow for the projects to fail. Without credible stakes or the intimacy of craft, the spectacle feels both grand and weightless.
Millie Barter is a senior staff writer covering RISD.
