It’s true that anyone in any profession can be hot if you imagine the person doing it to be sculpted and oiled. But few Hot Professions have inspired a body of work like the Hot Chef archetype. Pop culture proves it. In the last few years, the number of movies, TV shows, books (sorry!), think pieces (also sorry!) inspired by the Hot Chef has exploded.
Millennials personally lived through the chef’s transfiguration from schlubby, grandparent proxies to strict, mean hottie with a patchwork sleeve and a wicked addiction to nicotine. Growing up, all of the now-iconic TV chefs were the former, like Emeril Lagasse, Julia Child, and Lidia Bastianich. They cooked in warm-toned kitchens with bright lighting and a smile on their lips. They gave tips and tricks and made you feel cared for. It was excellent programming, wholesome and calming and escapist. But if Lidia was spanking me, it wasn’t for sex reasons, you know?
Then came Jeremy Allen White, who was so spectacularly hot as Carmy Barzetto in The Bear that journalists were dedicating ink to his t-shirts, as if the perfectly white, crisp starched fabric alone was what made him so irresistible.
The line is a compliant, and slightly submissive, “Yes, chef!” not “We’ll see, chef,” after all.
So, how did we get here? Part of me thinks it’s the complicated power dynamics. A chef is the CEO of their kitchen. The hierarchy is clear, defined, and immediate. The line is a compliant, and slightly submissive, “Yes, chef!” not “We’ll see, chef,” after all. But what a chef does with their power is generative, it’s creative. It’s beautiful and delicious. Suddenly, their iron-fisted rule looks and feels different. They’re not using their power to turn AI-generated slop into a cryptocurrency in a VR hellscape. They’re making carbonara…for me. The details are devilish and also very delicious.
It’s not just hot that a chef cooks food. It’s that they like eating it too. The innuendos write themselves, of course. But putting aside the wink-wink-nudge-nudge jokes, eating is so intimate. It’s one of the only primal pleasures we are able to engage with in an uncomplicated, communal way. Meals don’t have to be complete in order to be appreciated. They don’t have to be perfect. They can be rough drafts, even. Like the new chocolate chip cookie recipe you’re just trying out or that first wonky pancake off the griddle.
The Hot Chef isn’t just ornery because they’re exhausted and because they’ve been on their feet for ten hours. They’re pissed because they care and they want you to care too.
In a more directly heterosexual way, cooking is also a rare moment for men to flex their plumage in a way that doesn’t immediately make women recoil. So much care and attention goes into a meal, and isn’t it so wonderful to think that a man might care, that he may be paying attention? If contradictions are erotic fuel, then the details therein are like propane and a blowtorch.
Anthony Bourdain––may he rest and also SORRY for dragging you into this, king!–– wasn’t just sexy because he cooked. He was sexy because of what he liked to cook and how he liked to cook and how deeply he thought about food. It made him a world traveler, an ally. It never filed down his edges, but gave them purpose. The Hot Chef isn’t just ornery because they’re exhausted and because they’ve been on their feet for ten hours. They’re pissed because they care and they want you to care too. The more someone loves and appreciates food, the more we’re ready and able to project deep Jungian shadow desires onto that love and appreciation.
There was a clarity to Anthony Bourdain’s work that elevated his rugged handsomeness. And, dare I say, it was perhaps Anthony’s food writing that really made him so enchanting because that’s where we really got to meet him.
I’m not surprised it took us this long to add Hot Chef to the hall of fame of sexy careers, right up there next to Firefighter and Librarian. Because before the restaurant, cooking was something relegated to women––specifically a certain class of woman. But that’s a whole other article.
For now, we can land on a wholly positive appreciation for the tyrannical, sharp-tongued Chef who leaves their heart on the plate, hot and ready for us to devour––pulling us into an ancient dance that makes us all a little bit more human.
Betty Corrello is a writer, comedian, and proud Philadelphian. Despite her hardened exterior, she is biologically 95% marshmallow. Her greatest passion is writing stories where opposites attract, but love is chosen. When she’s not writing, she can be found fretting about niche historical events most have forgotten––or petting her very tiny dog. She is the author of BACK FOR SECONDS (out October 6), a romance novel about two hot chefs falling for each other. Check out her upcoming book tour dates to hear more about BACK FOR SECONDS.
Dining and Cooking