The Making of a Food Empire
Inside the Colourful World of Matty Matheson, the Canadian Chef Powering NBC’s “The Bear”
By the time Matty Matheson appears on screen in The Bear, clad in mechanic’s coveralls as Neil Fak, the loud-mouthed yet strangely lovable handyman, most viewers already know his face. Or at least, they think they do. The tattoos, the booming laugh, the chaos - it’s a persona built for virality. But behind the decibels lies one of Canada’s most unexpectedly disciplined entrepreneurs, quietly building what might be the country’s most distinctive food empire.
Matty Matheson, now in his early forties, has become a kind of culinary folk hero, a man whose every project, from a greasy burger shack to a high-end seafood palace, bears the unmistakable stamp of sincerity. His story isn’t about polish; it’s about persistence.
From the Line to the Limelight
Born in Saint John, New Brunswick, and raised between Nova Scotia and Fort Erie, Ontario, Matheson didn’t follow the tidy trajectory of a star chef. He dropped out of Humber College’s culinary program and instead found himself sweating over real stoves in Toronto at Le Sélect Bistro, La Palette, and eventually Parts & Labour, where he became executive chef and the unofficial face of Toronto’s alternative food scene.
The restaurant was loud, brash, and alive, much like the chef himself. Yet even in the madness of service, Matheson had an unusual charisma. Vice Media noticed. Soon, Dead Set on Life and It’s Suppertime! introduced his energy to millions: part kitchen chaos, part therapy session, all heart.
The tattoos helped. The honesty helped more. When Matheson spoke about addiction, near-death, and sobriety, it wasn’t in the sanitized tones of PR. It was raw, human, and unfiltered. Audiences trusted him for it.
Toronto’s Unlikely Mogul
What followed wasn’t just television success but a quietly expanding network of food ventures that now define a corner of Toronto’s dining identity.
There’s Matty’s Patty’s Burger Club, a cult favorite smash-burger joint born mid-pandemic. Prime Seafood Palace, a minimalist temple to meat and fish whose architectural precision feels more Scandinavian than Canadian. Ca Phe Rang, a love letter to Vietnamese cooking. And in Fort Erie, the nostalgia-drenched Rizzo’s House of Parm.
Each space, though distinct, shares Matheson’s hallmark: comfort elevated without pretension. It’s food that feeds both body and memory, a reaction, perhaps, to the sterile precision that so much fine dining has become.
He even built Blue Goose Farm in rural Ontario to supply his restaurants directly, merging the self-sufficiency of farm life with his punk-rock roots in DIY culture.
Hollywood Calls
If Matheson’s culinary life was already cinematic, The Bear simply made it literal. Brought on as a culinary consultant to ensure the show’s chaotic kitchen felt authentic, he wound up in front of the camera as well. His on-screen presence mirrors his real-life sensibility: brash but big-hearted, comic yet grounding.
Behind the scenes, though, he’s the show’s quiet compass. Matheson worked with the crew to make sure the kitchen choreography — the burnt hands, the cluttered mise en place, the whispered Yes Chef — felt true. The result is one of television’s most visceral portrayals of kitchen life, praised equally by chefs and critics.
The irony isn’t lost on him. After decades in restaurants, Matheson became the face of kitchen realism on a Hollywood set.
The Gospel of Matty Matheson
There’s a reason Matheson resonates in a culture saturated with celebrity chefs. He’s not trying to be Gordon Ramsay. He’s trying to be real.
He talks about failure. About the panic of service. About being broke, and being sober, and starting again. His cookbooks (Matty Matheson: A Cookbook, Home Style Cookery, and Soups, Salads, Sandwiches) are less about technical mastery than about personal connection — messy handwriting, stories of family, photos that look lived-in.
And that’s what makes his empire feel different. It’s not franchised luxury. It’s an ecosystem built on story and substance: restaurants, media, books, clothing, even agriculture, all orbiting the same gravitational pull of authenticity.
Beyond the Bear
Matheson’s influence now stretches beyond Canada. The Bear has made him a global figure, not just as comic relief but as the creative soul ensuring the show doesn’t lose its culinary integrity. In interviews, he’s reflective, often turning chaotic humour into hard-won wisdom.
“You only get one shot,” he told The Guardian recently. “So why not?” It’s a simple ethos, but it runs deep.
As The Bear surges into new seasons and his restaurants continue to thrive, Matheson stands as proof that the future of hospitality belongs to those who refuse to fake it. In a world obsessed with image, his success is built on something rarer: genuineness.
The Empire in Motion
Matty Matheson isn’t just feeding people. He’s rewriting what culinary success looks like in the age of content.
He’s part chef, part actor, part builder, and wholly himself.
From the clang of Toronto kitchens to the lights of Hollywood, from burgers to fine dining, from punk bands to primetime TV, his empire isn’t polished; it’s alive.
And if you listen closely, somewhere behind the sound of sizzling oil, you can still hear his laughter echoing — the sound of someone who’s finally found his rhythm.