It may not be a gastronomic reference many midwestern gourmands would appreciate, but the last episode of the last season of The Bear was Marmite TV. Set in the back yard of the titular Chicago restaurant – transformed over the course of the show from a sandwich shop to a fine dining establishment by its talented and troubled head chef Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White) – the season four finale consisted of the cast shouting over each other about their respective grudges, oscillating between rage and misty-eyed sentimentality. A naturalistic exchange of complex emotional truths? A rare opportunity to flesh out TV characters’ psyches away from the demands of an actual narrative? Maybe. Or a plotless, unpleasantly cacophonous half-hour designed to entertain no one besides those unhealthily invested in the inner lives of Carmy, his protege Syd (Ayo Edebiri) and their ragtag bunch of fictional colleagues? Yeah, I didn’t love it.

Whatever your perspective, it’s hard to deny that The Bear is one of the shows that best encapsulates what was so great and not-so-great about peak streamer-era TV. The brainchild of writer-director Christopher Storer, the series always prioritised thematic richness and indie movie melancholy over focus-grouped crowd-pleasing or hoary screenwriting convention. As a result, it walked the line between uncompromising integrity and tedious self-indulgence – something only possible during a period, now passed, when platforms considered pouring money into auteurish shows a price worth paying for cultural clout.

That’s one reason this fifth and final season of The Bear feels like the end of an era. The other is that it has dominated the US awards circuit for years now (it has 21 Emmy awards to Ted Lasso’s 13). This haul has not been without controversy: it has consistently been entered into comedy categories despite not resembling a sitcom in the slightest. As with everything else, The Bear only makes jokes when it feels like it.

So how does it feel like ending? With a near real-time chronicle of what could be the restaurant’s final service. Uncle Jimmy has pulled the financial plug and Carmy has announced his resignation, handing over to Syd, who is desperately collating the kitchen’s remaining odds and sods into dishes capable of wowing a slew of excited guests, plus a Michelin inspector who could bestow a long-coveted star. It might be a pyrrhic victory – or it might prove the place can become profitable enough to continue without Jimmy’s cash.

The Bear has long been a great example of competency porn: it immerses us in a familiar-yet-alien world – in this case a high-end restaurant kitchen – where hyper-skilled people speak almost exclusively in jargon while being pushed to their absolute limits (see also: Industry, The Pitt, everything made in The Great British Bake Off’s image). The effect is equal parts stressful and reassuring, and in this send-off the paradox is dialled up to 11. Everything that could go nail-bitingly wrong does: torrential rain, horrifying plumbing issues (the ancient pipes are spewing unclassified brown liquid), a car crash, a malfunctioning reservation system which means they’re at least double-booked, dropped food, late diners clogging tables and various staff members in various stages of emotional meltdown. It means that when the team overcomes (most of) these hurdles, the relief is almost transcendent.

That said, the tone surrounding this practically biblical misfortune is bewilderingly inconsistent. At times, it’s genuinely anguished – and when The Bear is overly serious, it can be a slog. Luckily, there’s also a generous garnish of gallows humour here. The comedy is easily the best thing about this final outing – which is seemingly set on proving once and for all that The Bear is funny – from the cabin-fever silliness that hangs in the air to front-of-house boss Richie’s farcical failure to cancel bookings (everyone has a sob story). When tragedy and comedy are properly fused, it’s even better. I love the subplot in which Natalie, Carmy’s sister and The Bear’s manager, anxiously hands over her baby to her dysfunctional mother (Jamie Lee Curtis) while she works, trying to convince herself her child won’t absorb any matrilineal toxicity (her hot take: “it should be illegal for a mother to have a daughter!”).

The season finale wasn’t made available to reviewers, but there are hints the show will conclude with a gratifying level of catharsis and closure (well, if Carmy stops receiving those ominous anonymous phone calls). The Bear’s kitchen is still chaotic, but it is also now a place of community and compassion. If there is a happy ending, the gang have earned it – and so have viewers who have stuck with a show whose refusal to water down its own peculiar flavour (mostly) paid off in the end.