How to create something beautiful and delicious out of panic and mayhem? That’s the sticky question at the heart of The Bear’s second season—one that applies equally well to the task faced by the writers of this FX/Hulu show.

The first season was a surprise hit last summer; even if you didn’t watch The Bear, you couldn’t avoid the “Yes Chef!” memes that haunted social media for months. The manic, sweet-hearted series initially revolved around Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), a hot-shit chef drowning in grief and debt after inheriting his late brother’s old-school Chicago sandwich spot. White was mesmerizing as the emotionally wounded wunderkind struggling with self-loathing and family baggage. But just as his character yearned to escape the culinary cult of personality and build a new restaurant full of strong supporting players, the series itself had an incredible ensemble cast just waiting to break out of bit-part jail and get some time in the spotlight.

That mass breakout is achieved in season two, and it mostly works. (There are some spoilers for the 10-episode second season, now streaming in full, ahead.) Sydney (Ayo Edebiri) has moved to center stage as head chef and creative partner of The Bear, the fine-dining restaurant she and Carmy are trying to conjure out of their rundown old sandwich shop. Determined to nab a Michelin star, she spends days sampling Chicago’s finest food, getting advice from local chefs, and perfecting dishes. Carmy’s sister Natalie (Abby Elliott) gets sucked into service on the business side of things, where she finally gets to shine. Meanwhile, line cooks Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas) and Ebra (Edwin Lee Gibson) enroll in culinary school so that they can play a more active role in the new restaurant kitchen, while Carmy sends aspiring pastry chef Marcus (Lionel Boyce) to Denmark to learn from a desert master. Workers who once had a gig now have a purpose.

The search for inspiration simmers throughout this season. One lovely episode focuses on Marcus’s creative journey in Copenhagen. His new mentor, Luca (played by Will Poulter) tells him that at a certain point, being a great chef is “less about skill and more about being open”— to the world and other people. Marcus puts that advice into action as he drifts through the city, soaking up sights and tastes that he will later transform into new treats for The Bear. Later in the season, Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) similarly undergoes a conversion experience while “staging” in a high-end restaurant, where everyone around him takes pride in the tiniest of tasks. “Every day here is the freaking Super Bowl,” his guide tells him. “I don’t need you to drink the kool aid, Richie. I just need you to respect me, I need you to respect the diners, and I need you to respect yourself.” Respect is a concept Richie understands, and by the end of his stint there, he is shouting things like, “Micro basil, fuck yeah!”

The Bear’s self-improvement theme occasionally veers dangerously close to Ted Lasso territory, with regular hits of heartwarming uplift and teamwork. Sometimes that connection feels literal: Sydney’s bible this season is a leadership guide by real-life sports coach Mike Krzyzewski, who offers gems like “surround yourself with good people” and “learn how to listen.”

Luckily, Richie is to The Bear as Roy Kent was to early Ted Lasso—someone who can puncture any scene that threatens to grow too cloying or sentimental. And he’s always reliable for gags based on obnoxious white male overconfidence. When he insists that there’s no mold in the ceiling, you know it will only be a few moments until the ceiling collapses, leaving Richie coated in moldy dust. But he also admits when he’s wrong, and with every episode, his stubborn machismo peels away a bit further, revealing a melancholy character who is trapped in his old ways, scared of being left behind.

One riveting episode late in the season provides an emotional skeleton key for the series: a flashback to a Berzatto Christmas dinner featuring an array of starry cameos. It’s the family gathering from hell, with Carmy’s mom, Donna (Jamie Lee Curtis), growing increasingly distraught as she cooks an elaborate meal, complete with seven fishes. Carmy and his big brother Mikey (Jon Bernthal) haltingly try to connect, while Natalie anxiously watches their mother deteriorate over the course of the night. “Are you okay?” she asks, over and over, knowing damn well the answer. Timers buzz incessantly, forks are thrown, cruel insults are exchanged. It is the primal bedlam from which the Berzatto children emerged, and it is the deep well of misery from which Carmy draws.

You may have noticed that I’ve barely mentioned Carmy all this time. That’s because he’s somewhat adrift for much of the season. Sure, he’s supposed to be opening a new restaurant, and the whole project threatens to be derailed by a torrent of problems in every episode. But Carmy’s heart is also distracted by Claire (Molly Gordon), his old high school crush turned beautiful, kindhearted doctor. Their relationship is one of the show’s quieter plot lines, and with so many characters competing for space and so much kinetic camerawork begging for our attention, we could use the break. Claire serves as a kind of anodyne oasis from the storm, which prompts a question: can Carmy be creative and…happy? Or is the truth that, as he puts it, “I’m a fucking psycho, that’s why I’m good at what I do”?

I have a handful of quibbles with the show’s pacing (there’s too much crammed into some of these half hour episodes) and its soundtrack (why so many 80s and 90s songs? Carmy and Sydney would’ve been in diapers during the Replacements’ heyday!). But ultimately, The Bear is an addictive mix of sweet and salty. It isn’t afraid to be messy, to let confusion unfurl alongside triumphs. At one point, Sydney and Carmy perfectly capture the series when they describe what they are trying to achieve with their restaurant . Make it a “chaos menu—but thoughtful.”