‘Carême’ review: Apple TV+’s sumptuous culinary drama is a feast for the senses (and the sinners)

In Carême, food isn’t just food. It’s seduction. It’s politics. It’s survival.

This is one of the series’ most explicit themes, and if you have an Apple TV account, they will gladly tell you that it starts in the first episode of their latest French drama, 'Carême.'

The show features the extravagant, steamy life of Antoine Carême, aka the world’s first celebrity chef. He completely revolutionized haute cuisine and created the first infamous restaurant in recorded history.

In Carême, the story kicks off in its titular character’s life around the start of the 1800s when Napoléon is looking to take his ambitions further (yes, I know I hate date accuracy, but stay with me). It shows you an alternate, more sensual version of history where the most deadly weapon is not a sword or a crown but the puff pastry.

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A decadent dish best served hot (and fast)

Starting from the first frame, Carême clarifies his intent: this is not a period piece that unfolds at a leisurely pace — it’s a multi-course meal served at a breathless pace.

In the first two episodes alone, they shove in enough exposition and political scheming to fill an entire season of Bridgerton. It does feel like the show is racing to serve its entrée while the audience hasn’t even finished its appetizer.

It is not until around Episode 3 that Carême finds his rhythm, and after that it settles into a sultry cadence: every week— a new challenge, a new scandal, a new way for Carême to conquer, be it through soufflé or seduction.

Benjamin Voisin (Summer of 85) plays the chef in the title role, straddling the right blend of arrogance, melancholy, and irresistibility.

Carême is a pyramidal construction of a culinary rock star— which had never existed before the man himself— an impulsive, swaggering genius who knows far too well that in order to make it through a land of kings and conspiracies, one must possess the flexibility of perfect pâte feuilletée.

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Food, power, and the art of flirtation

For all of the political machinations one can find in Carême, the real intrigue lies in how every single part of the narrative is connected to sensuality.

Food is revered as a religious entity, offering the same type of awe as God does for individuals. The kitchen is a stage for scenes that throb with near-erotic undertones, while dining rooms become battlegrounds; bedrooms transform into negotiation tables.

His body, sheer culinary genius, and their unmatched ambition are all weapons for carving a path through the treacherous court of Talleyrand, exquisitely played by Jermie Renier. Whether he’s in a commanding kitchen or juggling with a spy, an imminent wave of tension — and heavy cream — will grace every moment.

The series is brought to life with Lyna Khoudri and Alice Da Luz as vivid characters who are as much muses as they are a danger to a dangerously vulnerable heart. Both performers expand the show in answering the profound question of just how closely intertwined ambition and desire are.

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Style over substance? Perhaps. But what style it is.

Is the plot confused? Yes. Do the emotional shifts feel jarring and too sudden? Absolutely, without question.

However, it is nearly impossible not to get swept away in the boldness with which Carême wildly embraces everything. Like the most over-the-top dessert, it’s not meant to be healthy or sublime — it’s meant to be devoured in guilty pleasure.

The food cinematography alone could justify the price of admission, and the production design is fulfilling, including the lavish costumes. (Get ready to Google 19th-century French pastries in the middle of each episode.)

The lush atmosphere more than makes up for the inexact narrative. Carême is not for watching if you want to learn about French history — it is for watching if you want to be seduced by it.

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Final bite into Carême

This is the type of series that understands exactly what it is: heady, lavish, and with just the right amount of naughtiness. It does not revolutionize period dramas, but it does add a body’s worth of steam to one’s senses, which is unusual for the genre.

For those searching for a retreat into a place where cuisine and desire are the two dominant and interlaced lifewires of staying alive, Carême is a feast you would not like to forgo— even if it means feeling overly sated at times.