The YouTube comedy docu-series Cooking for Seamus has an irresistible premise: what if a huge disabled bull named Seamus was a food critic, on a cooking show that catered entirely to his sensibilities and tastes? The result is a show that’s not only eccentric and funny, but an utterly delightful meditation on the importance of food and care and community, featuring a very hungry animal.
Seamus is a disabled bull who lives with palsy; when he was born he was considered too sick to live, but was saved by an animal rescuer, his “mum” BJ, who also pops up through the show. For months Seamus couldn’t even stand up or lift his head to feed, and as a result, quickly became enamoured with “human” food – and in large amounts.
“All the farmers around here were laughing and taking bets on how long I can keep him alive,” recalls BJ.
Cooking for Seamus was created by a laconic folk musician named Archer who now cares for Seamus and takes feeding him seriously. The pair live in a leaky caravan out near Castlemaine in Victoria, on a creek surrounded by other rescued animals, including Seamus’s best friend, a goat named Lillian.
“I believe he has one of the most advanced palates in the history of the world,” Archer says, as part of the explanation of why he’s created an entire cooking show for his animal friend. Seamus, via Archer, rates his meals out of 10; after Seamus eats his meal, licking his chops with his ears flicking, Archer will watch him intently, trying to gauge whether the meal was a hit for its discerning critic. “I reckon he’s in the 9s, maybe a 9.2” Archer decides, after Seamus chows down a bucket of pumpkin penne pasta.
Each episode, ranging between five and 20 digestible minutes, typically centres on a celebrity chef coming to cook a meal for Seamus – like the American musician Martha Spencer, who not only cooks a huge helping of Appalachian cornbread and pinto beans for Seamus, but spends much of the episode singing songs to an audience of rescue animals. Other guests include comedian and YouTube chef Nats What I Reckon, whose laid-back approach to cooking is a spiritual match to the docuseries.
“What do you think of food critics?” asks Archer. “Not much,” drawls Nat.
YouTube chef, comedian and mental health advocate Nathan Bartolo of Nat’s What I Reckon cooks pasta for Seamus. Photograph: Matthew Walker
Probably my favourite guest was the legendary performer Kamahl, who explains that he doesn’t really like cooking and instead feeds Seamus 27 bananas while wearing a golden cape and reciting counter-culture poetry.
If it sounds funny, it’s meant to – everyone involved has a good understanding of the humour of the entire situation. There’s a recurring shot of Seamus being called for dinner and gently rolling down the hill in excitement.
But it’s also a love letter to a certain kind of quiet living; not a huge amount happens in most episodes apart from some nice conversations, some beautiful folk songs and a bull eating mass amounts of human food, which really bucks the trend of YouTube’s more frenetic and gross offerings. It’s also a beautiful snapshot of how rewarding it is to care for a rescued animal and to devote your life to them.
Obviously Cooking for Seamus bears little resemblance to other cooking shows on TV – for one thing, it’s doubtful that anyone would be watching this hoping to learn how to cook the recipes that Seamus is eating, unless they also have a bull to cook for or perhaps a gaggle of children happy to eat out of a trough. It’s not that the food looks bad (in fact, it often looks amazing) but it’s not delivered in a step-by-step fashion designed to instruct.
Instead, Cooking for Seamus explores the more important side of cooking. The love that Archer, BJ and everyone on the show has for Seamus is palpable. As humorous as the idea of him being a “food critic” is, we often make food for those we love, to show them that we love them. And Seamus returns this love, too; my favourite shots are where he gratefully rests his giant head against Archer, a move immediately recognisable to me with my own rescue animal, a traumatised ex-racing greyhound named Basil.
It is a nice reminder that good food doesn’t require frills or Michelin stars – just enough care to show our love.
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