Once upon a time, a flick of the wrist and a cascade of salt captured the world’s attention. Nusret Gökçe, a Turkish butcher who became the global phenomenon “Salt Bae,” turned a simple seasoning gesture into a billion-dollar empire. His image was synonymous with extravagant luxury, gold-leaf steaks, and a particular brand of theatrical machismo. But as quickly as the salt sprinkled, the empire began to dissolve, revealing a bitter reality of arrogance, exploitation, and catastrophic business decisions. Today, with restaurants closing and his reputation in tatters, the story of Salt Bae serves as a modern fable about the treacherous nature of viral fame.

It all began with a dream forged in the heat of a butcher shop. Born into poverty, Gökçe started working grueling 13-hour days as a butcher’s apprentice to support his family. His ambition, however, was far larger than the small shop he worked in. He saved his money, borrowed more, and traveled to learn the craft of a master chef. In 2010, he opened his first Nusr-Et Steakhouse in Istanbul—a humble, eight-table establishment. But his charisma and unique tableside performances caught the eye of Turkish billionaire Ferit Şahenk, who saw the potential for a global brand. With Şahenk’s investment, Nusr-Et began its rapid expansion.

The turning point came on January 7, 2017. A 36-second video titled “Ottoman Steak,” posted on the restaurant’s Instagram, showed Gökçe sensuously carving a piece of meat before finishing it with his now-iconic, cobra-like salt sprinkle. The internet exploded. The video amassed millions of views overnight, and Salt Bae became an instant, global meme. Celebrities like Leonardo DiCaprio and David Beckham flocked to his restaurants, eager for a photo op with the man himself. The meme was no longer just a meme; it was a golden ticket.

Fueled by this unprecedented viral fame, Salt Bae’s empire grew at a breathtaking pace. Lavish steakhouses opened in the world’s most glamorous cities: Dubai, London, New York, Miami, Beverly Hills. The restaurants were less about fine dining and more about the experience—the theater of watching Salt Bae himself slice a $1,000 gold-leaf-covered steak. The prices were astronomical, and the bills, which he often flaunted on social media, ran into the hundreds of thousands of dollars. For a time, it seemed the world couldn’t get enough.

But beneath the glittering facade, cracks were beginning to form. The man who had once been a humble butcher was now consumed by an insatiable ego. The first major public sign of trouble came on December 18, 2022, during the FIFA World Cup final in Qatar. In a stunning breach of protocol, Salt Bae made his way onto the field amidst the celebrating Argentine team. He was seen desperately trying to get the attention of Lionel Messi, grabbing his arm even as the football star tried to ignore him. Worse, he was photographed holding and kissing the 18-karat gold World Cup trophy—a privilege reserved for a select few, including heads of state and the winning players.

The backlash was immediate and brutal. The world saw not a charming restaurateur but an arrogant clout-chaser who had overstepped every boundary of decency. FIFA launched an investigation, and Salt Bae was subsequently banned from all future official events. The humiliation didn’t end there; he was later publicly ejected from an after-party for the UEFA Champions League final, a clear signal that his celebrity status had soured.

The public’s perception had shifted, and suddenly, people began to look more critically at his restaurants. The reviews, once mixed, turned overwhelmingly negative. His New York burger joint was famously labeled “the worst restaurant in NYC,” with food critics and customers alike lambasting the tough, tasteless meat and exorbitant prices. His London steakhouse became a cautionary tale of culinary disappointment, earning a two-star rating on TripAdvisor. Patrons complained of foul-smelling meat, microscopic portions, and service that prioritized spectacle over substance. The consensus was clear: once you removed the meme, you were left with a deeply mediocre and outrageously expensive meal.

While his public image crumbled, a darker story was emerging from behind the kitchen doors. In April 2023, a bombshell report from Business Insider exposed a culture of fear and exploitation within the Nusr-Et empire. Former employees from six different restaurants came forward with harrowing accounts, describing Salt Bae as a “petty dictator” obsessed with his own image. They alleged a system where tips were systematically withheld from staff, leading to multiple lawsuits and settlements amounting to over half a million dollars.

The accusations painted a grim picture of employee mistreatment. Staff members claimed they were docked pay for minor mistakes, forced to work overnight shifts without proper overtime compensation, and even instructed to stage fake lines outside the restaurants to create a false impression of popularity. The man who projected an image of generous opulence was, according to his own workers, anything but.

His personal choices further alienated the public. In 2018, he sparked outrage by hosting Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro for a lavish steak dinner at his Istanbul restaurant, all while millions in Venezuela were starving. Salt Bae personally served Maduro, puffing on a cigar for his controversial guest. The incident drew condemnation from politicians and the public worldwide, who saw it as a tone-deaf endorsement of a brutal regime. He courted more controversy by posting a tribute to Fidel Castro just before opening a new restaurant in Miami, a city with a large Cuban exile community.

The empire, built on the unstable foundation of a viral moment, was now in freefall. In the first half of 2025, the closures began. Nusr-Et locations in Dallas, Las Vegas, and even the prestigious Beverly Hills spot quietly shut their doors. The dream was over.

The story of Salt Bae is more than just a business failure; it’s a cautionary tale for the digital age. It demonstrates how quickly internet fame can be monetized and how just as quickly it can evaporate when there is no real substance to back it up. Nusret Gökçe mistook a meme for a sustainable career. He prioritized performance over quality, ego over integrity, and glamour over character. He became so blinded by the reflection of his own viral fame that he failed to see he was serving an illusion. The salt, once a symbol of his unique flair, now just feels like a reminder of a wound he inflicted upon himself—a final, bitter sprinkle on a dream that has turned to dust.