On a deserted island in Patagonia, Francis Mallmann sets fire to the conventions of modern-day cooking—and the odd fish and potato, too
As a chef, Francis Mallmann does the unthinkable—he leaves dirty tables untouched, uncleaned, overnight. But there is method to his madness.
“When I invite people home for dinner, I never clean the scene. I leave everything as it was when everybody left,” he says. “In the morning, I wake up very early, and I sit and look at everything and try to read what happened the night before. There’s a gesture in every glass, a story in the napkins and dirty dishes. Then, slowly, I will start to tidy up.”
He pauses, then adds, “There’s an equal amount of beauty in tidiness and untidiness. It’s like happiness and sadness—they are great friends, and they must live together.”
Moments of silence and observation like these are sacred to Mallmann. Which is why, at 40 years old, he turned his back on decades of training in Michelin-starred kitchens, choosing instead to move to an isolated 6-hectare island in his home country of Argentina, called La Isla. The name literally translates to “The Island”. Here, twice per month, he welcomes two groups of up to 12 guests for weeklong stays, during which Mallmann and his team of nomadic cooks prepare meals for the guests outdoors over a fire, surrounded by the spectacular landscape of Patagonia.
Getting to La Isla is no easy feat. From the port town of Comodoro Rivadavia, it’s a seven-hour trip on dirt roads through vast ranches of grazing Argentinian cattle and eagles perched on worn-out road signs. The final leg is a one-hour boat ride across Argentina’s Lago La Plata.
Mallmann could, of course, make a killing if he built a helipad for the rich and famous who visit his island—previous guests include the likes of David Beckham and Guy Ritchie—but environmentalists warned that the birds and animals native to the island would suffer as a result of the noise. So the privilege of staying and dining on La Isla means making the pilgrimage.
“I think the most important ingredient in life is patience, and nature certainly has patience. I think we must learn to enjoy the act of waiting,” he tells me. “For example, waiting for love: I’ve been in love with a woman for four years, and before that, I waited for her for another four years. Good things take time.”
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