I spent the weekend sick and lying in bed, so I diligently binged on Chef’s Table which I sorely needed to catch up on. While I’m still far behind, I did end up absolutely mesmerised by the episode in Season 1 on Chef Francis Mallmann.
You can watch the episode here
While Mallmann is a phenomenal chef and icon, I loved the way the episode was shot in gorgeous, stunning Patagonia. And I wept. For I have been there and did not know of Francis Mallmann.
But this is not about the chef or his food, or even the food I ate there but about Patagonia itself: I fell in love with its untamed, pristine beauty, unmatched.
I was fortunate enough to travel to Patagonia in 2016 and spend a week in Bariloche. I was luckier to spend time alone with an excellent chauffer and car to drive around with while my husband and his crew worked on a film they were there to capture.
I must admit to a frisson of anticipation: South America! Argentina. The Switzerland of South America, Bariloche.
The only person more excited about our voyage was the young handsome Consul General of Argentina in Mumbai. He was delighted to hear we were filming there and even happier to know I was going as ‘the wife’ to take in the sights and shop.
Patagonia was stunning from the moment we arrived at the tiny airport. So many stunning caucasians in South America? I was (then) unaware of the country’s history and the escape routes known as ratlines organised for Nazi war criminals after World War II. It felt distinctly unreal, as the local people I had heard of were gauchos and indigenous, more concerned with growing Malbec grapes and fine Argentinian wine, steaks and buttery leather.
Chef Mallmann made me yearn for that cold, bleak beautiful land. Lakes everywhere, towering snowcapped mountains and that blue, blue haze in the horizon… They should call it Argentina Blue. Mystical, magical, marvellous! It’s impossible to ignore such vast swathes of nature — untamed and hauntingly ethereal.
Bariloche itself was like Geneva revisited. Small, beautiful and very discreet. Surrounded by hazy lakes, devastatingly wild landscapes and always mountains nearby. The land is populated with green firs on one side and endless open steppes stretching into the far horizon on the other. The snow was already on its way out, much earlier than normal. We went in August to the southern hemisphere because the film demanded snow, unending snowscapes, and huskies.
A cable car ride up a popular mountain side takes me to a noisy, crowded chalet filled with people on an icy day, and the finest view I’ve seen: high above the Andes, visibility stretching for miles over Chile and Patagonia. It’s incredible. We are perched above the ridges and can see clearly across the border.
Another day, we take the ski lift, my first, open air lift and I have the most amazing ride up the piste. It’s blowing and windy and the view over the hill is even more amazing, though I might blow away despite my quilted burgundy coat! The view is stunning, and I understand why there are so many expensive restaurants and hotels here, the location is just stellar, everything is hushed luxury and endless vistas you would be hard-pressed to find in Europe.
Bariloche itself is a popular ski resort around a lake. It has been invaded by students on ski break who come in droves to party in the mountains. The streets are resplendent with the pinkest cherry blossoms. Spring is early this year, with hardly any snow or skiing in sight. It is still bitterly cold and bleak but the beauty of Patagonia shines in every season, bleak and blue only makes it more mysterious.
I spend an afternoon in a cheesy ice bar in a ratty faux fur coat as the crew films inside. I much prefer the James Bond version, thank you!
We film high up in the Andes where there is a lot of snow. It’s up a mountain reserve called Baguales. My new Argentinian friend Elisa has a cousin who is a ranger there. She tells me Baguales is special and I understand what she means when we cross miles into the reserve. We go off road past pebbled river beds, the welcoming us to explore. Forests of lichen and moss, wild winter buds, strange green brush (the snow is high up in the mountains and spring seems to be awakening).
The film crew works incredibly long hours in the cold, chasing the meagre daylight. We have long drives off-road and uphill, treks in the snow uphill, if we’re special we get to ride in the snow tractor which is excruciating in sound and speed. Otherwise we walk and walk uphill, through puddles and snow and slush up a wild pathway coloured in greens and browns and so unlike any mountain-scapes I know. The snow looms closer.
These are long days in bitter snow and ice, chasing the film. There is snow, now. We have moved to high ground, and winter is alive here. There are real icicles dangling from pine trees and miles of mountain snow, with deep valleys below. We are shooting in a meadow, a wild man and his sled, pulled by real-deal huskies. They are magnificent dogs, lean and packed with muscle, and eyes the colour of precious stones, intelligent and sharp and wise. The dogs outrun the sled and snow breaker every time. They are indefatigable and not affected by the cold. We have been outfitted for the high mountains at a store and are still freezing despite authentic gear meant for -25 in the Andes.
We have made base camp in a lone chalet that definitely seems to have dubious antecedents. Who would have this luxury home up in the middle of nothing ? We imagine Narcos-like scenarios or worse…
The film is looking beautiful. The agency Creative is pleased, in her pink winter gear and her rosy cheeks. She becomes a beloved friend and we chat for hours, time permitting. We are cold and exhausted with the hours and the travel. My husband is wound up and stressed about weather and budgets and the extremely laid back crew. He is frustrated and physically pushing the film to completion. He would drive the sled himself to get the shots they want! The dogs are the coolest part of the shoot, dashing through the snow at the least excuse, undeterred by the thick snowflakes and biting wind. The eerie quiet is broken by sounds cackling through. Walkie-talkies and the snow-breaker / tractor cut through the hush of falling snow.
The locals are calm and laid back, too laid back for a film crew and this affects us very badly because of the uncontrollable light and weather and our budget constraints. The director and cinematographer plough on, unflinching, while my producer husband pushes the local crew to work more efficiently. The crew hangs around munching green apples and brownies, their matte never far away. Matte is a local drink, shared communally and drunk from a local gourd, like a South American portable, communal, hand held hookah. The Argentines have left the Indian crew out on the ice, and have come into the toasty inside to hang their shoes and socks out to dry at the ginormous open fireplace in the centre of the chalet. We are hungry and cold and find no succour in the cold menu, no hot curry to take the edge off the cold. We would kill for spicy dal and hot rice at this moment.
Outside is a glorious sight. Condors are lazily circling above in groups. They are high, high, above but so big I can count their wingtips. And I stand, snow falling, face up, grinning from ear to ear, as I watch them loop around lazily, unaffected by the rapidly falling snow (we get snowed out, eventually and have to call it a day )
I decide to leave early and a park ranger (this is all protected reserve) is sent to make sure I reach base camp over an hour away down the mountain and across the reserve.
I get treated to the ride of my life: downhill on a motor sled with a crazy, mad park ranger whose only instruction to me is hold on tight! As we loop down the mountain and around bends, I am clinging to this big man, whooping in delight and excitement. I will never forget this ride, not least because I felt I was for a moment in the iconic Disney movie, Cool Runnings. My driver is an absolute sweetie and grins at my joy. I would never have imagined a sled ride down a South American mountain in a snowed out forest reserve!! Woooohooooo!
I do reach the hotel and rustle up a meal of channa masala and chicken curry with rice and salad for the grateful dead who return hours later.
It is a crying shame the film will never be released despite the gorgeous Spanish actor and the shoot by a Japanese cinematographer and my favourite director, Bob.
Meanwhile I am forever grateful to creative minds and deep boozy pockets who bring magic into my life, and make dreams come true.
If I had only known about Francis Mallmann, I would have been an angel in gourmet heaven too.
Thewanderingindiangourmet 