It took almost three days to reach La Isla, celebrity chef Francis Mallmann’s private island at the far-flung western edge of Patagonia.
The journey required two flights to get from New York to southern Argentina’s port city of Comodoro Rivadavia, followed by a six-hour drive along empty dirt roads and, finally, a boat ride across Lago La Plata, on which I weathered the freezing temperatures in a full-body waterproof suit. By the time the speedboat pulled up to the dock of the 15-acre island, I was delirious with exhaustion, my face and toes numb from the cold. But 10 minutes later, after being escorted to my cabin—a cocoon of warmth filled with cosy furniture—my discomfort melted away.
The contrasts of that first day in Mallmann’s secret hideaway put me in a state of relief so intense it bordered on rapture. For the next several days, that bliss never wavered—not even when it sunk in that, on this trip, Argentina’s grill-obsessed
