Ensayo II / The Sea in the Desert

On constraint as a creative engine in Mendoza

There is an obligation not written in any book, yet felt as one's own by any self-respecting cook: use what the surrounding land offers. It is a moral, ethical and aesthetic obligation all at once. The world is tired, and it says so plainly — don't ask me for a product from Japan if you're in Mendoza. And it is right in what it asks. And in being tired.

So chefs turn around and look at what the land offers. And Mendoza, it must be said, is not generous in quantity. There are vegetables, some fruits, some nuts — and there the list begins to falter. There is meat in the south of the province, but with traceability and logistics challenges. There is trout, mountain catch, yet also with difficulties in reaching restaurants with the cold chain intact.

The team begins to feel tied down, rigid. What the province offers is scarce and arid. From little, much must be made — water must be drawn from stone. And since many of us are searching for water among the same stones, every time we find a little it resembles the water the next person found. That is what is meant by identity. The terroir and its genuine expression: all the menus starting to look alike, differing only in the margins.

The desert is hostile — it gives you little and asks you to value it greatly.

So the team called a truce. And the truce smells of port. We are going to work with the Argentine sea — salt, moisture, perhaps the most original smell that exists on the face of the earth. That is what Aris said — our chef — and he was right.

For now we stay in Mendoza and find ourselves with the sea. Always the sea. As it is discovered for the first time. As it is loved for the first time. We will be there for a while. The menu is extraordinary. I wouldn't miss it — I have the luck of encountering it every night, like the sea, like love.

The constraint that seemed like a ceiling became a door. The desert pushed us toward the ocean. And in that crossing — inland, looking at the water — something appears that no innovation manual could ever have designed.

We beg your pardon.