How to Eat Peak to Plate in Patagonia
Chefs in Bariloche, Argentina’s favorite ski resort, are drawing on the vast surrounding wilderness for inspiration and sustenance.
Gonzalo Gaviña and Jimena Gutiérrez Arana get cozy in their booth. We’re hanging out at El Mallín, their family restaurant on the edges of Bariloche, a small resort city in northern Patagonia. Warm autumn light bounces off the snow through the picture windows, making the Alpine décor glow as if the wood were stained the day before. Arana glances at the table. It’s crowded with the last bites of nostalgic local dishes with gentle amendments—a citrusy trout tartare, roast beef with elderberry teriyaki sauce, and halloumi with raspberries and blackberries.
“It’s difficult to define what Bariloche food is because most people weren’t born here,” says Arana, the rare local who spent her childhood in this town, playing in the marshes behind the restaurant. “Only in the past few years have Bariloche cooks begun to explore what makes this place so special.”
Bariloche is a town that hugs the edges of the Andes Mountains. Its crystal lakes and steep slopes have attracted wide-eyed vacationers since the 1930s, when the Nahuel Huapi National Park was built to transform the Swiss German-style sheep village into a ritzy travel destination. But as is often the fate of tourist hubs, two parallel towns emerged: a vacation retreat for affluent out-of-towners, and a humble, tightly knit mountain village for locals. Tourists dined in continental-style banquet rooms while Barilochenses cooked at home, and the town’s foodways stumbled through an identity crisis.
I think back to my first trip to Bariloche. It was 2009, and I was backpacking with a friend along the Route of the Seven Lakes, the popular 66-mile hike. After an overnight bus, we scoured the city in search of local fare. We walked in circles and then gave up, settling into a European-style chalet serving Mexican tacos and quesadillas. It would’ve been hard to imagine then that I’d return in 2024 to a city experiencing a culinary renaissance, spurred by a pandemic that forced the town to look inward rather than cater to the whims of sojourners.
Bariloche’s history runs deep. The Mapuche people, a vast trans-Andean network of hunter-gatherers, lived across present-day Patagonia and gave Bariloche its name, which means “people from behind the mountain.” For 350 years, the Mapuche held off Spanish colonizers and forged extensive trade networks out of onerous wilderness from the Pacific to the Atlantic.
Staring at the jagged peaks that look as sharp as a fisherman’s blade, I can see why traders chose the calm beaches around Nahuel Huapi Lake to barter, rest, and fill up on wild game and river fish. Clouds hang like wrinkled sheets, casting long shadows over the pebbled coast where the mountains touch the lake. The landscape looks unforgiving, as if the giant green conifer trees could swallow up the town in a rogue wave.
Argentina’s declaration of independence in the 19th century all but destroyed Patagonia’s millennia-old aboriginal culture. The new national military rushed there to establish farmsteads, forcing the Indigenous population off the lands. In the late 1800s, Chilean German settlers laid the foundations for modern Bariloche, erecting a chapel and building sheep farms.
Swiss, Hungarian, and Slovak immigrants followed, buoyed by a small sheep and wool economy. The new settlers gave the town its characteristic Alpine architecture and European-style cooking, such as steaming hot chocolate, scarlet red goulash, and meat-and-potato casseroles that keep you on your feet on cold afternoons. The entrenched German population would later be grist for the enduring narrative that Bariloche was a Nazi paradise following the Second World War, a mostly baseless narrative encouraged by the Truman administration to discredit Argentina’s populist then-President Juan Perón.
Until the 1960s, Bariloche was a small shepherd village of 16,000, but its demographics would change in moments of national crisis, when city folks sought refuge in nature. In the ’70s, young people escaping persecution from Jorge Rafael Videla’s military dictatorship fled there. More recently, a financial crisis in 2001 and the COVID-19 pandemic brought two more waves. Today, Bariloche has roughly 162,000 residents and balloons every summer and winter with more than a million visitors who flock to its storybook lakes and mountains to hike, ski, or simply sip yerba mate by the water.
The new restaurant scene is eager to bring nature into the kitchen and build a culinary identity that is uniquely Barilochense. “Most people walk outside and don’t realize we are completely surrounded by food,” Bautista Villalobos explains. The 23-year-old chef moved to Bariloche from Buenos Aires during the pandemic. He and his partner, Andrea Cova López, opened Lumbre on a patch of land off the main drag. López studies agroecology at the National University of Río Negro, and is a walking encyclopedia of native plants and botanicals that the duo forages. In a few years, they hope their restaurant will be completely locavore.
Exploring Bariloche’s gastronomy is a kind of foraging in its own right. Although the center is blooming with new bars, bakeries, and coffee shops, there’s plenty of action farther afield in converted woodland cabins. Today’s restaurant fridges and larders across town reflect a burgeoning network of Patagonian farmers and artisans eager to define Bariloche’s next chapter. This time of the year, menus hinge on wild berries, araucaria nuts, and pine mushrooms plucked from the forest floor. Find the latter in velvety ragout at Quetro, transformed into panna cotta at Ánima Restaurant, and used to fat-wash gin at Nené Bar.
“The land is harsh, but if you learn to respect it, it provides everything you need,” explains Ezequiel Fritzler, owner of Milvago Vermut House, as he pours me a glass of red vermouth made with indigenous botanicals he picks himself—and that you can find nowhere but Patagonia. “The plants here work hard to survive, but that’s what makes them so distinct and complex.” Much like the Barilochenses themselves.
Where to Eat
Despite an austere exterior, this converted woodland chalet is Bariloche’s most ambitious new restaurant. What can’t be foraged or harvested directly by the chefs is purchased from farmers, fishers, and hunters. Harsh mountain life comes alive on the plate in the venison raviolón, araucaria nut flan, and poached pear over pine nut dulce de leche.
Frey 468
The duo behind the Puro Vino Bariloche wine fair (every mid-June) just opened downtown’s sole wine bar. The tight menu—favoring shareable Argentine staples such as spinach buñuelos; fainá, a chickpea flatbread; and pizza topped with pistachio mortadella—is in lockstep with the wine list, which lasers in on small makers and niche varietals such as Marcelo Miras’ semillón from Patagonia.
If it weren’t for the wild lupine poster on the window, you might think this pizzeria was still a roadside tackle shop. Weekly pies are improvised with whatever is fresh and local—think spinach pesto with candied sunflower seeds in autumn, or burrata and peaches in summer. Natural criolla (a native Argentine grape akin to California mission) and moscatel by new niche producers such as Finca Las Payas and Cara Sur reflect a move away from the ubiquitous malbec.
Brangus beef (a prized hybrid breed) is the move at this crowd-pleasing steakhouse. Try the matambre, a flank steak that ranchers used to give workers as payment for a long day’s work (hence its name, “hunger-killer”) or the arañita, a circular cut taken from the hip that fans out like a “little spider.” A heaping plate of french fries “al provenzal” topped with olive oil, parsley, and garlic counts as your daily vegetable intake.
This all-day bar and restaurant is a welcome respite in a downtown drowning in beer halls. A social club of sorts, with live concerts, wine tastings, and pop-ups that bring in bartenders and chefs from around the country, Nené is also an everyday spot for many locals, who drop in early for fresh medialunas (croissants) and espresso, or later in the day for old-school mushroom goulash or saucy braised lamb neck.
Quiven revels in the theatrics of fine dining. An orchestral soundtrack plays in the dining room with dramatic floor-to-ceiling views of Nahuel Huapi Lake. But look beyond the foam and dry ice of this blow-out tasting menu, and you’ll encounter simple, forestial flavors. I’m still thinking about their amuse-bouche, a fish skeleton-shaped cracker crowning cured trout and salmorejo (Andalusian tomato-bread soup) mousse.
This low-profile supper club takes the concept of home cooking to new heights. The husband-wife duo behind the operation cleared their backyard of trees and appended a professional kitchen and dining room to their house. Despite individual tables and top-notch service, Quetro still feels like an intimate dinner party. There’s no sign on the door, the six-course menu is revealed upon arrival, and the dishes match the homey digs: pan-fried trout with apples and endives, and poached quince drizzled with butterscotch.
Many Barilochenses schedule their days around hiking well into autumn and winter. After exploring the slopes of Cerro Otto or trekking to the Ventisquero Negro glacial lake, few dishes hit the spot like El Mallín’s pastel de cordero patagónico, a grandma-style casserole of pulled braised lamb hidden under sweet potato mash.
This tiny restaurant in the Arrayanes Forest is Bariloche’s hardest reservation, and after tasting their oysters, you’ll understand why. Flown in from the Atlantic fishing village of Bahía San Blas, they’re buttery and briny and come topped with crunchy pork skin and lemon and lime juice. The decidedly laid-back cabin keeps all your attention on Patagonian flavors, such as grilled lamb and pears, and green apple shaved ice over floral lemon cream.
Rain, snow, or sun, Argentines love ice cream and love to combine scoops of different flavors. At this parlor famous for using local berries and botanicals, a good rule of thumb is to start with dark chocolate and build on that base with something punchier, such as tart guinda agria (sour cherry), herbal flor de saúco (elderflower), or sweet-and-sour Calafate berry and goat’s milk ice cream.
Where to Stay
Since opening in 1938, Bariloche’s first luxury hotel has been the choice for the jet set and dignitaries, including the Eisenhowers and the Obamas on state visits. Large windows and woody tones inside give way to prime views of Mount Tronador and Lake Moreno. Take it all in during daily high tea or alongside an evening pint made with native hops from nearby town El Bolsón.
This tranquil 28-room boutique hotel is a hideaway in exclusive Arelauquen, the neighborhood nestled between the mountains and Lake Gutiérrez. Nearby hiking trails feature lookouts to watch for Andean condors, while private access to the lake—plus a golf course, tennis court, and indoor pool—is good reason to stay put.
Equidistant from the city center, trails on Cerro Otto and Cerro Catedral, and must-visit restaurants on the outskirts of town, this plush hotel offers waterfront views, a coveted collection of Argentine modern art, a Scottish shower and sauna, and a wine cellar with a mammoth collection of grand vin from around the country.
Where to Shop
If you’re going to make one stop for made-in-Bariloche chocolate, this is it. The only bean-to-bar -chocolatier in town, the Alpine-style shop is family-owned and sources directly from small, organic farmers in Peru and Ecuador. The display counter can be overwhelming, but free samples help mitigate the indecision. My haul included 100 percent cacao squares, chocolate-dipped candied oranges, and bars studded with dried currants.
Casa Cassis describes its cooking style as “sour cuisine.” Tart fruit typically reserved for pies and pastries are transformed here into preserves, fermented juices, and vinegars that I like to add to savory dishes back home. If you can’t catch one of the chefs’ pop-up events, purchase a bottle from their “live vinegar” cellar. Miniature bottles allow you to collect them all, including quince, gooseberry, and their namesake black currant.
Argentina has roughly 25 whiskey distilleries, and Pablo Tognetti cofounded the first, La Alazana, in 2011, before opening Madoc. His young, faintly woody single malts have won two double gold medals at the San Francisco World Spirits Competition. See how they’re made at this pint-size factory, where Tognetti and his family lead tours and tastings.
Small-batch vermouths are currently trending, satiating Argentines’ love for vermouth spritzes with their merienda (early evening snack). Ezequiel Fritzler scours meadows and untamed foliage for wild rose, palo piche, and other botanicals from the Patagonian steppe and turns them into red vermouth that changes every season. Buy a bottle for your suitcase, then stick around at the adjoining bar for a vermouth cocktail, such as the Ferroviario, made with fernet and soda.
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