Francis Mallmann’s episode of the Netflix series Chef’s Table earned a disproportionate amount of attention. He was, in fairness, the only subject to roast whole animals over open flames in the Patagonian wilderness. Today, the chef is perhaps the most celebrated ambassador of Argentinean cuisine, and he owns and operates nine restaurants around the world. Despite his high profile, he still spends much of his time on a remote island called La Soplada (“the blown away”) in the middle of La Plata, a lake in Argentinean Patagonia. This month, he publishes a new cookbook, Green Fire: Extraordinary Ways to Grill Fruits and Vegetables, from the Master of Live-Fire Cooking. On the occasion, he shares his key components to the good life. —Ashley Baker
Airline: All airlines have faults, but the American Airlines Concierge Key membership makes flying into the clouds graceful and does it with ease.
Airport: The old dirt strip near my island, in Patagonia, where we land even on windy days. But just be sure not to forget to ring a neighbor to be sure there are no cows on it.
Alibi: “Me, yesterday in a gray old Mercedes with a brunette? Impossible. I was in Paris with Lou Lou.”
App: Windguru, the wind app that lets us know if we can safely sail the boats to the island.
Bag: The Beretta carry-on bags made of brown canvas and immaculate leather.
Bedtime: My happiest moment of the day, when I put on an XXL black nightshirt long to my toes. Which, I might admit, becomes my uniform for breakfast, pruning my plants, or taking a stroll to the plaza of the small town of Garzón for coffee, in Uruguay.
Bike: My bicycle at Château La Coste holds an engine that helps me climb the dirt road to my hut up the hills near Aix-en-Provence.
Birthday: Only my children are allowed, and a handful of friends.
Breakfast: Full of hope and celebration with a tailored breakfast tray.
Car: I don’t care much for cars, as long they are good in the snow.
CHIld: They are the mirror of my life, showing me truly who I am—angels and devils.
Cocktail: A summer Negroni on a sidewalk in Rome. My only drink and I never finish it.
Cocktail appetizer: Chips and spicy nuts.
Couple: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds.” —Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare
Diet: The fruits of desire, I guess.
Dinner: Hopefully at home.
Disguise: I wish I could disguise myself to run away when I am so bored at a dinner.
Drive: On the lonely mesetas of Patagonia.
Enemy: Only enemies tell the truth—friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.
Escape: My passport is always in my blazer pocket.
Excuse: “Sorry, I can’t. You bore me to death.”
Family: When they are talking, after lunch, I get the best nap on the closest sofa.
Flaw: On the way to the toilet at a boring dinner, I always run away to my home.
Friend: Dear old friend, please change, so I keep admiring you.
GIRLFRIEND: A lady more intelligent than me.
Good-bye: “Thank you, I had a great time. I must leave.” And never, ever slam the door.
Hideaway: Making love, half dressed in the forest.
Hotel: Hotel Bel-Air.
Insult: “Please be quiet.”
Jacket: My 1984 red Hermès smoking jacket.
When my soft-boiled breakfast eggs are not perfect.
Kiss-off: When my youngest daughter, Alba, kisses my cheek to say good-bye.
Last Meal: Basmati rice with red-cabbage salad.
Lunch, weekday: Under the sun in winter with my lover.
Lunch, weekend: Under the sun in winter with my wife.
Match: I rather like opposites.
Movie: Luchino Visconti’s Conversation Piece.
Neighbor: The further, the better.
Nonfiction book: Far Away and Long Ago: A Childhood in Argentina, by William Henry Hudson.
Novel: Lady Chatterley’s Lover, by D. H. Lawrence.
Pet: Always a dog.
Piece of advice: “Never take folders or notes to a meeting, and don’t talk too much.”
President: Teddy Roosevelt.
Restaurant: The River Café in London.
Ride: On a horse to the beach of José Ignacio, Uruguay.
Saying: “Francis! What a delicious wine. ” Please, just shut up and drink.
Singer: Graham Nash.
Storm: Always a snowstorm, tucked in Patagonia.
Television series: I really don’t like them.
Theme song to your life: “The Boxer,” by Simon & Garfunkel.
Time of day: Dawn.
Toast: “No clashing of glasses, please.”
Vacation: At home.
Victim: When they say of my little daughter Alba, “What a beautiful granddaughter!” In which I reply, “Yes, my beautiful grandchild.”
View: Always the ocean, a river, or a lake.
Wake-up time: Five a.m.
Weekend bag: A nightshirt, some books, and two of my cotton berets—one pink, one blue—and an old textile to put on my bed.
Work of art: Gustave Courbet’s The Origin of the World.