PASSIÓ x CÓRDOBA
Apart from delicious food and our classy daily bottle of wine, I didn't know what else we would find. The Alhaurín farm was the golden wrapping of our personally crafted foodie list, titled "best restaurants in the 'Valle de Punilla' area"' and, therefore, the best way to end this gastronomic weekend in Cordoba's hills.
The last time I came to "La Cumbre" was at the age of nine, staying in this same hotel and even in the same room:“Los Cueros”, Castillo de Mandl, respectively. I no longer have golden hair nor do I wear crocs, much less green-colored. My sister no longer sleeps with me, but with her husband, on their honeymoon, thousands of kilometers away; and the Scottish photographer who scared me on the stairs back then is probably further away.
But there are things that don't change with the course of the years: I am still moved by the freshly baked homemade scones for breakfast, which sit in their little wicker basket with a white placemat, right next to the captivating jars filled with cream cheese and rosehip fudge. I keep breathing the hills' pure oxygen air with all my lungs' strength, my arms wide open and my eyes zipped; ingesting every inch of it, embracing it in its fullness. We also kept on buying the famous "alfajores de dulce de leche" (unbeatable kind of large and round- shaped biscuits filled with 'caramel') from "Estancia el Rosario", where at the age of five or six I forgot my favorite amulet, a frayed blanket that went with me everywhere.
Agustin's voice message giving us the thumbs-up to go to his house interrupted my memories. We were ready, inside the car, a few meters away. We arrived two minutes later. While we were waiting for him at the gate at the entrance I remembered that Passió, located in the town of Los Cocos, consisted of a macrobiotic six-course menu. How complicated it might be to cook that for so many people, I thought.
He was wearing a navy blue beret, a red checkered shirt with worn-out brown pants and espadrilles. After personally greeting us, he guided us through his animals' and gardens' museum. As we progressed with the tour, we also went up in meters: 1300 to sea level. The evening was the clearest of the last few days: the concentrated peri-peri sauce spilled in the sky reflected in the bright green terraced garden was my favorite mental picture of the trip. Only when I saw the small metal construction built on four wooden poles did I realize that this dinner was private, just for the four of us: my brother, my parents and me. Agustín was in charge of the ingredients' collection and production for the evening, but the chef was his partner from Corrientes, “Caíto” Falcó.
Photo: MW
Photo: MW
Once inside those four walls I knew I would have few nights like these. The table was already set: a water jug (or a drinkable flower vase) filled with herbs in the center, four glasses with a fuchsia petal underneath and the fine-dining cutlery on the sides. A bouquet of flowers and dried leaves in a corner, a music speaker hidden somewhere, and best of all, a window the size of a movie screen in front of us. The screened film was the same sunset from a few minutes ago but, seen from above, it took a completely new dimension.
As the sun and wine went down, the flavors of the six courses heightened. The first, a smoked charcuterie placed on pieces of logs that had prosciutto, brie, goat camembert, beetroot pickles and sourdough bread. It was followed by anguyas, a Guarani term to refer to a dish made out of fried cheese bread (called "chipá") with sticks of mashed sweet potato stuffed with goat cheese as a side. And that's not all. To pair this deli "correntina" (from "Corrientes"), the chef opted for a soy and sweet honey sauce, perfect for spreading.
Photo: MW
Photo: MW
Photo: MW
With the unique "Oración del Remanso" song in the background, we toasted for the second time: we had also heard it in church a week ago, at the greatest event of the year, the reason why my brother and I are in Argentina instead of Australia, our home for the last three years.
When the mbeju —a grilled chipá accompanied by a quince chutney, goat labneh and fennel— arrived, the sun had completely set. We shifted to the hanging lamp light and prepared for THE dish of the night, the mbaipy (another Guaraní term). If I reduce this to a polenta, Carlos, aka “Caíto”, and all the people from Corrientes who I hope will read this one day would accuse me of sacrilege. But I can't think of any other similar thing to bring this fourth course to a tangible level. It was also made with fresh goat cheese and accompanied by a rye toast, the bomb of flavor trigger that was also spoon useful.
Photo: MW
Photo: MW
Photo: MW
“I will leave you with the loneliness of the night,” Agustín warned us before closing the door. We didn't know what time it was, late enough to make that almost empty bottle of wine and the last course of the desert detonate us for completely. Until that moment, we were the only ones in the window's reflection.
We stayed under the stars' lights for several minutes, enjoying the planetary moment that both the night and Agustín had given us. Perceiving nothing more than our voices, the smooth "folklore" (Latin-American music genre) in the background, the bleating of a sheep with insomnia, the silence of the enveloping darkness.
Perceiving the fullness of that precise moment, the happiness that we are at home.
Photo: MW