This article appears in Volume 29: The Taste
Issue

Disembarking

Disembarking
at Marseille Saint-Charles station, I pass a man in
an overstuffed jumper eating an equally overstuffed baguette of
ham, lettuce and an assortment of cheeses. Further along the
platform, a woman holds a leash leading down to a whippet in one
hand and a box of patisserie in the other. A madame teeters past,
her knee-high stockings sliding down to expose her flesh through
the back slit of her skirt. What begins as a far from picturesque
introduction to the charms of
Provence, however, soon morphs into a reassuring patchwork of
pine forest, perfumed lavender fields and resolutely French
villages as I speed along the country lanes to my destination, the
dream-like Château La Coste.

This artistic escape and winery is tucked between arty Aix,
formerly the home of the painter Cézanne, and the untamed Luberon
Regional Nature Park. On arrival, I’m greeted by Louise Bourgeois’
arresting sculptural work, Crouching Spider (2003), its twisted,
vine-like legs straddling a vast infinity pool that serves both as
the sculpture’s stage and a shroud for the car park below. Two
hangar-shaped cellars created by the French architect Jean Nouvel
(who recently designed the Louvre Abu Dhabi) guard the
concrete entrance to the Tadao Ando-designed Art Centre.

Other than the 125 hectares of vineyards, originally planted by
the Romans and today producing biodynamic wines, this is certainly
not the ochre-hued French farmhouse you’d expect of the region. The
vines, I learn, were the carrot that first drew the Northern Irish
property magnate Paddy McKillen to the region in 2002. Along with
his sister Mara, who has lived in Provence for decades, McKillen
has sown many creative seeds here. The outpourings of a plethora of
international artists shape the 600 acres of art-filled grounds,
with Provencal countryside the main source of inspiration.
Sculpture, immersive installations and land art by the likes of
Renzo Piano and Tracey Emin are plotted across the gently rolling
landscape – in all, there are 35 artworks and three exhibition
spaces.

I catch the tail end of an art tour – a two-hour ramble
available to hotel residents – before riding up to the château’s
hotel component, Villa La Coste. The 28-suite villa
sits on a ridge overseeing the property. In the lobby, cranberry
and buttercream-coloured Pierre Yovanovitch chairs and a Jean
Royère sofa prove wonderfully snug resting spots. Copper-topped
tables are decorated with bowls brimming with apricots and behind
the check-in desk a series of Alberto Giacometti sketches are on
display. It’s at once understated and overstated. The places are
designed around people, with Hong Kong- based hotel designer André
Fu appointed to work on the bar, spa, library and restaurant. Laid
along a shaded avenue, each of the spacious suites is named after
the surrounding mountains. All have a walled-in courtyard and those
located on the upper level also have private plunge pools. Muslin
curtains blow around four-poster beds, retro sofas face out to
painterly views and large hunks of white marble have been carved
into freestanding bathtubs. A bell jar guards a chocolate bombe on
my dining table, which serves as an amuse-bouche before making my
way to lunch at the restaurant, Louison.

En route to “déjeuner” I peep in at the empty business centre.
In three years, “maybe three people have used it,” the GM notes.
Those in an OOO mindset have perhaps diverted to the spa, which
skirts the business hub. Tall wooden doors open onto seven
treatment rooms designed for scrubs, facials and massages conducted
using organic Provencal products including lavender, jasmine,
olives and apricots. I eye up the relaxation lounge and
stained-glass yoga room and add my name to the therapist’s
appointment book.

Louison, located inside a tall, glass-walled building suspended
over a pool of tranquil water, is surprisingly calming, despite its
theatrical encasing. In the centre of the room, The Couple
(2007-2009) – a polished aluminium piece by Louise Bourgeois –
reflects the light streaming in from all sides. The menu is devoted
to Provence and its produce, with ingredients sourced from both
regional markets and the organic kitchen garden just moments away.
If the menu appeals but you’d rather eat somewhere less formal, the
library, Le Salon, your private terrace and garden are all possible
dining venues. In fact most things, I’m beginning to learn, are a
possibility here.

Rising with the sun, a light breakfast of delicately spiced
tomato-and-raspberry compote accompanied by viscous vanilla yoghurt
is consumed on the lobby patio in view of the temperamental valley.
Setting off for the art tour, I’m guided through olive groves and
vineyards speckled with installation pieces. I pass Richard Serra’s
steel sheets, Sean Scully’s stacked stone sculpture and, the
pinnacle of the tour, Tadao Ando’s chapel-like space from which
there are unobstructed views of the countryside. On our trail back
we go by the property’s syrah, cabernet sauvignon and vermentino
vineyards as well as Frank Gehry’s atypical structure, Pavilion De
Musique (2008) – last seen at the Serpentine Gallery in London.
Purpose-built for Château La Coste, the artworks are predominantly
bred from personal relationships between the owner and a roster of
starry names. Artists come to the domain to experience the place
for themselves, sketch their ideas and ultimately choose a location
for their installations.

This approach was no different for the Argentine chef Francis
Mallmann, who has a restaurant at the château at which he has
agreed to meet me during my stay. “When I first came and
experienced this set-up of wilderness and sculpture and art and the
beautiful hotel, I loved it. Regionally, this is such a rich part
of the world,” Mallmann tells me from his Provencal table, which
specialises in slow-aged meats and buried-in-the-embers rescoldo
vegetables. “I was inspired by Cézanne’s atelier, here in the
mountains in Aix. There’s a stairway which goes up to his room
where he worked and I loved the colours of it – black, green and a
very light bonbon pink.” This palette informs the interiors of the
eponymously named restaurant where he now sits. Donning a denim
beret (in lieu of a towering chef’s hat) and cherry-red frames,
Mallmann perches on the outdoor service counter, chatting with the
restaurant’s Head Chef, Francesco. “We have a large team from
Argentina here. I really needed people who already knew the
language of fire cooking because it’s quite precise, what we do,
and it takes a long time to learn. If there’s no fire, there’s no
restaurant.”

The Mallmann way of eating is rustic and elegant. Red-checked,
antique tea towels hang on the walls, balanced by tiers of Astier
de Villatte casserole dishes, charger plates and ceramics. Dishes
include freshly caught fish cooked in a wood-burning oven,
Charolais beef roasted by a feu en dome (heated iron dome) and
pollos colgados (hung chicken). “It’s taking luxury to its simplest
place, editing it into something that isn’t so shiny,” Mallmann
elaborates. “When Paddy and I decided that the restaurant was going
to be where it is – back then it was a parking lot – I walked
around the property with my daughter, found some pieces of iron and
heated them. We cooked for everybody that night out of only a fire
in the car park – meat and vegetables on the chapa (griddle). Four
and a half months later, it was a restaurant; that’s the way Paddy
constructs.”

We are interrupted by the arrival of our lunch. Mallmann, eager
for me to eat, invites me back to his home – also on the estate –
later that evening to talk further. When I arrive at his domain – a
one-room, mustard-draped abode plotted amid an overrun landscape –
he has just opened a bottle of wine. He ushers me to take a
cushioned seat among yellow notebooks filled with watercolours,
recipe scrawlings and quick sketches of nude women. A shrine to
Astier de Villatte objects towers above me, identical to the
pyramids observed in the restaurant.

“The most beautiful thing about eating and drinking a glass of
wine is the conversation that accompanies them. Seventy per cent of
the experience of dining is that,” Mallmann begins. “You can sit on
your own and consume something delicious, but the beauty is to
share not the food or wine, but the experience.” Our candlelit
conversation spans vanity, fashion, breakfast choices, diary
entries and sewing floral patches onto denim jeans like a “tidy
grandma” – “sewing is meditative, it’s like chopping,” he asserts.
“I travel with these yellow notebooks. I use one every six or seven
months and write my recipes here; it’s an important part of my
life.” He’s also an avid poetry reader, an extracurricular that
feeds into his culinary work. “It all started in a restaurant I had
in Uruguay. I started painting poems on the walls and every season
I’d begin again. I had a restaurant in the Hamptons and did the
same thing. For some years I didn’t use it, but now I am
again.”

A quote by Claude Lévi-Strauss scrawled on a pillar at
restaurant Francis Mallmann springs to mind: “Was that what travel
meant? An exploration of the desert of memory rather than those
around me?” Deflecting to thoughts of the restaurant reminds me
that Francis is likely to be needed in the kitchen soon. It has
just gone 8pm and our chat is ebbing to a close. As a final
question, I ask Francis what is vital in his calculation of a
restaurant. “I’d rather be somewhere remote. I like silence and the
journey the guest makes to come and see you.” It makes sense that
silence and contemplation are the bedrock for this chef with a
self-professed “soul of a poet and eye of a painter”. He is himself
a form of aesthetic expression. It seems everything in this place
is founded on the theory of beauty and the philosophy of art.