I arrived at the Hotel Las Torres in a jet-lagged haze, the kind of fatigue only Patagonia can justify. A dawn departure from the Estancia Cerro Negro, where I had spent the last two months working on a working cattle Ranch. A three-hour van ride through the Andes. Rolling through windswept steppe and guanaco-dotted hills brought me to the base of one of the world’s most dramatic national parks. But before I could think about mountains or miradors, I did what any worn-down traveler worth their boots would do—I went to the bar.
I’d heard whispers. A bartender named Federico. “An interesting character,” someone had said with a smirk and a glint. “He makes sustainable cocktails,” they had offered, as if that were enough of a calling card. That kind of intrigue has its own gravitational pull, so I dragged my dusty boots to the lobby’s Pionero Bar and asked for him by name.
I expected brilliance with a hint of arrogance—the tortured artist type. Patagonia’s own mixological Hemingway. After all, Federico Gil is no ordinary bartender. Certificates and awards crowd the walls behind the bar like diplomas in a professor’s office. His reputation has traveled further than many of the hotel’s guests. He’s been featured in industry journals. He speaks at conferences. One cocktail magazine dubbed him “The Liquid Conservationist.”
But when Federico emerged from behind the bar, all warm eyes and easy smiles, I was met not with ego, but earnestness. It threw me off in the best possible way. In a region dominated by granite peaks and stoic gauchos, Federico’s kindness felt almost rebellious.
We talked that first night for hours, the way strangers sometimes do when the Andes are looming outside the window and there’s no Wi-Fi to interrupt. He poured me one of his own beers, brewed just meters away on the property. Clean, rich, with a herbal depth that hints at the very same windblown flora you hike past on the trail to Base Torres. It was a beer with terroir—Patagonia in a glass.
The next morning, groggy but curious, I found him again. And again the next day. Over the course of a week, I watched Federico work—not just as a bartender, but as an inventor, historian, host, and mad scientist. I saw him distill gin in a gleaming copper still that looked like it had time-traveled out of a Jules Verne novel. He let me add crushed herbs and Patagonian wildflowers to the mix, my own brief apprenticeship in the gospel of gin.
One afternoon, he showed me how he brews his beer—how he monitors the temperature with the careful attention of a chocolatier or a surgeon. Then he pulled out a set of upcycled drinking glasses he’d made from used bottles. He sliced them, sanded them smooth, and turned landfill into art. If that’s not alchemy, I don’t know what is.
But it’s not just the gin. Or the beer. Or the low-waste philosophy behind every pour. Federico teaches mixology classes most nights for guests, who leave not just buzzed but transformed. They’re taught to shake, stir, and savor with intention. This isn’t some hokey cocktail hour for bored tourists. It’s a celebration of place, flavor, and craft.
And still, none of this touches the heart of the man.
Because here’s the real headline: Federico Gil is Patagonia’s renaissance man. But he might also be its kindest.
He’s not here for acclaim, though he has every right to bask in it. He’s not here to sell a brand, though one could easily be built around him. He’s here because he loves this land, these ingredients, this slow, purposeful way of life. Likewise, he talks about water with the reverence of a monk and treats fermentation like poetry. Furthermore, he knows the story of every berry and bark he uses, and if you linger long enough at the bar, he’ll tell you those stories with a reverence that makes you feel like you’re part of something ancient and sacred.
Federico came to Patagonia years ago, chasing the siren song of the south, and somehow brought with him a whole philosophy. He doesn’t just serve drinks—he serves stories, ecosystems, futures. At a time when “sustainability” is a buzzword thrown around by marketers and greenwashed brands, Federico lives it. You taste it in his gin, smell it in the hops, see it in every glass that’s been reborn from waste.
There are rumors that Hotel Las Torres is undergoing renovations soon. Maybe a new bar will rise from the plans. If so, they should name it Federico’s. Not because he needs the honor. But because his fingerprints, his ethos, and his quiet brilliance are already steeped into every bottle, every pour, every nightcap.
He’s not just a bartender.
He’s the soul of the place.
By Forrest Mallard.