| Puertas cerradas became popular during Argentina’s 2001 economic crisis, when people opened them in their homes to make money. “A bunch of them popped up, but most of those didn’t last long,” says Dan Perlman, an American transplant who worked in gastronomy in New York before moving to Buenos Aires. Here, he opened his puerta cerrada, Casa Saltshaker, in 2005 with partner Henry Tapia. However, nobody had any money, so nobody came, Perlman explains of many puertas cerradas that opened around the same time his did. “There was this sort of peak for a little while, and then most disappeared,” he says while sitting at the large table in his Recoleta apartment, where he has now hosted 2,700 Casa Saltshaker dinners. Perlman, in contrast to other puerta cerrada owners of the same era, had early success due to the Buenos Aires expat community. Many expats made money in currencies more stable than the Argentine peso, thus allowing them to eat out regularly. The concept is not unique to Buenos Aires, Perlman points out. “Casas de comida (eating houses) go back to practically the founding of Argentina,” he says. The country’s early restaurants were rooms in peoples’ homes, where home cooks served what they were cooking for their own families to travelers, Perlman explains. Despite the small boom in the early 2000s, the real heyday of puertas cerradas was right before the pandemic. According to Perlman, at least 68 operated in the city. “Almost all of those are gone,” he says. However, some were transformed into full-scale restaurants in Buenos Aires (like Nola, which serves New Orleans-style chicken), and some proprietors opted to open their spaces in international locations. The owners of new puerta cerrada, Casa Moema, have a different take on the evolution of closed-door dining. Murilo Tartaglia, a Brazilian political analyst and chef, and his co-host Valentina Caputo, an Argentine poet and writer, see their Brazilian fusion puerta cerrada as a modern-day tertulia. Tertulias are informal gatherings where people meet to discuss the arts and politics. Sometimes, dancing is involved. They were especially popular in Buenos Aires in the early 1800s, leading up to Argentina’s independence from Spain, and served as a space to discuss activism and the changing political landscape. “It’s about gathering together in a group with people,” Caputo explains. “They don’t have to know each other necessarily, but somehow the environment helps.” When people start talking to each other, friendships form, she says. Both Capulto and Tartaglia wanted Casa Moema to act as a space for deep connections after the isolation of the pandemic. Unlike other puerta cerradas, where conversations at the communal table happen organically, Casa Moema invites featured guests: politicians, bitcoin experts, sexologists and philosophers have all been on the roster. The speaker gives a talk at the table and the patrons are welcome to interject to ask questions, challenge and provide their own insights on the topic. It’s a more democratic approach than in the past, Caputo says. “Everyone is the same.” It doesn’t matter who people are, she adds. “We have all the same value to speak.” Despite differing origin stories, there’s a common philosophy behind these hidden eateries: celebrating individuality and fulfilling a desire for connection. Each puerta cerrada is an extension of its owners’ personality and interests — whether that’s finding rare wines, cooking spicy vegetarian food or offering political discourse. “For me the most memorable things are the connections people make. Whether it’s us with them or them with each other,” Perlman says. Tartaglia agrees. They’ve had everyone from new couples to new best friends meet in their space. “It could be like political Tinder.” | 
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