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© 2009 Dan Perlman

Casa SaltShaker

Buenos Aires, Argentina
Chef: Dan Perlman
Host: Henry Tapia

OrangeLife Magazine
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Writer: Melanie Kramers
Friday, June 6, 2008

Typically located in the intimate setting of the chef’s house, you may need to do some undercover sleuthing to eat at a 'locked door restaurant'. Relying on word-of-mouth rather than advertising, the owners of these concealed venues ensure that solely discerning, adventurous diners learn of their existence, divulging the address only when a reservation is made. This cloak-and-dagger approach to eating out is a trend fast gaining popularity internationally, but restaurantes de puertas cerradas have been hidden in neighbourhoods around Buenos Aires for a couple of decades, perhaps because running a clandestine business – thus evading the inconveniences of taxes, meddlesome inspections and pesky safety regulations – appeals to the anti-establishment spirit of locals. Dan Perlman of Casa SaltShaker (who incidentally, in case any Argentine government officials are reading this, is fully declared and all paid up) explains why he opens his attractive garden apartment to strangers twice a week: “On a personal level, we needed some income, and I like to cook. We also enjoy having people in our home and meeting new friends, even if we charge them for it.” For the 12 guests, rubbing elbows on two communal tables, the draw is the congenial atmosphere of a dinner party, with lively conversation in a mixture of languages, as well as a superb five-course tasting menu – including a cocktail aperitif, wine and coffee – all for around $30. Wildly imaginative themed menus are inspired by randomly chosen festivals and historical events; Galician Literature Day, for example, is an excuse for an evening of north-western Spanish cuisine including hake in garlic sauce and stuffed piquillo peppers, and on my visit, the anniversary of Lady Godiva’s infamous trot through Coventry was commemorated, fortunately not by demanding diners arrive naked, but by dishing up hearty Anglo-Saxon fare such as bacon and leek pie. What most appeals to me is the random company – my dining partners numbered an Argentine polo player and an American surrealist poet – and the chance to indulge my childhood fantasy of being a special agent. I was only sorry a secret handshake wasn’t called for.

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