Every restaurant has an origin story. Ours fits in a shoebox — a worn wooden recipe box, actually, stuffed with index cards in three different hands and stained with the ghosts of a hundred Sunday dinners.

The name Cuatro Hermanos means “four brothers,” and that is the whole business plan, really. Four siblings who grew up in a kitchen that never quite stopped moving. There was always something soaking, simmering, resting or frying. There was always someone being told to stir. And there was always, without exception, more than enough to feed whoever walked through the door.

It started with mamá’s sofrito

If you want to understand our food, start with sofrito — the aromatic base of onions, peppers, garlic, cilantro and culantro that we cook down slow before almost anything else happens. Our mother made a batch most mornings, and the smell of it is the closest thing we have to a family crest. It goes into the beans, the arepas, the empanada filling, the arroz con pollo. It is the flavor our regulars can’t quite name but always notice.

“Cook it like you’re feeding people you love, because you are.” — a line from one of the index cards, no recipe attached.

When we talk about cooking “from scratch,” this is what we mean. Not a marketing phrase — a habit we couldn’t break if we tried. The guacamole is mashed to order. The plantains are sliced and fried through the day. The chimichurri is chopped by hand, because a food processor turns it to paste and the whole point of chimichurri is texture.

Our kitchen runs the way our family kitchen always did — busy, warm, and never short of sofrito.
Our kitchen runs the way our family kitchen always did — busy, warm, and never short of sofrito.

Why our menu crosses borders

People sometimes ask why a “Mexican” restaurant serves Venezuelan arepas, Argentine churrasco and Peruvian lomo saltado. The honest answer is that this is simply how we eat. Latin America is not one cuisine; it is dozens, sharing ingredients and trading ideas across borders for centuries. Corn shows up as a taco in Mexico and an arepa in Venezuela. The empanada travels from Spain to nearly every country on the continent and picks up a new personality in each one.

We wanted a table where all of that could sit side by side — where you could order authentic corn tortilla tacos and a plate of grilled skirt steak with chimichurri in the same breath, and have both taste like someone’s grandmother made them.

A few dishes that tell our story: the Authentic Tacos (corn, cilantro, onion — nothing hiding), the Churrasco Argentino, and La Hermandad — the Brotherhood Platter, named, of course, for us.

Rooted in Westport

We opened our doors at 43 Saugatuck Ave because we wanted to feed our neighbors, not just serve customers. Seven days a week, we cook the way we always have — together, a little loud, and with the recipe box always within reach. When you order from us, whether it’s a quick taco lunch or a platter for the whole crew, you’re getting a plate that four brothers still argue over how to make. And that argument, we think, is the secret ingredient.

  • Family owned
  • Made from scratch
  • Open 7 days
  • Delivery & takeout
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