2254 Barcelona Restaurant

Twenty-two hundred and fifty-four kilometers. That’s the distance from Palermo to Barcelona, a long, sun-drenched haul through the soul of the Mediterranean. It’s also the name and the mission statement of Chef Niki Pavanelli’s outpost on Carrer del Consell de Cent. This isn’t your grandfather’s tapas bar. There are no dusty bullfighting posters here, no sawdust on the floor, and nobody is going to throw a plate of greasy patatas bravas at you and call it a day. This is Eixample modernism with a pulse, located on one of the city’s newly minted 'superilla' green streets where the air is clearer and the vibe is decidedly more civilized.

When you walk into 2254, you’re hitting a space that feels industrial but warm—exposed brick, low lighting, and a long, commanding bar that looks directly into the belly of the beast: the open kitchen. This is the nerve center of the operation, and by that, I mean the kind of focused, high-heat labor that produces some of the most interesting fusion in the city. Pavanelli is Italian by birth but Catalan by choice, and his menu is a record of that journey. It’s a place that understands that 'fusion' isn't a dirty word if you actually know what the hell you’re doing.

The star of the show, the dish that has launched a thousand Instagram posts but actually lives up to the hype, is the smoked carbonara. It arrives at the table in a glass jar, swirling with trapped smoke like a secret you’re about to be let in on. When they pop the lid, the scent of guanciale and beechwood hits you square in the face. It’s theatrical, sure, but the first bite confirms it’s not just a gimmick. It’s rich, silky, and unapologetically bold. It’s the kind of dish that makes you wonder why anyone bothers with the traditional version when you can have this level of drama.

Then there’s the oxtail cannelloni. In Barcelona, cannelloni is a sacred cow, usually reserved for Saint Stephen’s Day and grandmother’s Sunday table. 2254 takes that tradition and cranks it up. The meat is tender enough to make you weep, wrapped in delicate pasta and smothered in a sauce that tastes like forty-eight hours of patience. It’s a heavy hitter, a gut punch of flavor that demands a glass of something red and Spanish from their well-curated wine list.

But the real curveball? The pistachio mochi. You don’t expect a Japanese-inspired dessert to be the knockout blow in a Mediterranean tapas joint, but here we are. It’s soft, chewy, and exploding with the kind of intense pistachio flavor that suggests someone spent a lot of time sourcing the right nuts. It’s become a cult favorite for a reason.

Is it crowded? Yes. Is it loud? Absolutely. If you’re looking for a quiet place to discuss your tax returns, go elsewhere. This is a place for people who like the clatter of silverware, the hiss of the plancha, and the energy of a room full of people who know they’ve found the right spot. The service is professional—fast, efficient, and devoid of the weary cynicism you find in the tourist traps three blocks over. It’s one of the best tapas bars in Eixample because it refuses to be boring. It respects the ingredients of the Mediterranean but isn't afraid to take them on a high-speed chase across borders. If you want to understand where Barcelona’s food scene is heading in 2025, pull up a stool here and start eating.