3 Focs

Walk down Carrer de València and you’ll pass a dozen places trying to sell you a 'gastronomic experience' involving dry ice and tiny portions. Keep walking. You’re looking for the smell of smoke. When you hit 3 Focs, you’ll know it. This isn’t a place for the faint of heart or the clean of shirt. It’s a temple to the brasa—the charcoal grill—and it’s one of the few places in the Eixample neighborhood that hasn't traded its soul for a better Instagram filter.

The name means 'Three Fires,' and they aren't kidding. The moment you step inside, the air is thick with the scent of holm oak charcoal and searing fat. The decor is unapologetically rustic: exposed brick, dark wood, and the kind of lighting that doesn't care if you look good, as long as the food does. It feels like a Masia—a traditional Catalan farmhouse—that somehow got swallowed by the city’s grid system. It’s loud, it’s frantic, and it’s exactly how a restaurant should be.

If you’re here between January and April, you’re here for one thing: the calçotada. For the uninitiated, calçots are oversized spring onions, charred over an open flame until the outer layers are carbonized husks. You don a bib—yes, a bib, don't be a hero—strip the blackened skin with your bare hands, dredge the tender white heart in a thick, nutty romesco sauce, and lower it into your mouth like a sword swallower. It is messy, it is primal, and it is beautiful. It’s the kind of meal that reminds you that eating is a physical act, not just a social one.

But even when the onions aren't in season, the grill never stops. This is one of the best meat restaurants in Barcelona for people who actually like the taste of fire. The lamb chops are small, fatty, and charred to perfection. The beef steaks come out with that essential crust that only a real charcoal grill can provide. And don't sleep on the canelons de la iaia. These aren't the delicate, airy things you find in French bistros; these are heavy, rich, meat-filled tubes of joy, smothered in a béchamel that probably has more butter than your doctor would approve of. It’s the kind of food that makes you want to cancel your afternoon meetings and take a three-hour nap.

The service is professional in that classic Spanish way—efficient, slightly brisk, and completely unimpressed by your status. They’ve seen it all. They know the food is good, and they know you’re going to eat it. There’s a refreshing lack of pretense here. You aren't paying for a performance; you’re paying for the skill of a grill master who knows exactly when a piece of meat has reached its breaking point.

Is it perfect? No. If you’re looking for a quiet, romantic corner to whisper sweet nothings, go somewhere else. You’ll be shouting over the clatter of plates and the roar of the next table’s birthday celebration. The wine list is functional rather than revolutionary, and the floor can get a bit slippery from the sheer volume of olive oil in the building. But that’s the point. 3 Focs is a reminder of what Barcelona used to be before it became a theme park: a place where the ingredients are respected, the fire is hot, and the belly is always full. It’s honest, it’s charred, and it’s damn good.