Addis Abeba

If you’re the kind of person who needs a starched white tablecloth and a silver-plated fork to feel like you’re having a 'gastronomic experience,' do us both a favor and keep walking. Addis Abeba isn’t for you. Located in Sants—a neighborhood that still feels like a neighborhood, blissfully ignored by the Segway tours and the selfie-stick legions—this place is a masterclass in the tactile, visceral joy of eating. There are no utensils here. Your hands are the tools, and a giant, spongy, slightly sour pancake called injera is your vehicle.

Walking into Addis Abeba feels like stepping out of the Mediterranean and into a dimly lit, spice-scented sanctuary. The air is thick with the smell of berbere—that complex, fiery Ethiopian spice blend—and the low hum of people actually talking to each other instead of staring at their phones. You’ll likely be seated at a mesob, a traditional woven straw table that dictates a certain level of intimacy with your dining companions. You aren't just sharing a meal; you’re sharing a workspace.

The move here is the tasting menu. It’s the best way to understand what’s happening on the plate. They lay down a massive round of injera and start dolloping various stews—wots—across its surface like a delicious, edible map. There’s the Doro Wat, a slow-simmered chicken stew that’s dark, rich, and heavy with onion and spice. There are lentils that have been cooked down until they’re creamy and potent, and beef dishes that carry a heat that builds slowly until your forehead starts to bead. The injera soaks up all those juices, becoming more flavorful as the meal progresses. By the end, you’re eating the very plate the food was served on. It’s brilliant, efficient, and deeply satisfying.

What’s surprising about this place—and what every regular will tell you—is the carrot cake. It sounds like a weird pivot for an Ethiopian joint in the middle of Sants, but it’s legendary. It’s moist, spiced perfectly, and serves as the necessary cooling agent after an hour of wrestling with berbere heat. It’s the kind of anomaly that makes a restaurant feel human rather than corporate.

Let’s be clear: the service can be 'relaxed.' If you’re in a rush to catch a train at the nearby Sants station, you’re doing it wrong. This is a place for slow consumption. It’s crowded, it’s often loud, and you will leave with yellow turmeric stains under your fingernails that will remind you of your meal for the next forty-eight hours. To some, that’s a deterrent. To those who actually give a damn about food, it’s a badge of honor.

Addis Abeba represents the best of what Barcelona’s dining scene can be when it stops trying to impress tourists and just focuses on being good. It’s one of the best Ethiopian restaurants in Barcelona precisely because it hasn't compromised. It’s authentic, it’s affordable, and it’s a reminder that the best meals are the ones where you have to get your hands dirty. If you want to understand the soul of the Sants-Montjuïc district, sit down at a mesob, tear off a piece of bread, and start scooping. Just don't ask for a fork.