Aflamas

Les Corts is not where the guidebooks tell you to go. It’s a neighborhood of wide avenues, business suits, and people who actually live in Barcelona, far from the neon-lit madness of La Rambla. But if you want to see what happens when a chef with a serious pedigree decides to cook for his neighbors instead of the cruise ship crowds, you find your way to Carrer de Loreto. You find Aflamas.

This isn’t some 'concept' dreamed up by a marketing firm. This is the house of Pau Pérez. Pérez spent years honing his craft at Hofmann—the legendary Barcelona culinary school and Michelin-starred institution—and worked alongside heavy hitters like Nandu Jubany. You can see that DNA in every plate that leaves the kitchen. It’s what the locals call 'cuina d’autor'—author’s cuisine. It means there’s a person behind the stove, not a corporate manual. It means the food has a point of view.

Walking into Aflamas feels like entering a sanctuary of quiet competence. The room is modern, clean, and stripped of unnecessary fluff. You aren’t here for the wallpaper; you’re here for the precision. The menu is a tightrope walk between traditional Mediterranean roots and the kind of high-level technique that makes you wonder why you ever settled for a soggy tapa in the Gothic Quarter.

Let’s talk about the rice, because in this city, rice is a religion. The 'arroz de gamba roja' (red prawn rice) at Aflamas is a visceral experience. It’s not just a dish; it’s an extraction of the sea’s very essence. The rice is cooked to a perfect, defiant al dente, each grain coated in a rich, briny reduction made from the heads of prawns that probably saw the Mediterranean sun only hours ago. When you squeeze the juice from the heads onto the rice, it’s a protein rush that hits you right in the cortex. It’s honest, it’s brutal, and it’s perfect.

Then there’s the steak tartare. In a world where most tartares are a mushy afterthought, Pérez treats it with the respect of a surgeon. It’s hand-cut—never ground—giving it a texture that demands you actually chew and appreciate the quality of the beef. It’s seasoned with a restraint that highlights the meat rather than drowning it in capers and mustard. It’s the kind of dish that tells you everything you need to know about a kitchen’s discipline.

The tasting menu—the 'Menú Degustació'—is the move if you want the full story. It’s a progression of flavors that makes sense, moving from delicate starters like scallops with seasonal mushrooms to heavier, soul-satisfying mains. And the croquetas? Don't skip them. Whether they’re stuffed with ceps or jamón, they are a masterclass in the contrast between a shatteringly crisp exterior and a molten, béchamel-heavy heart.

Is it expensive? It’s not cheap, but it’s fair. You’re paying for the years Pérez spent learning how to manipulate heat and salt. You’re paying for ingredients that weren’t bought at a discount. The service is professional, the kind of 'old school' attentive where they anticipate your needs before you even realize you have them, but without the suffocating pretension of a three-star temple.

Aflamas is for the diner who is tired of the 'gastronomic adventures' promised by PR firms. It’s for the person who wants a real meal, cooked by a real chef, in a neighborhood that doesn't care if you're a tourist or not. It’s one of the best Mediterranean restaurants in Barcelona precisely because it isn't trying to be anything other than excellent.