Alba Granados

Carrer d’Enric Granados is the kind of street that makes you want to burn your passport and never leave. It’s leafy, pedestrian-friendly, and smells of expensive perfume and woodsmoke. Right in the thick of it sits Alba Granados, a place that doesn’t need to shout to be heard. It’s been a cornerstone of the Eixample dining scene long enough to see trends come and go, yet it remains stubbornly, gloriously committed to the things that actually matter: good product, high heat, and enough wine to make you forget your problems.

Walking in, you’re hit with the immediate realization that this isn't a place for the faint of heart or the aggressively vegan. The air is thick with the scent of rendering beef fat and the sharp, metallic tang of the plancha. Downstairs is the 'Alba Bar'—a more casual, high-energy space where you can grab a stool, order a vermut, and watch the world go by through the large windows. But the real magic happens when you head upstairs to the dining room. It’s sophisticated without being pretentious, the kind of room where a business deal, a breakup, and a birthday celebration can all happen at adjacent tables without anyone batting an eye.

Let’s talk about the chuletón. This isn't just a steak; it’s a ritual. They bring out the rib-eye, aged to the point of funkiness, and a scorching hot volcanic stone. You do the work. You sear the meat to your own specifications, the hiss of the protein hitting the stone providing the soundtrack to your meal. It’s primal, it’s messy, and it’s exactly what you want when you’re three glasses deep into a heavy Priorat. If you’re not in the mood to work for your dinner, the 'huevos rotos' (broken eggs) are a mandatory order. They arrive as a beautiful, greasy pile of hand-cut fries, perfectly fried eggs with runny yolks, and shards of salty jamón ibérico. It’s the kind of dish that feels like a warm hug from a grandmother who really wants you to gain five pounds.

The menu is a roadmap of Catalan staples done with zero compromise. You’ve got the 'arroz de montaña'—a mountain rice that tastes like the forest floor in the best way possible—and seafood that actually tastes like the sea, not a freezer bag. The grilled octopus is charred to a crisp on the outside while remaining tender enough to cut with a dull spoon. It’s a kitchen that understands you don't need to reinvent the wheel; you just need to make the wheel out of the best possible materials.

Is it perfect? Of course not. When the room is full, which is basically every night, the noise level can reach a dull roar. The service, while professional and efficient, has that classic Eixample briskness—they aren't here to be your best friend; they’re here to move plates. If you’re looking for a quiet, romantic whisper-fest, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you want to feel the city's frantic, hungry energy, to eat meat that was recently walking around a field, and to sit on one of the most beautiful terraces in the city, this is your spot.

Alba Granados represents the 'middle ground' of Barcelona dining that is slowly disappearing: places that are better than the tourist traps but more accessible than the Michelin-starred temples of gastronomy. It’s honest. It’s loud. It’s delicious. It’s exactly what a restaurant in the Eixample should be. Don't overthink it. Order the meat, drink the wine, and enjoy the fact that you're in one of the greatest food cities on earth.