Algrano | Pasta Bistro

Sant Antoni is a neighborhood currently caught in the crosshairs of cool, but Algrano Pasta Bistro feels like it would survive a nuclear winter as long as there’s a steady supply of double-zero flour and fresh eggs. It’s a small, narrow strip of a place on Carrer de Tamarit where the air is thick with the scent of simmering ragù and the rhythmic thwack of dough hitting a wooden table. This isn't your typical 'Italian-themed' tourist trap with checkered tablecloths and a menu translated into six languages. This is a workshop.

The man behind the curtain—or rather, the open kitchen—is Gabriele Milani. Now, Milani isn't some amateur who decided to open a pasta joint on a whim. He’s got a pedigree that would make most chefs weep, having spent years in the high-pressure, tweezers-and-foam world of Lasarte, a three-Michelin-star temple. But at Algrano, he’s stripped away the pretension. He’s traded the white linen for a bistro vibe that’s loud, cramped, and smells like heaven. It’s the kind of place where you see the sweat on the brow of the guy tossing your noodles, and that’s exactly how it should be.

Let’s talk about the Carbonara, because in a city full of culinary sacrilege, Algrano is doing the Lord’s work. If you come here looking for cream, do everyone a favor and keep walking. Here, the sauce is a silky, emulsified gold made of egg yolks and Pecorino Romano, clinging to al dente strands like a desperate lover. The guanciale is rendered until it’s a salty, crispy weapon of mass destruction. It is, quite simply, one of the best pasta dishes in Barcelona, and it’ll make you realize how much of your life you’ve wasted eating the fake stuff.

Then there’s the wild boar ravioli. It’s a gut punch of flavor—dark, gamey, and unapologetic. The pasta is rolled thin enough to be delicate but strong enough to hold back a ragù that tastes like it’s been bubbling since the dawn of time. If that’s too heavy for your delicate sensibilities, the Osso Buco ravioli offers a similar depth of soul, a concentrated hit of marrow and slow-braised meat that demands you slow down and pay attention.

The room itself is industrial-chic, which is a polite way of saying it’s functional. You’re here for the food, not the upholstery. It gets loud. It gets crowded. The service is efficient and brisk, the kind of pace you expect in a place that knows people are lining up outside. It’s a bistro in the truest sense—a place to eat well, drink a decent glass of Italian red, and get out so the next hungry soul can take your stool.

Is it perfect? No. If you’re looking for a quiet, romantic corner to whisper sweet nothings, you’re in the wrong zip code. You’ll likely be elbow-to-elbow with a local architect or a group of students who know where the value is. But that’s the magic of it. Algrano is a reminder that the best food doesn't need a silver platter; it just needs a chef who gives a damn and ingredients that haven't been messed with. It’s honest, it’s visceral, and it’s exactly what Sant Antoni needed. Finish with the tiramisu—it’s light, boozy, and won’t leave you feeling like you need a nap in the middle of the Eixample.