Amar Barcelona

Walking into El Palace is like stepping into a time machine set to 'Imperial.' It’s all gold leaf, velvet, and the kind of hushed reverence that usually makes me want to start a fire just to see if the chandeliers would rattle. But then there’s Amar. Rafa Zafra, the man who turned Estimar into a cult of seafood worship in the back alleys of the Born, has moved into the big house. He isn't playing nice. He’s brought the raw, salt-sprayed soul of the Mediterranean into these gilded halls, and he’s serving it with a side of 'fuck you' levels of luxury.

This is not a place for a casual bite. This is a temple to the product. Zafra’s philosophy is simple: find the best thing in the water, don’t mess it up, and serve it with enough confidence to justify the eye-watering bill. The room is blue and gold, deep and immersive, like dining inside a very expensive jewelry box. It’s the kind of place where you expect to see international arms dealers or movie stars hiding in plain sight, but the real star is the seafood sitting on the ice.

You start with the 'Bikini.' In any other joint in Barcelona, a bikini is a ham and cheese toastie you eat when you’re hungover. Here, it’s a delicate, pressed sandwich filled with salmon and topped with a thick, glistening layer of caviar. It’s decadent, it’s unnecessary, and it’s absolutely spectacular. Then there’s the tribute to El Bulli—the carpaccio de gambas. It’s a thin, translucent sheet of pure shrimp essence that disappears on the tongue, leaving nothing but the taste of the sea and the ghost of Ferran Adrià’s genius. Zafra spent years at El Bulli, and that DNA is everywhere—in the precision, the technique, and the absolute refusal to be boring.

The hake—merluza—is a revelation. Usually the most boring fish on the menu, here it’s treated with a level of respect bordering on the religious. Whether it’s fried in a delicate batter or served with a pil-pil that has the consistency of liquid silk, it reminds you why people have been fighting over fishing rights for centuries. The wine list is a tome, curated by sommeliers who actually give a damn, leaning heavily into Champagnes and whites that can cut through the richness of all that butter and brine.

Is it pretentious? Of course it is. It’s a restaurant in the oldest five-star hotel in the city. The service is formal, the napkins are heavy, and you’ll feel the weight of the history in every corner. But beneath the polish, there’s a raw, beating heart. Zafra loves the sea, and he loves the people who work it. You can taste the respect for the fisherman in every oyster and every grilled langoustine.

Don't come here if you're looking for a bargain. Don't come here if you want 'fusion' or foam for the sake of foam. Come here when you want to remember what it feels like to eat the best version of something. It’s one of the best seafood restaurants in Barcelona, hands down, but it requires you to surrender. Surrender your credit card, surrender your cynicism, and just let the caviar wash over you. It’s a high-wire act of fine dining that manages to stay grounded in the salt and the grit of the Mediterranean, even while surrounded by all that gold.