Best Food IV

You aren’t in the Gothic Quarter anymore. You aren’t anywhere near the manicured lawns of the Sagrada Família or the overpriced gin-and-tonics of the Born. You’re in Sant Martí, on Carrer d'Andrade, a part of Barcelona that doesn’t give a damn about your Instagram feed. This is a neighborhood of apartment blocks, workshops, and people who work for a living. And in the middle of it stands Best Food IV. The name alone suggests a lineage, a franchise of necessity, or perhaps just a lack of interest in branding. What happened to Best Food I through III? It doesn't matter. What matters is the vertical spit.

Walking into Best Food IV is an exercise in sensory honesty. There are no Edison bulbs here. The lighting is fluorescent, bright enough to perform surgery, and it reflects off the stainless steel surfaces with a clinical intensity. The air smells of roasting fat, cumin, and the specific, yeasty scent of dough hitting a hot oven. It’s a pizzería and kebab joint, a staple of the European urban landscape, but this one has earned a reputation that transcends the usual late-night desperation. When you see a 4.6 rating in a neighborhood like this, it means the locals—the most unforgiving critics on earth—have given it the nod.

The centerpiece is, of course, the meat. It’s a massive, glistening cylinder of protein, rotating slowly, sweating under the heat. The guy behind the counter wields the electric shaver with the precision of a barber, letting the thin, charred ribbons of meat fall into a waiting tray. This isn't the mystery meat you find in the tourist traps off La Rambla. There’s a texture here, a crust, a seasoning that actually registers on the palate. Whether you go for the pita or the durum, the construction is key. They don't just throw it together; they layer it. A smear of the white sauce—cool, garlicky, slightly tangy—and a streak of the red sauce that actually carries a bit of a kick. Then the 'wealth' of the portion hits you. Reviewers call it 'abundancia,' and they aren't kidding. This is a meal designed to sustain a human being for twenty-four hours.

The durum is the move here. The flatbread is toasted just enough to give it structural integrity, preventing the dreaded structural failure that plagues lesser kebabs. It’s a heavy, dense package of satisfaction. If you’re feeling like a change of pace, the pizzas are surprisingly respectable—thin-crust, functional, and topped with a generosity that borders on the reckless. It’s the kind of food that reminds you that 'cheap eats Barcelona' doesn't have to mean 'bad eats.'

Is it pretty? No. Is the service 'warm and welcoming' in the way a luxury hotel is? Not exactly. The service is efficient, brisk, and honest. They are there to feed you, not to be your best friend. There’s a constant stream of delivery drivers and locals stopping in for a takeaway bag that smells like a victory. It’s a place for the 2 AM crowd, the post-shift workers, and anyone who realizes that sometimes, a perfectly executed kebab is more satisfying than a twelve-course tasting menu.

If you’re looking for a 'gastronomic adventure,' go somewhere else. But if you want to understand the real Barcelona—the one that exists when the cruise ships leave—sit down at one of the functional tables at Best Food IV. Order a durum with everything, grab a cold drink, and appreciate the fact that in a world of rising prices and shrinking portions, some places still believe in giving you your money's worth. It’s honest, it’s filling, and it’s exactly what it needs to be.