Casa de Campo Restaurant

Sants is a neighborhood that doesn't give a damn about your travel itinerary. It’s a place of brick, grit, and people who actually live here, far from the Gaudí-themed gift shops and the overpriced sangria of the center. And tucked away on Carrer de Sugranyes is Casa de Campo, a restaurant that functions less like a business and more like a cultural embassy for the Bolivian diaspora. If you’re looking for white linen and hushed whispers, keep walking. This is a place of loud laughter, clattering plates, and the kind of heavy, soul-sustaining cooking that makes you want to cancel your afternoon plans and take a three-hour nap.

Walking into Casa de Campo is like stepping through a portal directly to the heart of South America. The decor is functional, unpretentious, and secondary to the mission at hand: feeding people the food they miss from home. You’ll see multi-generational families crowded around tables, the air thick with the scent of toasted cumin and slow-simmering beef. It’s one of the best Bolivian food spots in Barcelona precisely because it hasn't been sanitized for the 'international' palate. It is what it is, and what it is is magnificent.

You start with the Sopa de Maní. If there is a more comforting liquid on this planet, I haven't found it. This isn't some thin, watery broth; it’s a rich, creamy peanut-based elixir, fortified with beef, potatoes, and topped with a handful of thin, crispy fries. It’s a textural masterpiece, a warm hug in a bowl that explains everything you need to know about Bolivian hospitality in a single spoonful. It’s the kind of dish that makes you wonder why we bother with anything else.

Then comes the Keperí. This is beef treated with the respect it deserves—marinated until the flavors penetrate the fiber, then slow-cooked until the collagen breaks down into a sticky, glorious mess that yields to the slightest pressure of a fork. It’s served with rice, maybe some yuca, and a side of llajua—that spicy Bolivian salsa that provides the necessary acidic kick to cut through the richness. If you’re feeling particularly brave or particularly hungry, look for the Patasca, a corn and pork stew that is basically a masterclass in how to use every part of the animal to create something deeply satisfying.

Is it perfect? No. The service can be 'relaxed,' especially when the place is packed on a Sunday afternoon with families and live music. The lighting is bright, and the noise levels can reach a fever pitch. But that’s the point. This is a living, breathing space. It’s an authentic restaurant in Sants-Montjuïc that serves as a reminder that Barcelona is a city of immigrants, of shared stories, and of flavors that refuse to be diluted.

If you’re tired of the same three tapas being served at every corner in the Gothic Quarter, take the L5 metro to Badal and walk a few blocks. Casa de Campo is for the traveler who wants to see the real city, the one that eats peanut soup and slow-cooked beef while the rest of the world is waiting in line for a selfie. It’s honest, it’s heavy, and it’s exactly what you need when the artifice of the tourist trail starts to feel a little too thin. This is real food for real people, served without an ounce of irony.