Casa Palet

Walking into Casa Palet isn’t like walking into one of those glass-and-steel temples of gastronomy popping up all over Eixample. This place has the weight of history behind it, and you can smell it the moment you cross the threshold—a heady, intoxicating mix of cured jamón, aged cheese, and the cork-dry scent of a thousand well-rested bottles of wine. It started in 1920 as a 'colmado,' a neighborhood grocery store where the locals of Sant Gervasi came to stock their pantries. It’s still a shop, technically, but it’s evolved into something much more vital: a restaurant that respects the ingredient above all else.

This is the kind of place that makes you realize how much bullshit we usually tolerate in the name of 'dining out.' There are no foam-topped experiments here, no waiters explaining the 'concept' of a plate. The concept is simple: find the best possible product in the market and don't screw it up. You’re sitting among shelves lined with gourmet preserves and rare vintages, a reminder that you’re eating in a pantry that’s been curated for over a century. It’s intimate, wood-heavy, and feels like the private dining room of a very wealthy, very tasteful Catalan uncle who stopped caring about trends in the seventies.

You start with the ensaladilla rusa. In a city where every tourist trap serves a refrigerated scoop of potato-flavored sadness, Casa Palet’s version is a revelation. It’s creamy, balanced, and hits the cortex with a salt-fat-acid punch that demands a second order. Then come the croquetas—crisp on the outside, molten and rich within, the kind of thing that makes you want to weep for every frozen version you’ve ever settled for. The menu, or 'la carta,' is a love letter to the seasons. If the mushrooms are good this morning, they’re on the plate tonight. The steak tartar is handled with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious relics, and the canelones are a masterclass in comfort, smothered in a béchamel so smooth it should be illegal.

The crowd here is blissfully devoid of the selfie-stick brigade. This is Sarrià-Sant Gervasi, a neighborhood where people have lived for generations and they know exactly what good food should cost and how it should taste. You’ll see families who have been coming here since the current owner’s grandfather was behind the counter, and solo diners tucked into a corner with a glass of Priorat and a book. The service is professional, slightly brisk, and entirely devoid of the fake 'best friend' energy you find in the more tourist-heavy barrios. They know they’re good. They don’t need to audition for your affection.

Is it perfect? No. If you’re looking for a bargain, you might find the bill a bit sharp. Quality like this doesn't come cheap, and they know the value of their cellar. It can get loud, and if you haven't booked a table, you’re likely going to be standing on the sidewalk looking in like a Dickensian orphan. But these are minor gripes. In a city that is increasingly being packaged and sold to the highest bidder, Casa Palet remains stubbornly, beautifully itself. It’s one of the best Catalan restaurants in Barcelona precisely because it doesn't try to be anything other than a great place to eat and drink. If you want to understand the backbone of this city’s food culture, sit down, shut up, and let the Palet family feed you.