Casa Petra

Les Corts is not the Barcelona they put on the postcards. It’s not the sweat-soaked chaos of the Ramblas or the neon-lit artifice of the beach clubs. It’s a neighborhood of wide avenues, business suits, and people who actually live here. And tucked away on Carrer de Manila is Casa Petra, a place that reminds you why we travel in the first place: to find the soul of a city through its stomach.

When you walk into Casa Petra, you aren’t greeted by a hostess with a headset and a fake smile. You’re greeted by the salumeria—a counter groaning under the weight of high-end cured meats and cheeses that smell like a basement in Parma. It’s a statement of intent. They’re telling you right away: the product is king here. If you’re looking for foam and liquid nitrogen, keep walking. This is a place of fire, fat, and salt.

The room is warm, lined with wine bottles and wood, but the real energy comes from Xavi. Every review, every regular, and every lucky wanderer mentions him. He’s the conductor of this particular orchestra, a man who seems to know exactly what you want to eat before you’ve even looked at the menu. It’s that old-school hospitality that’s dying out—the kind where you feel like you’ve been invited into someone’s private dining room rather than a commercial enterprise.

Let’s talk about the food, because that’s why you’re here. The artichokes—carciofi—are a revelation. They aren’t just cooked; they’re treated with a level of respect usually reserved for religious relics. Crispy where they should be, tender at the heart, and seasoned with an aggressive hand. Then there’s the linguine. Whether it’s tossed with fresh seafood or the house-special sauce, the pasta has that perfect, al dente snap that separates the professionals from the amateurs. It’s a protein-heavy, carb-loaded rush to the brain that makes you want to cancel your afternoon meetings and order another bottle of red.

But the real reason people lose their minds at Casa Petra is the flan. Forget that rubbery, yellow nonsense you get in a plastic cup. This is something else entirely. It’s creamy, rich, and sits somewhere on the spectrum between a traditional custard and a cheesecake. It’s the kind of dessert that makes grown men go silent. It’s a dish worth the taxi fare from the other side of the city alone.

Is it perfect? No. It can get loud. It can get crowded. If you’re looking for a cheap eat in Barcelona, this isn't your spot. You’re paying for the quality of the ingredients and the expertise in the kitchen. But if you want an honest meal in a neighborhood that hasn't been hollowed out by tourism, Casa Petra is essential. It’s one of the best Italian-influenced restaurants in Barcelona, precisely because it doesn't try to be anything other than what it is: a damn good place to eat.

You come here for a long lunch that turns into an early dinner. You come here to drink too much wine and argue about football. You come here because you’re tired of the tourist traps and you want to remember what it’s like to eat food made by people who actually give a damn. It’s visceral, it’s honest, and it’s exactly what Barcelona needs more of.