Cecconi's Barcelona

Walking into Cecconi’s is like stepping out of the humid, salt-crusted air of the Port Vell and straight into a cinematic dream of 1950s Venice. It’s located on the ground floor of the Soho House building, but don’t let the private club upstairs intimidate you. This place is open to the public, provided that public has a reservation and a healthy appetite for the finer things. The room is a masterclass in high-end aesthetics: striped marble floors that look like they were plucked from a palazzo, deep red velvet booths that swallow you whole, and an open kitchen that hums with the controlled chaos of people who actually know how to handle a pasta extruder.

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: the Sunday Feast. In a city where 'brunch' often means a sad avocado toast and a lukewarm latte, Cecconi’s stages a full-scale assault on your willpower. It is, quite simply, one of the most indulgent Italian experiences in Barcelona if you’re looking to lose a few hours to pure, unadulterated indulgence. We’re talking mountains of chilled seafood, oysters that taste like the cold Atlantic, risottos being swirled in giant parmesan wheels, and a porchetta that would make a grown man weep. It’s a buffet, yes, but not the kind you find at a mid-range hotel. This is an altar to excess, where the quality stays high even when the quantity is staggering.

On a regular night, the vibe shifts to something more intimate, more 'date night Barcelona' than 'family feeding frenzy.' The menu doesn't try to reinvent the wheel; it just makes the wheel better. The lobster spaghetti is the undisputed heavyweight champion here. It’s a messy, glorious affair—perfectly al dente strands of pasta tossed with generous chunks of lobster and a tomato sauce that has just enough chili kick to remind you you’re alive. It’s the kind of dish you eat with your hands when nobody’s looking, tearing at the shells to get every last bit of sweet meat. Then there are the meatballs—soft, fatty, and bathed in a pomodoro sauce so rich it feels like a hug from a nonna who actually likes you.

Is it expensive? Yeah, it’s an investment. You aren't coming here for a cheap bite before hitting the bars in El Raval. You’re coming here because you want to feel like a person of consequence for a few hours. The cocktails are sharp, the Negronis are dangerously balanced, and the wine list leans heavily into the big, bold reds of the Piedmont and Tuscany. The service is polished, professional, and has that slight edge of 'we’ve seen it all' that you only get in high-volume, high-stakes dining rooms.

For dessert, the profiteroles are non-negotiable. They arrive looking like a small mountain range, drowned in a chocolate sauce so dark and glossy you could check your reflection in it. It’s the kind of finish that requires a long walk along the Moll de la Fusta afterward just to process the caloric intake. Cecconi’s isn't trying to be a gritty, 'authentic' Catalan tavern. It’s an unapologetic outpost of global luxury that happens to serve some of the most polished Italian food in the Ciutat Vella. If you can get past the polished veneer and the beautiful people at the bar, you’ll find a kitchen that takes its craft very, very seriously. It’s loud, it’s brassy, and it’s damn good.