Chandigarh Café

You don’t just stumble upon Chandigarh Café. You have to want to be here. It’s located out in the upper reaches of Les Corts, near the border of Pedralbes, where the air is a little thinner and the bank accounts are significantly fatter. You leave the sweaty, frantic mess of the Gothic Quarter behind, hop in a cab, and head toward the mountains. What you find is a low-slung, concrete sanctuary that looks like it was plucked straight out of 1950s Punjab and dropped into a Mediterranean garden.

The name isn’t just a marketing gimmick. It’s a full-throated tribute to Le Corbusier’s utopian vision of Chandigarh, India. We’re talking brutalist lines, flat roofs, and those iconic Pierre Jeanneret-style chairs that make you feel like you should be discussing urban planning over a stiff gin and tonic. The environment is the draw here—a sprawling garden terrace that feels miles away from the city’s tourist-choked arteries. It’s civilized. It’s quiet. It’s the kind of place where you can actually hear your own thoughts, provided those thoughts involve wondering why your own apartment doesn't have this much soul.

But design only gets you so far. You can’t eat a chair. Thankfully, the kitchen isn’t just coasting on the architecture. This is one of the best Mediterranean restaurants in Les Corts for people who want honest food without the experimental foam and liquid nitrogen nonsense. The menu—or 'the letter' as the regulars call it—is a tight, well-executed list of hits. Start with the croquetas; they’re creamy, dangerous, and exactly what a croqueta should be. Then move to the Arroz de pato con magret. The duck rice is a masterclass in texture—the rice has that slight resistance, the duck is rich and fatty, and the whole thing hits you like a warm hug from someone you actually like.

If you’re feeling less like a carb-loading peasant, the Steak Tartar is a solid play. It’s seasoned with a confident hand, served with the kind of fries that make you realize most other places are just serving soggy cardboard. They also do a sea bass that tastes like it was swimming in the Med this morning, served without unnecessary distraction. For dessert, the cheesecake is the move. It’s not that airy, flavorless stuff; it’s dense, decadent, and worth the extra mile on the treadmill tomorrow.

The crowd is a mix of the 'Upper Diagonal' set—well-dressed locals who know where the good parking is—and design nerds who’ve made the pilgrimage to see the architecture. The service is professional, which in Barcelona can sometimes mean they don’t care if you live or die, but here, they’ve got it down to a cool, detached science. They know the place is beautiful. They know the food is good. They don’t need to beg for your approval.

Is Chandigarh Café worth the trek? If you’re looking for a cheap tourist menu or a place to wear your 'I Heart BCN' t-shirt, probably not. But if you want to see a different side of Barcelona—one that values space, light, and a damn good plate of duck rice—then get in the taxi. It’s a reminder that even in a city as picked-over as this one, there are still corners where you can find a bit of peace, a bit of style, and a meal that doesn't feel like a transaction. It’s a protein-heavy middle finger to the glass-and-steel monstrosities of the modern era, and I’m here for it.