Clara

If you’re looking for the kind of Barcelona that exists in airline magazines—all neon lights, sangria pitchers the size of fishbowls, and guys in sombreros—keep walking. Clara isn’t for you. Located on Carrer de Buenos Aires, just a few blocks removed from the corporate thrum of Francesc Macià, this is a place for grown-ups. It’s a restaurant that understands that 'mellow' isn't a lack of energy; it’s a choice. It’s the sound of a room that doesn't need to scream to be heard.

You walk in and the first thing that hits you isn't a gimmick. It’s the smell of real cooking. The decor is sophisticated but avoids the sterile 'boutique' look that’s currently infecting the city. It’s warm wood, soft lighting, and a sense of permanence. This is the upper Eixample, a neighborhood where people actually live, work, and have opinions about their wine. The crowd here is a mix of local professionals and neighborhood regulars who know exactly what they want, and what they want is usually on the plate.

Let’s talk about the croquettes. In this city, croquetas are a religion, and Clara is a high temple. They arrive looking humble, but one bite reveals a center of béchamel so creamy it’s practically a liquid state of matter, spiked with the salty, funky punch of high-grade jamón. It’s a protein rush that reminds you why we bother eating in the first place. Then there are the anchovies from L'Escala. These aren't those salty brown strips you find on a cheap pizza. These are silver-skinned, oily, umami bombs that taste like the Mediterranean had a head-on collision with a salt mine. They are served simply, because when the product is this good, any chef who tries to 'elevate' it should be escorted from the building.

The menu leans heavily into the classics of the Catalan and Mediterranean repertoire, executed with a precision that borders on obsessive. The ternera (veal) is a standout—tender, handled with the kind of respect usually reserved for religious relics, and cooked to a perfect, blushing pink. If you see the duck cannelloni (canelón de pato) on the menu, don't overthink it. Just order it. It’s rich, decadent, and exactly the kind of thing you want to be eating when the sun goes down and the city starts to cool off.

Is it perfect? No. The service can be 'local,' which is to say it’s professional and efficient but won't blow smoke up your skirt. They aren't there to be your best friend; they’re there to bring you excellent food and keep your glass full. If you’re looking for a high-octane party, you’re in the wrong zip code. This is a place for conversation, for lingering over a bottle of Priorat, and for remembering that the best meals are often the ones that don't try too hard.

Clara is a reminder that Barcelona still has a soul, even if you have to walk a few blocks off the beaten path to find it. It’s honest, it’s consistent, and it’s remarkably devoid of bullshit. In a world of 'concept' restaurants and Instagram-bait, that’s worth every Euro on the bill. Come here when you’re tired of the noise and you just want to eat something that tastes like it was made by someone who actually gives a damn.