Compartir Barcelona

You don’t just walk into a restaurant run by the Disfrutar trio—Oriol Castro, Eduard Xatruch, and Mateu Casañas—without feeling the weight of history. These are the guys who kept the lights on at elBulli while the rest of the world was still trying to figure out how to foam a carrot. Compartir Barcelona is their attempt at being 'casual,' which, for these guys, is like a NASA engineer saying they’re just going to build a simple paper plane. It’s a high-ceilinged, white-walled temple in the Eixample that manages to feel like a neighborhood joint if your neighborhood happened to be populated by people who demand perfection with every glass of Priorat.

The concept is right there in the name: Compartir. To share. In the wrong hands, 'sharing plates' is a cynical excuse for small portions and high checks. Here, it’s a philosophy. You’re not here to guard your plate like a territorial dog; you’re here to engage in a communal act of demolition. The room is bright, airy, and distinctly Eixample—polished but not cold, with large-scale art that doesn't distract from the primary mission: the food.

Let’s talk about the Atlantic mackerel. It arrives looking like a piece of jewelry, cured with a precision that makes you wonder if the chef used a protractor. It’s hit with cauliflower and vinegar, a sharp, briny wake-up call to the palate. Then there’s the Cancer pagurus—the brown crab. This isn't some dainty crab cake you’d find at a Maryland wedding. It’s a deep, rich excavation of the sea, served with avocado and a level of finesse that reminds you why these chefs have enough Michelin stars to light up a small city. It’s messy in spirit but immaculate in execution. You find yourself scraping the shell, looking for one last hit of that sweet, oceanic funk.

The service is a choreographed dance. The sommelier doesn't just recite a list; they read the table. They know when you want a deep dive into the mineral-heavy whites of the Empordà and when you just want something cold and honest to wash down the richness. It’s professional, bordering on telepathic, but without the stiff-necked pretension that usually haunts restaurants of this pedigree. They aren't trying to impress you; they’re trying to feed you.

Is it perfect? Nothing is. If you’re a solo traveler who hates talking to people, the 'sharing' mandate might feel like a personal affront. And let’s be real: this is one of the best restaurants in Eixample, which means the bill will reflect the talent in the kitchen. It’s not a cheap eat. It’s an investment in a specific kind of Catalan excellence. You might also find the acoustics a bit lively when the room is full of people arguing over the merits of the latest FC Barcelona match, but that’s just the sound of a city that’s alive.

You finish with the hazelnut lava cake. It’s a cliché on paper, but in practice, it’s a revelation—liquid gold wrapped in a delicate crust, a final, decadent middle finger to anyone who thinks 'modern' means 'flavorless.' You walk out onto Carrer de València feeling a little lighter in the wallet but significantly heavier in the soul. Compartir isn't just a meal; it’s a reminder that even when you’re at the top of the food chain, the most important thing you can do is sit down and break bread with someone else. Just make sure it’s this bread.