De Gustibus Italiae

Sarrià-Sant Gervasi is the part of Barcelona where the frantic, neon-soaked noise of the city center goes to die a quiet, dignified death. It’s a neighborhood of wide boulevards, expensive strollers, and people who know exactly what they want for dinner. It’s here, tucked away on Carrer de Ricardo Calvo, that you’ll find De Gustibus Italiae. This isn’t your typical 'checkered tablecloth and cheap Chianti' joint. This is a bastion of the Marche region—a rugged, coastal, and mountainous slice of Italy that most tourists couldn't find on a map if their lives depended on it.

When you walk in, the first thing that hits you isn't the smell of garlic—it’s the sense of order. This is a grown-up restaurant. It’s elegant, perhaps a bit formal for the backpacker crowd, but that’s the point. You aren't here for a quick bite before a pub crawl. You’re here to sit down, shut up, and let the kitchen show you what central Italy actually tastes like. The star of the show, the undisputed heavyweight champion of the menu, is the Vincisgrassi. If you think you know lasagna, you’re wrong. This is a 12-layer architectural marvel of pasta, ragù, and béchamel that feels like a warm, heavy blanket for your soul. It’s rich, it’s unapologetic, and it’s the kind of dish that makes you want to cancel your morning meetings.

Then there’s the risotto. In a city where 'paella' is often a yellow-dyed disappointment served to unsuspecting Germans, the risotto here is a revelation. Whether it’s laced with truffles or brimming with seafood, it has that perfect, elusive wave—the 'all'onda' texture that separates the professionals from the amateurs. You can taste the patience in every grain. They also do a mean Passatelli—those rustic, worm-like strands of breadcrumbs, parmesan, and egg served in a broth so clear and potent it could probably cure a broken heart.

But the real magic happens on the terrace—the 'flat roof' that regulars whisper about. In the humid heat of a Barcelona summer, finding a breeze in Sarrià while sipping a Verdicchio is as close to a religious experience as you’re likely to get without entering a cathedral. It’s a space that feels detached from the grind of the city below, a place where the wine flows easily and the service, while occasionally stiff, is undeniably professional. They know their products here. They aren't sourcing their olive oil from a supermarket; they’re getting the good stuff, the peppery, green liquid gold that makes a simple piece of bread feel like a luxury.

Is it cheap? No. Is the waiter going to be your best friend and tell you jokes? Probably not. But De Gustibus Italiae doesn't need to perform. It’s a restaurant for people who respect the ingredients and the regional specificities of Italian cooking. It’s for the locals who want a romantic dinner without the 'I ❤️ BCN' crowd hovering over their shoulder. It’s honest, it’s precise, and it’s one of the few places in this town where the Italian food actually lives up to the hype. If you’re looking for a 'gastronomic adventure' with foam and dry ice, go elsewhere. If you want a plate of pasta that tastes like history and a terrace that feels like a secret, pull up a chair.