Dhaba

In India, a 'dhaba' is a roadside pitstop. It’s a place of dust, diesel fumes, and heavy-duty char, where truck drivers pull over to demolish plates of dal and roti under the glow of fluorescent lights. But this is Barcelona, specifically the manicured, wide-avenue sprawl of Les Corts, and Dhaba is playing a different game. Located on Passeig de Manuel Girona, far from the chaotic, neon-lit curry houses of the Raval, this place is a polished, white-tablecloth operation that manages to keep its soul intact while catering to the neighborhood’s business elite and local families.

Walking into Dhaba, you aren’t hit with the smell of exhaust, but you are hit with the unmistakable, primal scent of the tandoor. It’s that deep, earthy aroma of clay heated to hellish temperatures, ready to blister dough and sear marinated proteins into submission. The room is sophisticated—warm lighting, dark wood, and a quiet confidence that says they don’t need to shout to be heard. You’ll see tables of insurance executives from the nearby offices talking shop over copper bowls of gravy, and Indian families who have traveled across the city because they know the spice levels here aren't watered down for the uninitiated.

Let’s talk about the food, because that’s why you’re here. The menu is a deep dive into the gutsy, heavy-hitting flavors of the Punjab. The Murgh Makhani—the ubiquitous Butter Chicken—is a litmus test for any Indian kitchen. Here, it’s a revelation. It’s not that neon-orange, sugar-laden sludge served to tourists. It’s a rich, velvet-textured masterpiece with a deep tomato tang and a lingering heat that builds slowly. Then there’s the Lamb Rogan Josh, where the meat has been braised until it’s essentially a suggestion of a solid, falling apart at the mere sight of a fork, bathed in a sauce heavy with cardamom and ginger.

But the real hero is the tandoor. The naan arrives at the table still puffed with hot air, charred in all the right places, glistening with enough garlic butter to make your cardiologist weep. If you’re smart, you’ll order the tandoori broccoli—a dish that sounds like a health-conscious mistake but tastes like a smoky, spiced miracle. It’s the kind of cooking that reminds you that Indian food, at its best, is about the balance of aggression and finesse.

Is it a 'hidden gem'? No. The locals know exactly where it is, and the 800-plus reviews tell you the secret is out. It’s a mainstay for those who want elite-level subcontinental cooking without the backpacker vibe. It’s also a frequent flyer on TheFork, meaning you can often snag a discount that makes the bill feel like a heist. But even at full price, it’s worth it. The service is professional, bordering on formal, which fits the Les Corts vibe perfectly. They aren't your best friends; they are there to ensure your glass is full and your curry is hot.

If you’re looking for a cheap, greasy-spoon experience, go elsewhere. Dhaba is for when you want to sit down, breathe in the cumin and coriander, and realize that authentic Punjabi food doesn't need a roadside to be real. It just needs a kitchen that gives a damn and a tandoor that never goes cold. It’s honest, it’s sophisticated, and it’s one of the few places in this part of town that will actually make you sweat if you ask for it.