Don Giovanni Barcelona

Most hotel restaurants are where culinary dreams go to die, smothered under the weight of lukewarm buffet trays and the crushing indifference of a captive audience. But Don Giovanni, tucked inside the sleek, angular confines of the NH Barcelona Stadium, is a different beast entirely. This is the house that Andrea Tumbarello built—the man they call the 'King of Truffles'—and he didn’t come to Les Corts to play nice with your expectations of 'hotel food.'

Walking into the space, you’re hit with a vibe that is undeniably modern, perhaps a bit corporate at first glance, but the air tells a different story. It smells of earth, musk, and high-grade olive oil. This isn't the rustic, red-checkered tablecloth Italian joint of your childhood fantasies. It’s sharp, professional, and focused. You’re in Les Corts, the business heart of the city, where the deals are as heavy as the wine pours. But once the first plate hits the table, the corporate veneer cracks and reveals something much more primal.

You’re here for the truffles. If you aren’t, you’ve wandered into the wrong church. Tumbarello’s obsession with the tuber is legendary, and it reaches its zenith in the Uovo Millesimé. It’s a dish that sounds deceptively simple: an egg yolk, cooked with precision, topped with a generous, almost aggressive shaving of fresh truffle. It is a protein rush to the cortex, a rich, golden, earthy slap in the face that reminds you why people used to go to war over spices. It’s decadent, it’s expensive, and it’s worth every damn cent.

Then there is the carbonara. In a world where people think it’s acceptable to dump heavy cream into a pasta bowl, Don Giovanni stands as a bastion of sanity. This is the real deal—egg, pecorino, guanciale, and black pepper. It’s creamy not because of dairy, but because of technique and the emulsification of fat and soul. The pasta has that perfect al dente snap, the kind that requires you to actually use your teeth, and the guanciale provides those little salty landmines of joy that make life worth living. It’s one of the best Italian restaurants in Barcelona for a reason: they respect the fundamentals.

The service is what you’d expect from a high-end establishment in this part of town—attentive, slightly formal, but possessed of a genuine pride in what’s coming out of the kitchen. They know they’re serving some of the best Italian food in the city, and they carry themselves with that knowledge. Is it pricey? Yes. Is it tucked away in a hotel basement? Essentially. But the moment you tear into a piece of burrata that actually tastes like the Italian countryside, or watch the waiter shave a mountain of black gold over your tagliolini, those details cease to matter.

Don Giovanni is for the person who wants their Italian food served with a side of intensity. It’s for the business traveler tired of room service and the local who knows that Tumbarello’s name on the door is a guarantee of quality. It’s honest, high-stakes cooking that refuses to hide behind gimmicks. If you’re looking for a cheap bowl of spaghetti, go elsewhere. If you want to understand why a fungus that grows underground can drive men to madness, pull up a chair and let the King feed you.