El Canalla

Sarrià is not the Barcelona you see on the back of a bus tour. It’s uphill, it’s quiet, and it smells like old money and jasmine. This was a separate village until the city swallowed it whole in 1921, and the residents—the 'gente bien'—still carry themselves with a certain detached elegance. In the middle of this refined bubble sits El Canalla. The name translates to 'The Scoundrel' or 'The Brat,' a bit of a wink and a nod from the Grupo San Telmo owners who know exactly what they’re doing: providing a polished, slightly rebellious space for people who want the soul of a tavern without the sticky floors.

Walking down Carrer Major de Sarrià, you’ll spot the terrace first. It’s prime real estate. If the sun is out, every seat is a battlefield. Inside, it’s all high ceilings, warm wood, and chalkboard menus that look like they were written by someone who actually gives a damn. It’s a 'neo-taberna'—a term that usually makes me want to reach for a drink for all the wrong reasons—but here, it actually works. It doesn't feel like a focus-grouped concept; it feels like a neighborhood anchor.

Let’s talk about the food, because if the food sucks, the decor is just expensive firewood. You start with the berenjenas con miel—eggplant fried to a structural miracle, light and crisp, slicked with just enough honey to make it dangerous. It’s a classic for a reason. Then come the bravas. In a city where every tourist trap serves frozen spuds drowned in pink ketchup, El Canalla respects the craft. They’re hand-cut, properly fried, and topped with a sauce that actually has something to say. The croquetas are creamy, molten centers of ham or chicken encased in a breadcrumb shell that shatters on impact. This is the best tapas in Sarrià, not because it’s reinventing the wheel, but because it’s greasing the wheel with high-quality olive oil.

There’s a certain rhythm to the place. At 2:00 PM, it’s the local business crowd and families who have lived in the same apartment for three generations. By 9:00 PM, the lighting dims, the wine starts flowing faster, and the 'scoundrel' energy starts to peek through. The service is professional—none of that frantic, wide-eyed panic you see in the Gothic Quarter. These guys are career waiters; they’ve seen it all and they aren’t impressed by your Instagram followers. They just want to know if you want another glass of Priorat. (The answer is yes.)

Is it a 'hidden gem'? No. The locals know exactly where it is, and they’d probably prefer you didn't. It’s a bit more expensive than a dive bar in El Raval, but you’re paying for the lack of pickpockets and the ability to hear your own thoughts. It’s civilized rebellion. It’s the kind of place where you can spend three hours over a few plates of steak tartare and a bottle of vermouth, watching the world go by on the pedestrian street outside.

If you’re looking for the gritty, sweat-soaked Barcelona of legend, keep heading downhill. But if you want to see how the other half lives—eating well, drinking better, and pretending to be just a little bit naughty in the most expensive zip code in town—pull up a stool. El Canalla is the honest, reliable friend you want in your corner when the sun starts to set over the Tibidabo mountain. It’s not trying to change the world; it’s just trying to make sure your next meal is the best part of your day. And in this town, that’s more than enough.