Enjyu

Sants is a neighborhood that doesn’t give a damn about your Instagram feed. It’s a place of brick, bone, and working-class pride, far removed from the Gothic Quarter’s curated theme-park energy. And tucked away on Carrer del Vallespir is Enjyu, a Japanese tavern—an izakaya—that feels like it was lifted straight out of a back alley in Osaka and dropped into the heart of Barcelona. There are no neon signs, no fusion gimmicks, and absolutely no 'truffle oil' bullshit. It’s just a room, a grill, and some of the most honest Japanese food you’ll find in this city.

When you walk into Enjyu, the first thing that hits you isn't the decor—which is minimal and functional—but the smell. It’s the scent of the teppan, the heavy iron griddle where the real work gets done. This isn't one of those hushed, temple-like sushi dens where you feel like you need to whisper. It’s a tavern. It’s meant for drinking beer, arguing with friends, and watching the steam rise from a pile of yakisoba. The atmosphere is thick with the sound of clinking glasses and the rhythmic chop of the chef’s knife. It’s cramped, it’s busy, and it’s exactly where you want to be on a Tuesday night when the world feels a little too polished.

The soul of the menu is the okonomiyaki. If you’ve never had it, imagine a savory pancake that’s been through a street fight and won. It’s a dense, satisfying mound of cabbage and batter, seared on the griddle until the edges are crisp, then slathered in that thick, sweet-savory brown sauce and topped with a lattice of mayonnaise. The crowning glory is the katsuobushi—dried bonito flakes—that dance and curl in the heat like they’re trying to escape the plate. It’s messy, it’s heavy, and it’s glorious. It’s the kind of food that demands a cold Sapporo and a total disregard for your dry-cleaning bill.

But don't sleep on the sushi. While Enjyu leans into the tavern vibe, the fish is handled with the kind of respect that only comes from a kitchen that knows its business. The nigiri is tight, the fish-to-rice ratio is spot on, and the sashimi is sliced with surgical precision. It’s fresh, unpretentious, and serves as a clean, cold counterpoint to the hot, charred flavors coming off the grill. Then there’s the yakisoba—noodles tossed with meat and vegetables, hit with just enough sauce to glaze them without drowning the texture. It’s simple, fundamental cooking that reminds you why these dishes became classics in the first place.

The service is what I’d call 'efficiently warm.' They aren't going to fawn over you, but they’ll make sure your glass is full and your food arrives hot. It’s run by a Japanese couple who clearly value substance over style. They aren't trying to sell you a 'gastronomic journey'; they’re trying to feed you. And you should definitely save room for the mochi. Forget the rubbery, frozen stuff you find in supermarkets. The mochi here is homemade, soft as a cloud, and filled with flavors like matcha or red bean that actually taste like the ingredients they claim to be.

Is it the best Japanese restaurant in Barcelona? If you’re looking for white tablecloths and a sommelier, probably not. But if you want to understand the heart of an izakaya—the grit, the heat, and the sheer, unadulterated joy of a well-cooked meal in a neighborhood that hasn't sold its soul—then Enjyu is exactly where you belong. It’s a reminder that the best travel experiences don’t happen at the monuments; they happen at a sticky table in Sants, over a plate of dancing bonito flakes.