Fleming Ultramarinos

Sarrià-Sant Gervasi is the part of Barcelona where the money lives. It’s leafy, quiet, and can occasionally feel a bit stiff—the kind of place where the dogs are better groomed than most tourists. But tucked away on Carrer del Doctor Fleming is a place that strips away the pretension while keeping the quality sky-high. Fleming Ultramarinos isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel; it’s just trying to find the best damn wheel available and serve it to you with a glass of cold vermouth.

The name 'Ultramarinos' harks back to the old-school grocery stores that sold goods from 'across the sea.' In the modern Barcelona context, it’s a signal: we care about the product. When you walk in, you aren't greeted by a host with a headset, but by shelves lined with the heavy hitters of Spanish gastronomy. We’re talking about the kind of olive oils that could win awards and tins of seafood that cost more than a decent steak. The space is all marble, wood, and warm lighting—a sophisticated take on the neighborhood bodega that feels both timeless and sharp.

Let’s talk about the tins. If you’re from a place where canned food is what you eat during a power outage, prepare to have your worldview shattered. In Spain, 'conservas' are an art form. At Fleming, they treat a tin of berberechos (cockles) or ventresca (tuna belly) with more reverence than most chefs treat a sous-vide loin. They are served simply, perhaps with a few house-made potato chips, because when the product is this good, any 'chef-y' intervention is just noise. It’s a protein rush of pure, unadulterated sea salt and brine.

But the kitchen doesn't stop at the tin opener. The 'hot' menu is a curated list of hits. The ensaladilla rusa—the ultimate litmus test for any self-respecting tapas bar in Barcelona—is creamy, balanced, and topped with the kind of tuna that actually tastes like fish. Then there’s the 'bikini.' Forget the swimwear; in Barcelona, a bikini is a toasted ham and cheese sandwich. Here, they elevate it with truffle, pressing it until it’s a thin, shatteringly crisp rectangle of decadence. It’s the kind of thing you order one of, then immediately order another because you realize sharing was a tactical error.

The crowd is a mix of the neighborhood’s well-heeled residents and the business set from the nearby offices. You’ll see guys in tailored suits leaning over the bar, arguing about a merger or a football match, while a couple in the corner shares a bottle of Priorat and a plate of hand-cut jamón. It’s a scene, but it’s a local one. You won't find many 'bucket list' tourists here, and that’s exactly why it’s one of the best restaurants in Sarrià-Sant Gervasi.

Is it cheap? No. Quality like this has a price tag, and the Zona Alta tax is real. But you aren't just paying for the food; you’re paying for the lack of bullshit. There are no foams, no dry ice, and no 'concepts.' It’s just honest, high-level cooking and sourcing in a room that makes you feel like you’ve finally figured out how to live the good life. If you’re looking for cheap eats in Barcelona, keep walking toward the center. But if you want to understand why the locals in this neighborhood look so satisfied, pull up a stool and start with the anchovies. It’s a masterclass in simplicity that reminds you why we travel in the first place: to find the truth on a plate.