FOOD HEAVEN RESTAURANT & BAR

Sants is not the Barcelona you see on the postcards. There are no soaring Gaudí spires here, no overpriced gelato stands, and mercifully, fewer selfie sticks to dodge. It’s a neighborhood of real people, narrow streets, and the kind of quiet, working-class dignity that the city center traded away for tourism euros decades ago. And right there, on Carrer de Sugranyes, sits Food Heaven. The name sounds like something a yoga retreat in Bali would call itself, but don't let that fool you. This isn't a place for 'wellness' influencers to push kale smoothies; it’s a kitchen where spices are treated with respect and the plant-based menu actually has some teeth.

Walking into Food Heaven feels like stumbling into a friend’s living room if that friend happened to be obsessed with neon lights and Indian spices. It’s small, intimate, and immediately strips away any city-induced cynicism. You aren't here for white tablecloths or a sommelier with a clipboard. You’re here because you heard whispers about the thali, and in a city where 'vegan' often translates to a sad plate of grilled vegetables, a proper thali is a godsend.

The menu is a curious, beautiful collision of worlds. You’ve got Mediterranean sensibilities crashing head-first into the bold, unapologetic flavors of the subcontinent. The star of the show, the reason the locals keep the tables full, is the Thali. It arrives as a silver platter of small, steaming bowls—dal that’s been simmered until it’s creamy and rich, curries that actually taste of the earth and the fire they were cooked with, fragrant basmati, and pickles that provide that necessary, sharp kick to the teeth. It’s a balanced, rhythmic way of eating that makes you wonder why we ever bothered with the traditional three-course slog.

Then there are the tapas. The guacamole is a standout, topped with pomegranate seeds that pop like little flavor grenades, served with chips that actually have some crunch. The jackfruit tacos are another middle finger to the idea that vegan food lacks texture; they’re smoky, pulled, and seasoned with a confidence that suggests the chef isn't trying to mimic meat, but rather celebrating what the fruit can do when you treat it right. Even the 'Menu del Día'—that sacred Spanish institution of the affordable lunch—is handled with a level of care that puts most tourist traps to shame. For a handful of euros, you get a meal that feels like it was cooked by someone who actually gives a damn about your afternoon.

The service is exactly what it should be in a neighborhood joint: warm, slightly informal, and genuinely proud of what’s coming out of the kitchen. You might see the owner chatting with regulars or explaining the spice levels to a curious newcomer. It’s the kind of place where the walls are covered in colorful art and the vibe is 'come as you are.'

Is it perfect? No. If you’re looking for a quiet, romantic corner to whisper sweet nothings, the tight quarters and upbeat energy might be a bit much. The wine list isn't going to win any international awards, and if you’re a die-hard carnivore who thinks a meal without a carcass is a failure, you might leave grumpy. But for everyone else—the locals, the travelers who actually like to walk, the people who crave flavor over fashion—Food Heaven is a reminder of why we travel in the first place. It’s about finding that one spot, away from the crowds, where the food is honest, the people are real, and for an hour or two, everything else just fades into the background. It’s a rewarding vegan experience, holding its ground in a part of Sants that hasn't yet been overrun by the guidebook crowds.