Foz

The Eixample grid is a beautiful, soul-crushing labyrinth of identical blocks and octagonal intersections. It’s easy to get lost in the architectural symmetry and end up in some overpriced tourist trap eating frozen croquetas. But then there’s Foz. Located on Carrer de la Diputació, this place doesn’t scream for your attention with neon signs or guys in vests waving menus at you. It’s a grown-up space—high ceilings, exposed brick, and an open kitchen that acts as the beating, sweating heart of the operation.

When you walk into Foz, you’re hit with the immediate, unmistakable sound of a successful Barcelona restaurant: the rhythmic clatter of heavy cutlery, the low hum of locals arguing over politics or football, and the sharp hiss of protein hitting a screaming-hot grill. It’s industrial-chic without being precious about it. The lighting is moody, the wood is dark, and the vibe is professional. This isn't a place for a 'fever dream' culinary experiment; it’s a place for people who actually like to eat.

If you’re hunting for a mid-week lunch that actually tastes like the city it's in, you’ve found the target. The 'menú del día' here is legendary among the neighborhood’s office workers and residents. While the rest of the world treats lunch as a sad desk salad, Foz treats it with the respect it deserves. We’re talking about three courses that feel like a heist for the price. The kitchen leans heavily into market-driven Catalan staples but gives them a subtle, modern shove.

You start with something like their croquetas—crispy, golden shells that shatter to reveal a creamy, molten interior of jamón or porcini. Then comes the rice. In this city, rice is a religion, and Foz is a worthy temple. Their 'arroz de montaña' (mountain rice) is a dark, rich affair, deeply savory and stained with the essence of meat and forest floor, finished with that crucial bit of socarrat—the caramelized crust at the bottom of the pan that you’ll find yourself scraping for like a man possessed. If they have the cod (bacalao) on the menu, order it. It arrives flaking in pearly white curtains, usually paired with something vibrant like a red pepper emulsion or a sharp alioli that wakes up your sinuses in the best way possible.

The service is what I’d call 'Barcelona efficient.' They aren't going to be your best friend, and they aren't going to explain the 'concept' of the salt. They have a room full of hungry people to feed, and they do it with a brisk, practiced grace. It’s the kind of place where you can have a business meeting or a quiet, hungover solo lunch and feel equally at home.

Is it perfect? No. It can get loud—the kind of loud that bounces off the hard surfaces and makes you lean in close to hear your companion. The wine list is solid but won't change your life. But that’s the point. Foz is honest. It represents the real Eixample—the one that exists after the Gaudi-worshipping crowds have gone back to their hotels. It’s a testament to the fact that you don’t need a Michelin star to serve food that makes people feel human again. If you find yourself near Plaça de la Universitat and your stomach is starting to growl, skip the fast food and the 'tapas' signs. Walk the few blocks to Diputació, find a seat at the bar or a table under the high rafters, and let the kitchen do the talking. This is how Barcelona eats when nobody is looking for a photo op.