Fukamura

If you’re looking for a neon-lit 'fusion' temple where the fish is buried under three inches of spicy mayo and tempura flakes, do yourself a favor and keep walking. Fukamura, tucked away on Carrer de Còrsega in the Gràcia neighborhood, doesn’t care about your Instagram aesthetic. It’s a small, minimalist room that feels more like a quiet workshop than a dining destination. But behind that counter is Daisuke Fukamura, a man who spent years at Shunka and Koy Shunka—the heavy hitters of Barcelona’s Japanese scene—and he’s brought that high-level technical proficiency to a space that’s refreshingly devoid of bullshit.

You walk in and the first thing you notice is the lack of noise. No thumping house music, no frantic waiters. Just the rhythmic sound of a knife meeting a cutting board. This is a place for people who actually like fish. The menu is a tight, disciplined list of hits that prioritize the raw material over the presentation, though the presentation is, in its own understated way, beautiful.

Let’s talk about the yakisoba. Usually, yakisoba is the throwaway dish, the greasy filler you order for the kids. Not here. At Fukamura, the yakisoba is a revelation—smoky, perfectly textured, and seasoned with a restraint that lets the ingredients breathe. It’s arguably the best in Barcelona, and it’ll ruin the food-court version for you forever. Then there’s the 'Mar i Muntanya' nigiri. This is a nod to the Catalan tradition of mixing sea and mountain, often manifesting here as a buttery scallop topped with a sear of foie gras. It’s a rich, decadent, slightly obscene bite that hits the roof of your mouth like a freight train of umami.

The nigiri here is handled with the kind of respect that borders on the religious. The rice is the right temperature, the vinegar balance is sharp, and the fish—whether it’s the fatty, melt-on-your-tongue toro or the sweet, clean snap of the prawns—is sourced with an eye for quality that belies the restaurant’s modest prices. You aren't paying for a view of the Mediterranean or a designer chair; you’re paying for the years Daisuke spent perfecting his craft.

The service is polite, efficient, and perhaps a little reserved, which fits the vibe perfectly. It’s not a place for a rowdy bachelor party. It’s a place for a quiet date or a solo mission when you need to remind your palate what real food tastes like. The wine and sake list is small but smart, offering enough variety to cut through the richness of the fatty tuna without distracting from the main event.

Is it perfect? If you hate tight spaces, maybe not. It’s a small room, and if you don't have a reservation, you’re likely standing on the sidewalk looking in like a lost soul. The lighting is bright, and the decor is 'functional' at best. But that’s the point. Fukamura is a reminder that in a city increasingly filled with overpriced tourist traps and 'concept' restaurants, there is still room for a guy with a knife, some fresh fish, and the discipline to do things the right way. It’s honest, it’s visceral, and it’s one of the best Japanese restaurants in Barcelona for anyone who actually gives a damn about what’s on their plate.