Grupo Abrassame

Let’s get one thing straight: usually, if a restaurant is located inside a shopping mall, you should turn around and walk—no, run—the other way. It’s a rule of thumb for anyone who values their palate and their dignity. But Barcelona likes to break rules. Abrassame sits at the summit of Las Arenas, a massive, neo-Mudéjar bullring that was gutted and transformed into a temple of retail. You take the glass elevator up, bracing yourself for overpriced tourist bait, but then the smell hits you. It’s not Cinnabon or floor wax. It’s the primal, unmistakable scent of holm oak charcoal burning in a Josper oven.

This is the high-altitude sanctuary of the charcoal grill. While the crowds below are shuffling through chain stores, up here, the kitchen is playing with fire. The space is vast, modern, and wrapped in glass, offering a panoramic view of Plaça d'Espanya and the Venetian Towers that would make even the most jaded traveler pause. But you aren't just here for the postcard view of Montjuïc; you’re here because someone in that kitchen knows how to handle a fish.

The menu is a love letter to the Mediterranean, executed with the kind of heat that only a heavy-duty grill can provide. The 'Parrillada de Pescado y Marisco'—a massive sprawl of grilled fish and shellfish—is the move here. It’s a protein-heavy testament to the nearby coast, served without the pretension of foams or unnecessary garnishes. Then there’s the octopus, charred until the suckers are crisp but the flesh remains tender, served over a potato foam that actually tastes like potatoes. It’s honest, direct, and unapologetic.

For the rice purists, the paellas here hold their own. We’re talking about real socarrat—that caramelized, crunchy layer of rice at the bottom of the pan that locals will fight you for. Whether it’s the black rice with squid ink or the decadent lobster rice, it arrives smelling of saffron and the sea, not a microwave. It’s the kind of meal that reminds you why Mediterranean cuisine became a global obsession before it was diluted by a thousand mediocre imitations.

The atmosphere is a strange, beautiful hybrid. You’ve got the frantic energy of Eixample, the awe of tourists seeing the Magic Fountain for the first time, and the steady, rhythmic clatter of a professional brasserie. The service is fast—sometimes too fast—but they’re moving with the urgency of a place that knows it’s sitting on prime real estate. It’s loud, it’s busy, and it’s unashamedly commercial, yet the quality of the raw ingredients remains stubbornly high.

Is it a 'hidden gem'? Absolutely not. It’s sitting on top of a landmark in one of the busiest squares in the city. But is it worth your time? If you want to sit above the chaos, drink a cold glass of Penedès white wine, and tear into a piece of wild turbot that was swimming in the Balearic Sea yesterday, then yes. It’s a reminder that even in the most unlikely settings—like the top of a repurposed arena for blood sports—you can still find a kitchen that gives a damn about the fire and the fish. Just skip the shopping and head straight for the roof.