HANKI

Barcelona is a city that loves its own reflection. It’s obsessed with its own history, its own oil-slicked tapas, and its own architectural ego. But if you head uphill, away from the sweating throngs of the Gothic Quarter and into the buttoned-up, cashmere-sweater-over-the-shoulders territory of Sarrià-Sant Gervasi, you find something else. You find HANKI. It’s a clean, modern space that doesn’t feel the need to scream about its 'authenticity' with kitschy lanterns or plastic cherry blossoms. It just does the work.

Sarrià-Sant Gervasi is the 'Upper Zone,' a place where the air feels slightly thinner and the bank accounts significantly thicker. It’s not usually where you go for a visceral food experience. It’s where you go for a quiet vermouth and a sense of security. But HANKI breaks that polite silence with the smell of fermented cabbage and the aggressive sizzle of a plancha. This isn't just another 'Asian fusion' spot designed to appease the unadventurous. It’s a focused, sharp execution of Korean soul food, served in a way that respects the local tradition of sharing—what they call 'Korean tapas' here, but what the rest of the world knows as the glorious culture of Anju.

The first thing you need to understand is the crunch. The Korean Fried Chicken here is a masterclass in texture. It’s not that heavy, bready batter that leaves you feeling like you swallowed a brick. It’s a thin, glass-like shards of crust that shatters on impact, yielding to juicy, steam-releasing poultry underneath. Whether you get it soy-glazed or spicy, it’s a protein rush that demands a cold beer and a lack of dignity. You eat it with your hands. You get messy. In a neighborhood this posh, there’s something deeply satisfying about having sauce on your chin.

Then there’s the Bibimbap. It arrives looking like a color wheel—vibrant vegetables, perfectly seasoned, surrounding a mound of rice that’s been treated with respect. When you break that yolk and stir in the gochujang, you’re creating a messy, beautiful slurry of heat, sweetness, and earthiness. It’s the kind of bowl that feels like a hug from someone who actually likes you. If you’re looking for that fermented funk, the Kimchi Jeon (pancakes) delivers the sour, spicy kick that reminds you why Korean food is currently conquering the planet.

But the real reason people linger on the terrace—a rare and beautiful thing in this part of town—is the Hotteok. These sweet, cinnamon-filled pancakes are the ultimate Korean street food, and here they treat them with the reverence of a high-end pastry. They arrive hot, slightly chewy, and oozing a molten core of sugar and nuts that will absolutely burn your tongue if you’re not careful. It’s worth the injury. It’s the kind of dessert that makes you realize the world is a much bigger, more interesting place than the one described in your hotel’s lobby brochure.

The service is efficient, bordering on brisk, which is exactly what you want. They aren't here to be your best friend; they’re here to get the food to the table while the temperature is still dangerous. The crowd is a mix of local families who have discovered that kimchi is better than salad, and expats looking for a taste of something that hasn't been diluted for the European palate. HANKI is a reminder that even in the most traditional corners of Barcelona, the best things often come from somewhere else, brought by people who give a damn about doing it right.