HASTA LOS ANDARES Barcelona - Meridiana (Taberna / Tapas Bar / Jamon/ Spanish Food/ Wine)

There is an old Spanish proverb that says from the pig, we use everything, right down to the way it walks—hasta los andares. It is a philosophy of respect, of not wasting a damn thing, and it is the namesake of this shrine to the Iberico hog tucked away in the Sant Andreu district. If you are looking for a 'gastronomic adventure' or a 'vibrant atmosphere' curated by a PR firm, keep walking. Hasta los Andares doesn’t care about your Instagram feed. It cares about the product. It cares about the fat. It cares about the truth.

Walking into this taberna on Plaça de Ferran Reyes, you are immediately hit by the smell. It is the funky, nutty, intoxicating aroma of cured pork fat oxidizing in the Mediterranean air. This is the sort of place that serves the best tapas Barcelona keeps for itself, tucked away from the reach of the selfie-stick crowds. It is a neighborhood joint through and through, located far enough from the Sagrada Familia that the menus aren't printed in six languages with faded pictures of frozen paella. Here, the decor is secondary to the steel of the ham knife. The walls are lined with bottles of wine and shelves of high-end conservas—those beautiful Spanish canned goods that put most fresh seafood to shame.

The Jamón Ibérico de Bellota here is the undisputed star. This isn’t the salty, stringy stuff they hawk to the cruise ship crowds on La Rambla. This is the real deal—acorn-fed, cured for years until the fat turns translucent and begins to melt at the mere suggestion of room temperature. When it hits your tongue, it’s a protein rush to the cortex, a hit of pure umami that makes you realize you’ve been lied to your whole life about what ham is supposed to taste like. You eat it with your hands, the way God intended, perhaps with a bit of pan con tomate that’s been rubbed with enough garlic to keep the vampires at bay.

But don't stop at the pig. The cheese selection is a curated roadmap of the Spanish countryside. You’ve got the sharp, crystalline crunch of aged Manchego, the smoky punch of Idiazábal, and the creamy, tongue-coating richness of Torta del Casar. These are served on wooden boards, or tablas, alongside embutidos that have been crafted by people who take their cured meats more seriously than most people take their religion. The cecina—cured beef from León—is a dark, smoky revelation that demands a heavy-hitting red wine to stand up to it.

As for the vibe, it’s refreshingly indifferent to your presence. The service is efficient, professional, and entirely devoid of the fake 'warm hospitality' found in the tourist traps. They are here to serve great food, not to be your best friend. You’ll see regulars arguing over football, couples sharing a bottle of Ribera del Duero, and the occasional solo diner lost in a plate of razor clams. It’s a place that feels like a village living room in the middle of a sprawling city.

If you value substance over style, this is your church. It is one of those rare restaurants in Sant Andreu where the quality of the ingredient is the only marketing they need. It’s honest. It’s brutal. It’s delicious. It’s the kind of place that reminds you why you traveled to Spain in the first place—not for the monuments, but for the simple, perfect pleasure of a glass of wine and a plate of the best ham in the world. If you want foam and tweezers, go to Eixample. If you want the soul of the peninsula, get on the L1 metro and get off at Navas. Your stomach will thank you.