Incorrecte

Sarrià-Sant Gervasi is the part of Barcelona where the old money lives, where the streets are wider, the air is slightly thinner, and the noise of the Ramblas feels like a bad dream from a previous life. It’s not where you expect to find a culinary insurrection. But then there’s Incorrecte. The name itself is a provocation, a quiet smirk at the 'correct' way of doing things in a city that sometimes feels like it’s being preserved in amber for the benefit of cruise ship passengers.

Walking into Incorrecte, you aren’t hit with the usual high-end restaurant theater. There are no white tablecloths to hide behind, no fawning captains in stiff suits. Instead, you get a space that is stripped back, focused, and centered around an open kitchen where Marcelino Jiménez and his team work with a level of intensity that borders on the religious. This is a place for people who actually like to watch the sausage being made—literally and figuratively. The clatter of pans, the hiss of the plancha, and the focused silence of a kitchen in mid-service provide the soundtrack. It’s intimate, bordering on cramped, but that’s the point. You’re here to witness the craft, not to have a private conversation about your stock portfolio.

The food is a deep dive into the Catalan psyche, filtered through a lens that is modern but never precious. Let’s talk about the cannelloni—the 'Caneló de rostit.' In Catalonia, the cannelloni is the ultimate litmus test. It’s the dish of Saint Stephen’s Day, a leftover-utilizing masterpiece that every grandmother in the region claims to have perfected. To put it on a tasting menu is a risk; to make it the star of the show is a statement. Jiménez’s version is a revelation—rich, deeply savory roast meat wrapped in silk, topped with a béchamel so smooth it should be illegal. It’s a dish that manages to be both a nostalgic hug and a sophisticated punch to the gut.

The tasting menu—which is the only real way to experience this place—moves through the seasons with a restless energy. You might find pigeon (colomí) served with a depth of flavor that suggests the bird lived a very interesting life before hitting the plate, or market-fresh fish (peix de llotja) treated with the kind of respect usually reserved for holy relics. There is no 'filler' here. No cheap tricks with liquid nitrogen or unnecessary foams. Every ingredient is there because it earned its spot on the plate.

Is it perfect? No. The service can be brisk, and if you’re looking for a sprawling wine list that spans the globe, you might find the focused, mostly local selection a bit lean. But that’s the 'incorrect' part. They aren't trying to please everyone. They aren't trying to be the best restaurant in the world; they’re trying to be the best version of themselves. It’s a restaurant for the hungry, the curious, and the slightly cynical who have grown tired of the 'gastronomic adventures' sold by PR firms.

If you want to understand where modern Catalan cuisine is heading when it’s not looking over its shoulder at the ghost of Ferran Adrià, you come here. You sit at the bar, you watch the sweat on the chef’s brow, and you eat. It’s honest, it’s loud, and it’s exactly what Barcelona needs right now. It’s the best tasting menu in Barcelona for people who hate the term 'tasting menu.'