Kasarap | Barcelona

Barcelona is a city that likes to think it knows flavor, but for too long, the deep, funky, vinegar-drenched soul of Southeast Asia was relegated to the shadows. Then came Kasarap. Tucked away on Carrer del Consell de Cent—a street recently reclaimed from the tyranny of cars and turned into a pedestrian-friendly 'superilla'—this place isn't interested in playing it safe for the 'patatas bravas' crowd. It’s a small, focused operation that treats Filipino cuisine with the respect and technical precision it has always deserved but rarely received in Europe.

Walking in, you aren’t hit with the kitschy bamboo-and-trinket decor of a themed restaurant. It’s minimalist, almost industrial, but the air tells a different story. It smells of garlic, citrus, and the sharp, fermented tang of shrimp paste. This is the smell of a kitchen that isn't afraid of a little funk. The team here is young, driven, and clearly tired of Filipino food being misunderstood as just 'cheap eats.' They are elevating the classics without stripping away their identity.

Start with the kinilaw. If you think you know ceviche, think again. This is the Filipino ancestor, cured in vinegar and citrus, often enriched with coconut milk and a hit of ginger that wakes up parts of your brain you forgot existed. It’s clean, electric, and dangerously addictive. Then there’s the sisig—traditionally a dish of chopped pig’s face and ears, sizzled until the fat renders into a crispy, gelatinous masterpiece. At Kasarap, it’s served with that essential squeeze of calamansi, providing the acidic cut necessary to navigate the glorious, fatty landscape of the pork. It’s the ultimate beer food, the kind of thing you’d crave at 2:00 AM, but served here with a level of finesse that makes you want to pair it with a decent bottle of wine.

The menu often features a tasting option, which is the move if you want to understand the breadth of this cuisine. You’ll see the influence of Spanish colonization—the adobos and the stews—but twisted through a tropical lens that makes them entirely their own. The flavors are bold, unapologetic, and frequently lean into the 'sour' profile that defines the Filipino palate. It’s a refreshing departure from the heavy cream and butter of traditional continental dining.

But let’s talk about the closer: the ube cheesecake. Ube, the vibrant purple yam, is the darling of Instagram, but here it’s more than just a color. It’s a dense, earthy, vanilla-adjacent flavor that anchors a cheesecake so creamy it should be illegal. It’s become a local legend for a reason. Even if you’re full, even if you’re 'not a dessert person,' you order the damn cheesecake.

Is it perfect? The space is tight, and if you’re looking for a quiet, romantic whisper-fest, the energy here might be a bit much. The service can be frantic when the house is full—and it’s almost always full. But that’s the point. You come here for the noise, the heat, and the honest-to-god thrill of eating something that feels alive. Kasarap is a reminder that the best food in Barcelona isn't always Catalan; sometimes, it’s the stuff that traveled halfway across the world to find a home in Eixample.