Kuletos

Walking into Kuletos is like stepping into a fever dream shared by a Belgian cartoonist and a Catalan rice obsessive. You’re in Poblenou, a neighborhood that used to be the 'Manchester of Catalonia'—all smoke, grit, and industrial muscle—now slowly being colonized by tech hubs and glass-fronted lofts. But Kuletos doesn't care about your startup or your co-working space. It cares about Hergé’s Tintin and the precise moment a grain of rice absorbs enough stock to become transcendent.

Let’s address the elephant—or rather, the Snowy—in the room. The place is a shrine. Tintin, Captain Haddock, and Professor Calculus are everywhere. It’s weird. It’s eccentric. It’s the kind of personal obsession that usually leads to a basement bunker, but here, it leads to a dining room that feels remarkably like home. This isn't a corporate-sponsored theme park; it’s one person’s love letter to a childhood hero, and somehow, that makes the food feel more honest. If they’re this committed to a fictional reporter, imagine what they’re doing with the sofrito.

The menu is a straightforward, no-nonsense assault of Mediterranean classics. You start with the croquetas. They should be creamy, dangerous, and disappear in two bites. Then, you move to the main event. This is a rice house, and in Barcelona, that’s a serious claim to stake. The paella negra is the star here—a dark, brooding pan of rice stained with squid ink that looks like a tragic oil spill but tastes like the very soul of the sea. It’s salty, rich, and served with a dollop of aioli that has enough garlic to keep the vampires at bay for a week.

Then there’s the fideuá. If you’re tired of rice, these short, toasted noodles are the answer. They’re cooked in a concentrated fish stock until they stand up like tiny, delicious bristles, soaking up every bit of flavor from the sea. It’s a dish that demands you scrape the bottom of the pan for the socarrat—that caramelized, nearly-burnt layer where all the magic lives. If you aren't fighting your tablemates for the crust, you’re doing it wrong.

The service is typical of the neighborhood: efficient, slightly hurried during the lunch rush, but fundamentally kind. You’ll see locals here—workers from the nearby offices, families on the weekend, and the occasional Tintin pilgrim. It’s a place that understands the value of a good 'menu del día,' providing a dignified, multi-course meal that won't bankrupt you.

Is it the most avant-garde meal in Barcelona? No. Is it trying to be? Absolutely not. Kuletos is a reminder that the best places to eat are often the ones that reflect the quirks of the people who run them. It’s a bit dated, the decor is undeniably strange, and the garnish might feel like a throwback to a different era of plating. But when that pan of black rice hits the table and the smell of toasted saffron and seafood fills the air, none of that matters. You’re in a good place. You’re eating real food in a neighborhood that still has a pulse. And Captain Haddock is watching over you. What more do you want?

If you’re looking for a sterile, white-tablecloth experience where the waiters wear white gloves, keep walking toward the center of town. But if you want a meal with character, a bit of soul, and a side of Belgian nostalgia, pull up a chair. Just don't ask for a burger. Respect the rice.