Kurai Restaurant Japonès

Plaça d'Espanya is a chaotic, swirling vortex of tour buses, commuters, and people staring at a defunct bullring-turned-shopping-mall. It’s the last place you’d expect to find a moment of Zen, let alone a serious Japanese kitchen. But step inside the Catalonia Barcelona Plaza, shake off the dust of the street, and you’ll find Kurai. The name literally translates to 'dark,' and they aren’t kidding. It’s a sleek, low-light refuge that feels miles away from the sun-bleached pavement outside.

This isn't your typical hotel restaurant where the menu is designed by a committee to offend the fewest people possible. Kurai has a pulse. It’s built around the sumi-yaki—the traditional Japanese charcoal grill. There is something primal and honest about cooking over high-grade charcoal, and here, they use it to coax incredible depth out of everything from Wagyu beef to seasonal vegetables. You can smell it the moment you walk in—that faint, sophisticated scent of clean smoke that signals something much better than a standard club sandwich is happening in the kitchen.

The menu is a tightrope walk between traditional Japanese precision and the kind of Mediterranean-inflected fusion that actually makes sense in Barcelona. Take the foie gras nigiri, for instance. In the wrong hands, it’s a greasy, over-the-top mess. Here, it’s a masterclass in balance—the sear of the liver, the slight acidity of the rice, and a touch of sweetness that hits the back of your throat just as the fat melts away. It’s the kind of bite that makes you stop talking and just pay attention to what’s happening in your mouth. The tasting menu is the move here; it’s a curated progression that takes the guesswork out of the evening and lets the kitchen show off their range, from delicate sashimi to the heavier, smoke-kissed items from the grill.

The room itself is all shadows and sharp lines, designed for people who want to disappear for a few hours. It’s a 'date night' spot, sure, but it’s also for the solo traveler who’s tired of eating tapas standing up and wants to sit in a comfortable chair and watch a chef handle a knife with the soul of a surgeon. The presentation is meticulous—every plate looks like it was composed with a pair of tweezers and a lot of patience—but the flavors are big and unapologetic. They aren't hiding behind pretty garnishes; the quality of the fish and the heat of the charcoal do the heavy lifting.

Is it cheap? No. Is it 'authentic' in the way a six-seat basement bar in Shinjuku is authentic? Probably not. But it’s honest. It’s a high-end Japanese restaurant in Sants-Montjuïc that respects the ingredients and the technique. The service is professional, polished, and mercifully devoid of the frantic energy you find in the more tourist-heavy parts of the city. You come here when you want to turn down the volume of Barcelona and turn up the intensity of a well-executed meal. It’s a reminder that even in the middle of a transit hub, you can find a corner of the world that still cares about the craft of the grill and the cut of the fish. Just don't expect to see much once you're inside—embrace the darkness, order the Wagyu, and let the rest of the city fade into the background.