La Otra barestaurant

Sant Martí is not the Barcelona they show you on the postcards. It’s not the sun-drenched Gothic arches or the whimsical curves of Gaudí. It’s a neighborhood of transition—where old industrial bones meet the glass-and-steel hubris of the 22@ tech district. It’s honest, it’s a little grey, and it’s exactly where you find the kind of places that haven't been hollowed out for the tourist trade. La Otra barestaurant is one of those places. It sits on Carrer de Fluvià like a stubborn holdout, a 'barestaurant'—that uniquely Spanish hybrid that refuses to choose between being a watering hole and a kitchen.

When you walk into La Otra, you aren't greeted by a host with a tablet and a scripted smile. You’re greeted by the low hum of neighborhood gossip and the sharp hiss of the coffee machine. The decor doesn't try too hard; it’s industrial-chic by accident rather than design, with warm wood and brick that feels lived-in rather than curated. This is a place where the floor might be a little scuffed and the lighting isn't optimized for your Instagram feed, and thank God for that. It’s a room for eating, drinking, and existing without the performance of 'traveling.'

The menu is a short, punchy list of hits that reflects the neighborhood’s soul. But there is one reason—one singular, glorious reason—to make the trek out here: the pastilla. In a city drowning in mediocre patatas bravas, finding a truly great Moroccan pastilla is like finding a cold beer in a desert. It’s a sweet and savory hand grenade of flavor. The phyllo dough is shattered-glass crisp, dusted with a fine veil of powdered sugar and cinnamon that hits your tongue first, followed immediately by the rich, spiced heat of the meat inside. It is a protein rush that bypasses the brain and goes straight for the gut. It’s the kind of dish that makes you wonder why anyone bothers with the bland 'tapas for tourists' menus in the center.

But don't stop there. The croquetas here are the real deal—creamy, molten centers encased in a breading that actually has some structural integrity. The vermouth is poured with a heavy hand, served the way it should be: cold, with an olive and a slice of orange, designed to open up the appetite and dull the edges of a long day. If you’re looking for the best tapas in Sant Martí, you’re looking for the stuff that the regulars are eating while they argue about the local football scores. You’re looking for the grilled octopus that hasn't been overworked, just kissed by the flame and served with enough olive oil to make a doctor nervous.

The service is what I’d call 'neighborhood-efficient.' They aren't going to fawn over you, but they know their business. They’ve seen the neighborhood change, seen the tech bros move in down the street, and they’ve stayed exactly who they are. There’s a quiet pride in that. It’s one of the few affordable restaurants in Barcelona where the quality-to-price ratio feels like a heist in your favor.

Is it worth the trip? If you want white linen and a waiter who explains the 'concept' of a plate, stay in Eixample. But if you want to sit among the people who actually keep this city running, eating food that has a point of view and a pulse, then get on the L4 metro. Walk past the shiny office buildings, turn the corner onto Fluvià, and look for the sign. La Otra isn't trying to be your 'unforgettable experience.' It’s just trying to be a damn good bar. And in this town, that’s the highest praise I can give.