La Pimpa

Les Corts is the part of Barcelona that tourists usually only see through the window of a taxi on their way to Camp Nou. It’s a neighborhood of wide avenues, residential blocks, and people who actually live here—which means the food has to be good enough to keep the locals coming back on a Tuesday night. This isn't the Gothic Quarter; you can't survive on one-time visitors here. You survive on quality. Enter La Pimpa.

This isn't a pizza joint. Not exactly. They specialize in Pinsa Romana, the ancient, oval-shaped ancestor to the modern pizza that’s been having a well-deserved moment. If you think all dough is created equal, you’re wrong. The crew at La Pimpa treats their flour like a holy relic. We’re talking a blend of soy, rice, and wheat flour, hydrated to the brink of collapse and left to ferment for a full 72 hours. The result? A crust that is impossibly light, cloud-like on the inside, and possesses a structural integrity that shatters like glass when you bite into it. It’s the kind of bread that doesn't leave you feeling like you swallowed a bowling ball afterward.

Step inside and the vibe is immediately right. It’s industrial-chic without being precious about it—exposed brick, warm wood, and the kind of low-slung lighting that makes everyone look a little better after a second glass of Montepulciano. It’s small, often loud, and vibrates with the energy of people who are genuinely happy to be there. You’ll hear Italian spoken behind the bar, which is usually the first sign that you haven’t been fleeced by a marketing firm.

The menu is a love letter to Italian sourcing. The 'Mortazza' is the heavy hitter here—a Pinsa topped with silky mortadella, a generous orb of burrata that bleeds cream across the hot crust, and a dusting of toasted pistachios for crunch. It’s a fat-on-fat-on-carb masterpiece that hits every primal pleasure center in the brain. If you want something sharper, the 'La Pimpa' signature pinsa brings the heat and the funk. They don't skimp on the products; the tomatoes actually taste like they saw the sun, and the olive oil has that peppery kick that tells you it’s the real deal.

And then there’s the tiramisu. Look, every Italian spot in the world claims to have the 'best' tiramisu. Most of them are lying. La Pimpa’s version is a legitimate contender. It’s served in a way that suggests they know exactly how good it is—rich, heavy on the mascarpone, and with enough espresso to jumpstart a dead Vespa. It’s the kind of dessert you don’t share, even with people you like.

Is it perfect? No. If you show up without a reservation on a Friday, you’re going to be standing on the sidewalk looking through the glass like a hungry orphan. The service is 'Italian speed'—which is to say, they’ll get to you when they get to you, and they aren't going to fake a smile if they're busy. But that’s the trade-off for authenticity. You aren't paying for a corporate hospitality script; you’re paying for 72 hours of fermentation and someone who knows how to handle a burrata. If you’re looking for the best Italian restaurant in Les Corts, or just a reason to escape the tourist traps of the center, this is your spot. It’s honest, it’s delicious, and it’s worth the trek.