La Puglia Sarrià

Sarrià is where the old money of Barcelona hides—all quiet streets, manicured trees, and people who look like they’ve never had a bad day in their lives. It is the last place you’d expect to find the raw, grease-stained, glorious soul of Southern Italy. But there it is: La Puglia Sarrià. This isn't your typical white-tablecloth Italian joint with overpriced carbonara and a waiter who hates his life. This is a portal to the heel of the boot, a place where the air smells of frying dough and the bitter, beautiful tang of cime di rapa.

When you walk into this small, unpretentious space on Passeig de la Reina Elisenda de Montcada, you aren't greeted by a host with a clipboard. You’re greeted by the sound of Italian being spoken at a volume that suggests a minor emergency but is actually just a conversation about tomatoes. It’s a deli-style setup that refuses to put on airs. You’re here for the goods, not the décor. The shelves are stocked with the kind of olive oils and pastas that make the stuff in your local supermarket look like industrial waste. This is the real deal, imported by people who clearly give a damn about what they’re feeding you.

The star of the show, the undisputed heavyweight champion of the menu, is the panzerotto. If you’ve never had one, imagine a calzone that went to heaven and came back with a better attitude. It’s a pocket of dough, filled with mozzarella and tomato—or perhaps some spicy nduja if you’re feeling brave—and then deep-fried until it’s golden and screamingly hot. You have to be careful. The first bite is a high-stakes game of thermal chicken. But once that steam clears and the molten cheese hits your tongue, you understand why people in Bari treat these things like religious relics. It’s crunchy, chewy, and salty in all the right places.

Then there’s the Puccia. This is the sandwich that puts all other sandwiches to shame. It’s a traditional Salento bread, baked in a wood-fired oven, that’s light and airy on the inside but has enough structural integrity to hold a small mountain of capocollo, sun-dried tomatoes, and creamy burrata. It’s the kind of food you eat with both hands, leaning over the table to ensure the olive oil doesn't ruin your shirt. It’s messy, it’s visceral, and it’s exactly what lunch should be.

If you’re looking for a sit-down, three-course affair, you can find the classics here too. The orecchiette with turnip tops (cime di rapa) is a masterclass in simplicity. It’s bitter, garlicky, and carries a slow-burn heat from the chili that lingers just long enough to make you reach for another glass of Pugliese red. There’s no ego on the plate here. Just high-quality ingredients treated with the respect they deserve. Even the breakfast crowd gets a win with the cornetti—Italian croissants—stuffed with pistachio cream that is thick enough to stop a heart but worth the risk.

La Puglia Sarrià is a reminder that the best food in Barcelona often happens away from the Gothic Quarter’s tourist traps. It’s for the people who live in the neighborhood and the few outsiders smart enough to make the trek uphill. It’s honest, it’s affordable, and it’s unapologetically Italian. If you want a sanitized, 'curated' dining experience, go somewhere else. If you want the honest, unvarnished flavors of Puglia while sitting in a quiet corner of Catalonia, pull up a chair. Just watch out for the hot cheese.