La Rica Kitchen & Bar

Eixample is often a neighborhood of grand gestures and even grander price tags—a place where people go to be seen pretending to be busy. But if you head up Carrer de Londres, away from the Gaudi-gawking throngs and the designer boutiques of Passeig de Gràcia, you’ll find La Rica Kitchen & Bar. It’s a middle finger to the bland, sanitized 'fusion' spots that plague modern cities. This is a place that understands that the best meals are the ones that leave a mark on your soul and a bit of grease on your chin.

Walking into La Rica, you aren’t hit with the smell of floor wax and pretense. You’re hit with the scent of garlic hitting hot oil, the deep, earthy funk of black beans simmering for hours, and the unmistakable char of a grill working overtime. It’s a Brazilian embassy of flavor tucked into a Mediterranean shell. The decor is industrial-chic—exposed brick, warm wood, lighting that doesn't make you look like a corpse—but the vibe is pure Rio. It’s the kind of place where the music is just loud enough to make the conversation feel private, and the service is the kind of warm that can’t be taught in a corporate handbook.

Let’s talk about the feijoada, because if you’re here and you don’t order it, you’ve fundamentally misunderstood the assignment. This isn't just a stew; it’s a religious experience in a clay pot. It’s a dark, viscous, glorious mess of black beans and various pork parts—the kind of bits that make your doctor nervous but your heart sing. It comes with the traditional entourage: white rice, sautéed kale, orange slices to cut the fat, and farofa—that toasted cassava flour that acts like a savory, crunchy sand. It’s heavy, it’s honest, and it’s exactly what you need when the world feels a little too thin.

Then there’s the picanha. If you don't know picanha, you don't know steak. It’s the sirloin cap, and at La Rica, they respect the fat. That thick layer of white gold renders down on the grill, basting the meat in its own juices until it’s salty, smoky, and hits every lizard-brain requirement for protein. It’s served without the need for fancy sauces or distractions. It’s just meat, salt, and fire.

But wait, there’s a Mediterranean tag on the door. Why? Because Brazil has a massive Italian influence, and La Rica honors that with a parmigiana that feels like a warm hug from a grandmother who wants you to put on some weight. It’s comfort food for the weary traveler or the local worker looking for a respite from the daily grind. It’s the bridge between the Old World and the New, served on a plate.

Don't skip the coxinhas to start—those teardrop-shaped croquettes filled with shredded chicken and cream cheese. They are the ultimate bar snack, designed specifically to be chased by a caipirinha. And speaking of the caipirinha: they don't play here. It’s cachaça, lime, and sugar, mixed with a heavy hand. It’ll kick your teeth in if you’re not careful, but by the second one, you won’t mind at all.

La Rica isn't trying to reinvent the wheel. It’s just trying to feed you well. It’s a neighborhood joint in the best sense of the word—a place where the regulars are known by name and the newcomers are treated like they’ve been missing for years. It’s honest, it’s visceral, and in a city that can sometimes feel like a theme park, it’s real. If you want white tablecloths and tiny portions of foam, go elsewhere. If you want to eat until you need a nap and drink until you start telling the truth, pull up a chair.