Las Hermanas de los Ancares

If you’re looking for a white-tablecloth experience with tiny portions and a waiter who explains the 'concept' of the meal, keep walking. Las Hermanas de los Ancares doesn’t have a concept. It has a kitchen, a plancha, and a deep-seated Galician soul that refuses to be diluted for the tourist trade. Located in the working-class heart of Sants, far from the Gaudí-obsessed crowds, this is where you come when you want to eat until you genuinely need a nap.

Sants is a neighborhood that still feels like a neighborhood. It’s a place of narrow streets, old men in berets, and the constant hum of the nearby train station. Las Hermanas sits on Carrer de Jaume Roig like a fortress of tradition. You walk in and the first thing that hits you isn't the decor—which is functional, bordering on indifferent—but the smell. It’s the scent of pimentón hitting hot olive oil, the briny steam of boiling octopus, and the heavy, comforting aroma of fried beef and melted cheese.

Let’s talk about the octopus, the Pulpo a Feira. In lesser hands, it’s rubbery, a chore to chew. Here, it’s a revelation. It’s served the way God intended: on a wooden board, sliced into thick, tender coins, dusted with sea salt and a smoky pimentón that stains the oil a deep, vibrant red. You eat it with a toothpick, chasing the slices with chunks of bread to soak up every drop of that liquid gold. It’s a protein rush that reminds you why Galician seafood is the gold standard in Spain.

Then there is the Cachopo. Calling it a 'dish' is an understatement; it’s more of a geological event. Two massive fillets of beef, hammered thin, stuffed with cured ham and melting cheese, then breaded and fried until golden and lethal. It’s the size of a small surfboard and could easily feed a family of four, yet you’ll see locals tackling it solo with a look of grim determination. It’s glorious, greasy, and completely devoid of pretension—the kind of place that stakes its claim as the best Galician restaurant in Barcelona simply by refusing to compromise on quality or quantity.

The service is exactly what it should be: brisk, efficient, and occasionally surly in that way that lets you know they’re too busy feeding people to worry about your feelings. The 'Hermanas' (the sisters) run a tight ship. You’ll hear the clatter of plates, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the rising volume of a room full of people who are very happy to be exactly where they are. If you’re lucky, you’ll be drinking Ribeiro wine out of traditional white ceramic bowls (tazas), the way they do in the taverns of Ourense.

Is it perfect? No. It’s loud. If you don’t have a reservation on a weekend, you’re going to be standing on the sidewalk looking through the glass like a hungry orphan. The menu del dia is a steal, which means lunchtimes are a chaotic scramble. But that’s the point. This isn't a curated 'experience' designed for an Instagram feed. It’s a casa de comidas. It’s a place that feeds the neighborhood. It’s honest, it’s heavy, and it’s one of the few places left in this city that hasn't traded its identity for a better rating on a travel app. Come hungry, leave heavy, and don't expect a salad.