Las Tres Mentiras

Sants is not the Barcelona you see on the postcards. It’s a neighborhood of brick, grit, and real people who have zero patience for the overpriced, watered-down nonsense served in the city center. It’s here, tucked away on Carrer de Premià, that you’ll find Las Tres Mentiras. The name refers to the three classic Mexican lies: 'It’s not spicy,' 'This is my last drink,' and 'I’m on my way.' If you’ve spent any time in Mexico, you know the drill. If you haven't, this is as close as you’re going to get without a boarding pass.

Walking in, you aren't greeted by a host with a headset and a fake smile. You’re greeted by the smell—the heavy, intoxicating scent of achiote, citrus, and pork fat that’s been rendered down over hours. This isn't 'Tex-Mex.' There are no yellow cheese blankets or stale hard shells here. This is a Mexican restaurant in Sants that respects the source material. The decor is colorful but lived-in, the kind of place where the walls seem to have absorbed a decade of loud conversations and clinking glasses.

The cochinita pibil is the undisputed heavyweight champion of the menu. It arrives tender enough to be eaten with a spoon, stained a deep, earthy red from the annatto seeds, and topped with those bright pink pickled onions that provide the necessary acidic punch to cut through the richness. It’s a protein rush that hits you right in the lizard brain. Then there’s the ceviche. In a city that often treats ceviche like a delicate art project, Las Tres Mentiras serves it with a Mexican swagger—fresh, sharp, and loaded with enough lime and chili to wake up even the most jaded palate.

Let’s talk about the heat. In much of Europe, 'spicy' is a suggestion, a polite nod toward a peppercorn. Here, they mean it. When they bring out the salsas, treat them with the respect they deserve or prepare to spend the rest of the night questioning your life choices. It’s honest food. It’s the kind of cooking that doesn't need a PR firm because the flavors do the shouting. You’ll see locals here, people from the barrio who know that this is one of the best Mexican restaurants in Barcelona, sitting alongside expats who are clearly nursing a deep-seated homesickness that only a proper taco can cure.

The service? It’s efficient and unpretentious. They aren't there to be your best friend; they’re there to get the food to the table while it’s still singing. It gets loud, it gets crowded, and on a Friday night, the energy in the room can feel like a pressure cooker. That’s exactly how it should be. If you want a quiet, sterile dining experience with white tablecloths and hused whispers, go somewhere else. If you want to tear into a plate of tacos near Sants station while a margarita goes to work on your nervous system, you’re in the right place.

Is Las Tres Mentiras worth it? Absolutely. It’s a reminder that even in a city as heavily touristed as Barcelona, you can still find pockets of absolute authenticity if you’re willing to walk a few blocks away from the shiny stuff. It’s a place for people who love food that has a point of view—food that isn't afraid to be messy, loud, and occasionally painful. Just don't believe them when they tell you the salsa isn't hot. That’s the fourth lie.