Más Que México

If you’re looking for a white-tablecloth experience with a sommelier who can explain the 'terroir' of your agave, do us both a favor and stay in Eixample. But if you’re willing to ride the L4 metro until the map starts to look unfamiliar, you might find something real. Nou Barris isn't the Barcelona they put on the postcards. There are no Gaudí chimneys here, no overpriced sangria pitchers, and mercifully, very few people carrying selfie sticks. This is a working-class neighborhood, and Más Que México is exactly the kind of place a neighborhood like this deserves.

You find it on Carrer de la Font d'en Canyelles, a street that feels lived-in. When you walk up to the terrace, you aren't greeted by a host with a headset; you’re greeted by the smell of corn tortillas hitting the heat and the sound of locals who actually know each other’s names. It’s a small, unpretentious spot that doesn't feel the need to scream its 'authenticity' from the rooftops. It just does the work.

Let’s talk about the nachos, because everyone else is. In the hierarchy of bar food, nachos are often a lazy afterthought—a pile of bagged chips drowned in yellow plastic. Not here. At Más Que México, the nachos are a structural engineering marvel, a mountain of crunch, melted cheese, and jalapeños that requires a strategy to dismantle. It’s the kind of dish that makes you feel a little bit guilty and a lot bit satisfied. It’s messy, it’s heavy, and it’s exactly what you want with a cold beer after a long day of existing in the 21st century.

The tacos follow the same philosophy: keep it simple, keep it honest. Whether it’s the cochinita pibil or the al pastor, the meat has spent some serious time getting to know its spices. There’s no 'fusion' nonsense here, no unnecessary foam or micro-greens. It’s just protein, onion, cilantro, and a salsa that actually has the courage to bite back. You eat them with your hands, the juice runs down your wrists, and for a moment, the world feels a little less complicated.

The service is what I’d call 'neighborhood-efficient.' They aren't going to fawn over you, but they’ll get you your michelada before you’ve had time to complain about the heat. The michelada itself is a salt-rimmed, spicy, citrusy slap in the face that reminds you why you like drinking in the first place. Sitting on that terrace as the sun goes down over Nou Barris, watching the rhythm of the barrio—the kids playing, the old men arguing, the general lack of pretense—you realize that this is the best Mexican Barcelona has to offer, precisely because it isn't trying to be 'the best.' It’s just trying to be a good neighbor.

Is it worth the trek? If you care about food that has a soul and a price tag that doesn't make you want to weep, then yes. If you need a view of the Sagrada Família to enjoy your dinner, stay on the bus. Más Que México is for the hungry, the thirsty, and the people who know that the best things in a city are usually found at the end of the subway line.