MonDoré

Let’s be honest: the area around Plaça d’Espanya is usually a wasteland of overpriced frozen croquetas and neon-colored paella designed to lure in the weary masses spilling out of the Fira. But walk a few blocks into the grid of Eixample, specifically toward the rising cool of Sant Antoni, and you hit MonDoré. It calls itself a 'Cervecería Gastronómica,' a term that usually makes me want to reach for a stiff drink and a cynical remark, but here, they actually mean it. This isn’t a place where the food is an afterthought to the booze, or vice versa. It’s a marriage of necessity.

You walk in and the first thing you notice isn't some curated playlist or 'vintage' Edison bulbs—it’s the taps. They take their beer seriously here, and in a city that was once a desert of industrial lagers, that matters. We’re talking about a rotating selection of local Catalan craft and international heavy hitters that would make a hop-head weep. But don't just stand there staring at the chalkboard. Sit down. The room has that industrial-chic edge—exposed brick, dark wood—but it’s saved from being pretentious by the sheer volume of locals who treat this place like their living room.

Now, let’s talk about the food, or what the locals call 'platillos.' These aren't your standard, sad tapas. The Bravas MonDoré are a mandatory entry fee. They aren't the soggy, oil-drenched cubes you find on the Rambla; they are crisp, defiant, and topped with a sauce that actually has something to say. Then there are the croquetas—creamy, structural triumphs filled with things like oxtail (rabo de toro) that actually taste like the animal they came from. If you’re lucky, they’ll have the Arroz de Montaña on. It’s a mountain rice dish that brings the soul of the Pyrenees to a city street corner, rich with the kind of deep, caramelized flavor that only comes from someone staring at a pan for a very long time.

The service? It’s professional, which in Barcelona often means they aren't going to laugh at your jokes or pretend to be your best friend. They are there to ensure your glass isn't empty and your food is hot. They know the beer list better than you know your own family, so ask for a recommendation. If you tell them you like a certain flavor profile, they’ll point you toward a local brew that’ll change your mind about what Spanish beer can be.

Is it perfect? No. It gets loud. On a Friday night, the decibel level hits a point where you’ll be shouting over your pulpo a la brasa just to be heard. It’s popular, it’s cramped, and if you show up at 9:00 PM without a plan, you’ll be cooling your heels on the sidewalk. But that’s the price of admission for authenticity. MonDoré is a reminder that even in the shadow of the city's biggest tourist hubs, you can still find a corner that hasn't sold its soul. It’s a place for people who give a damn about what’s in their glass and what’s on their plate. If you’re looking for a quiet, romantic candlelit dinner with a view of the fountain, go somewhere else. If you want to eat and drink like you actually live here, pull up a chair.