My Fucking Restaurant

The name is a provocation, a middle finger to the starched-linen, hushed-whisper world of fine dining. It sounds like the kind of place a marketing intern would dream up to lure in backpackers with more irony than taste. But step inside this narrow, dimly lit corridor on Carrer Nou de la Rambla, and you’ll realize the name isn't a gimmick—it’s a manifesto. This is My Fucking Restaurant, and Matteo Spinelli is going to feed you exactly what he wants, the way he wants, and you’re probably going to love it.

Located in the heart of El Raval—a neighborhood that still retains its grit despite the creeping tide of gentrification—this place feels right at home. It’s situated just a stone's throw from the ornate opulence of Gaudí’s Palau Güell, providing a sharp, industrial contrast to the neighborhood's architectural history. The vibe is raw: exposed brick, an open kitchen that breathes fire and steam into the room, and a soundtrack that actually has a pulse. It’s a restaurant for people who like the sound of clinking glasses and the controlled chaos of a kitchen firing on all cylinders.

Spinelli, originally from Puglia, brings an Italian sensibility to Catalan ingredients, but don't call it fusion. It’s more of a conversation. The menu is built on a hardcore zero-waste philosophy that isn't just for show. They use the whole damn plant, the whole damn animal. If you’re looking for the best tapas in Barcelona that push the boundaries of the traditional, this is your ground zero.

You start with the 'My Fucking Bravas.' Every joint in the city claims to have the best, but these are a serious contender. They are triple-cooked, resulting in a glass-like crunch that gives way to a fluffy, cloud-like interior, topped with a smoked oil and a spicy brava sauce that actually has some teeth. Then there’s the steak tartare—hand-cut, seasoned with precision, and served with a confidence that tells you the chef knows exactly where that beef came from. If the oysters are on the menu, get them. They often come dressed in unexpected ways, like a bright celery and green apple granita that cuts through the brine like a lightning bolt.

The tasting menus—divided into 'Tradition' and 'Innovation'—are the move if you want to see what the kitchen can really do. It’s a progression of dishes that feel deeply personal. You might see a seasonal heirloom tomato salad that tastes like the sun, or a slow-cooked lamb that falls apart at the mere suggestion of a fork. The wine list follows the same ethos: natural, local, and picked because it tastes good, not because it has a fancy label.

Is it perfect? No. The service can be frantic when the room is packed, which is almost always. It’s loud. If you’re looking for a quiet place to propose or discuss your tax returns, go somewhere else. This is a place for eating, drinking, and feeling the heat of the city. It’s an honest restaurant in a neighborhood that demands honesty. It’s creative Mediterranean Barcelona at its most unapologetic. You come here to be reminded that food doesn't need to be precious to be profound. It just needs to be good. And this is, quite frankly, fucking good.