Oria by Martín Berasategui

Walking into the Monument Hotel on Passeig de Gràcia feels like stepping into a vault of high-end Catalan ambition. But you aren’t here for the three-star temple of Lasarte down the hall. You’re here for Oria, the slightly more approachable, one-Michelin-starred sibling that proves Martín Berasategui doesn’t know how to do anything halfway. If Lasarte is the grand opera, Oria is the tight, punchy jazz set—still sophisticated as hell, but you can breathe a little easier.

The space, designed by Carles Ferrater, is a masterclass in verticality. It’s a soaring, light-filled atrium with a central water feature that looks like something out of a high-end architectural digest. It could feel cold, but the service—polished, attentive, and devoid of that soul-crushing stuffiness you find in Paris—warms it up. You’re in the heart of the Eixample, the grid-patterned soul of Barcelona’s bourgeois dreams, and Oria fits the neighborhood like a bespoke suit.

Let’s talk about the 'Garrote.' That’s Berasategui’s catchphrase, a Basque call to arms meaning strength, passion, and balls-out effort. You see it in the execution of Executive Chef Xabi Goikoetxea. The menu is a bridge between the rugged, green coast of the Basque Country and the sun-drenched Mediterranean produce of Catalonia. It’s technical, yes, but it never forgets that food is supposed to taste like something.

If you’re smart, you come at noon for the 'Formula Oria'—the executive menu. It is, quite frankly, one of the best fine dining Barcelona deals you’ll find in this tax bracket. You might start with a smoked eel ravioli that hits you with a saline punch, followed by a piece of hake so perfectly translucent it looks like it was cooked by a laser. The flavors are clean, the plating is surgical, and the sauces—Berasategui is the king of sauces—are deep, complex reductions that make you want to lick the plate when the waiter isn't looking.

The reviews mention the petit fours for a reason. They aren't an afterthought; they are a final, sugary middle finger to the idea that you should leave a Michelin-starred meal feeling anything less than pampered. By the time the coffee arrives, you realize that while this might be the 'second' restaurant in the building, it’s playing a game most other places in the city can’t even fathom.

Is it worth it? If you want to understand why Berasategui has more stars than any other Spanish chef without having to sell a kidney for the privilege, then yes. It’s honest, high-level cooking in a room that makes you feel like you’ve actually made something of your life. It’s not a 'hidden gem'—it’s a polished diamond sitting right on the most expensive street in the city. Don't expect a rowdy tapas crawl vibe; expect a quiet, intense focus on the plate. It’s a place for people who give a damn about the difference between a good sauce and a life-changing one.