Petit Comitè

Passatge de la Concepció is a strange little artery. It’s a narrow, semi-pedestrianized slip of a street connecting the high-fashion madness of Passeig de Gràcia with the slightly more breathable Rambla de Catalunya. It’s a street that smells of money, expensive perfume, and, if you’re standing in the right spot, the intoxicating scent of roasting meat and truffle. This is where you find Petit Comitè, a place that manages to be both a polished, modern refuge and a direct pipeline to the rugged, flavor-obsessed heart of rural Catalonia.

For years, this was the playground of the legendary Carles Gaig. Now, it’s under the stewardship of Nandu Jubany, a man who cooks with the kind of manic energy and deep-seated respect for tradition that you only find in people who grew up with the smell of woodsmoke in their hair. Jubany hasn’t just kept the lights on; he’s turned the volume up. This isn’t the place for molecular foam or tiny dots of sauce that require a magnifying glass to see. This is the best Catalan cuisine in Barcelona served with a straight face and an unapologetic focus on the ingredient.

Let’s talk about the cannelloni. In Catalonia, cannelloni—or 'canelons'—are more than just pasta; they are a cultural obsession, traditionally made with the leftovers of the Christmas feast. At Petit Comitè, the 'Canelons de Festa Major' are a masterclass in excess. They arrive bathed in a béchamel so rich it feels like a velvet blanket, scented with enough truffle to make your head spin. It’s a dish that tastes of history, of grandmothers spending three days in the kitchen, of a culture that refuses to let a single scrap of good meat go to waste. It is, quite simply, a protein rush to the cortex.

But the menu doesn't stop at the classics. Depending on when you stumble through the door, you might find wild mushrooms that were clinging to a damp hillside in the Pyrenees forty-eight hours ago, or a 'fricandó'—a traditional beef stew with moixernons—that has been simmered until the meat gives up all resistance. The rice dishes here are equally serious. We’re talking about 'arròs de verdures i bolets' (rice with vegetables and mushrooms) that carries the deep, caramelized intensity of a perfectly executed sofrito. It’s the kind of food that demands your full attention, the kind that makes the conversation at the table stop the moment the plates land.

The room itself reflects this balance. It’s Eixample sharp—clean lines, warm wood, soft lighting—but it lacks the cold pretension of the neighborhood’s more 'sceney' spots. The service is professional, crisp, and mercifully devoid of the hovering sycophancy that ruins so many high-end meals. They know the food is the star here. They know that when you’re tearing into a piece of 'coca de full' topped with pancetta and truffle, you don’t need a lecture on the provenance of the flour.

Is it expensive? Yeah, it’s not a bodega in El Raval where you’re drinking wine out of a porró for three euros. You’re in the heart of the city, eating food prepared by one of the country’s most decorated chefs. But unlike the tourist traps lurking just around the corner on the main drag, Petit Comitè delivers on the promise. It’s an honest assessment of what Catalan food can be when it’s treated with reverence but not mummified. It’s a place for people who actually give a damn about what they’re putting in their mouths. If you want to understand why the Catalans are so fiercely proud of their culinary heritage, sit down, order the tasting menu, and let Jubany tell you the story through his cooking. It’s a visceral, delicious, and entirely necessary experience in a city that is increasingly being flattened by globalized blandness.