Più Pasta

Let’s get one thing straight: you aren’t coming to Les Corts to look at a cathedral or dodge selfie sticks on the Rambla. You’re here because you’re either lost, you work in one of the glass-and-steel office blocks, or you’ve finally realized that the best food in Barcelona often hides where the tourists don’t bother to look. Più Pasta sits on Carrer de Jordi Girona, a stone’s throw from the Polytechnic University, and it serves as a necessary reminder that Italian food doesn’t need a white tablecloth or a Michelin star to be the real deal.

Walking into Più Pasta, you don’t get the fake 'mamma mia' theatrics. It’s a space that understands its identity—part sleek Italian eatery, part neighborhood bar and grill. The air smells of reduced balsamic, toasted garlic, and the sharp, clean scent of fresh basil being torn by hand. It’s the kind of place where the light hits the glassware just right—those 'cups with stems' the regulars rave about—signaling that while the vibe is relaxed, the standards are anything but. This is a place for people who actually like to eat, not just photograph their plates.

The menu is built around the simple, heavy-hitting glory of wheat. We’re talking about pasta that has been treated with respect, cooked to that precise, resistant al dente state that separates the professionals from the amateurs. The carbonara is rich and silky, clinging to the noodles with intent, while the pomodoro is sharp and acidic, tasting of tomatoes that actually spent time in the sun. The kitchen here isn't trying to reinvent the wheel. They’re just making sure the wheel is perfectly round and greased with high-quality olive oil. And because it’s a bar and grill, the menu doesn't stop at the pasta bowl. There’s a fire in the kitchen, and it’s used to give a proper char to meats and vegetables, providing a smoky counterpoint to the delicate pasta dishes.

Then there are the cocktails. In a city where 'cocktail' often means a lukewarm gin and tonic in a plastic cup, Più Pasta treats the bar with the reverence of a laboratory. The drinks are balanced, cold, and served with a level of craft that feels like a steal given the price point. It’s the necessary fuel for the kind of long, rambling lunches that Les Corts is built for—the kind where the conversation shifts from university politics to the state of the world, fueled by another round of Negronis.

The crowd is a beautiful, unpretentious mess. You’ve got professors from the UPC arguing over physics, office workers loosening their ties after a brutal shift, and locals who have figured out that they can get a better meal here for twenty euros than they can for fifty in the Eixample. It’s honest. It’s loud. It’s real. There’s no pretension here, just the clatter of forks against ceramic and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Is it the most experimental meal you’ll have in Barcelona? No. But is it the kind of place you’ll find yourself returning to when you’re tired of the hype and just want a plate of pasta that tastes like someone actually gave a damn? Absolutely. Più Pasta is a sanctuary of consistency in a city that’s often too busy chasing the next trend. It’s proof that if you get the basics right—the pasta, the pour, and the price—the rest will take care of itself. Just don't expect a quiet meal; this is a place where life happens at full volume.