Platinium Restaurant

Get on the L1 metro and ride it north until the Gaudí-fied dreams of the Eixample and the polished marble of the Passeig de Gràcia are a distant, blurry memory. You’re heading to Nou Barris, specifically to a stretch of Avinguda Meridiana that feels more like a transit artery than a postcard. This is where the real city lives, breathes, and—most importantly—eats. Platinium Restaurant isn’t trying to win any design awards. It’s a brightly lit, high-energy bastion of Dominican soul that serves as a living room for the local Caribbean community and anyone else smart enough to follow the scent of garlic and frying oil.

Walking in is a sensory slap to the face. If you’re looking for a quiet, candlelit corner to whisper sweet nothings, keep walking. This is a place of high-volume bachata, clattering plates, and the kind of boisterous conversation that only happens over food that demands your full attention. The air is thick with the smell of the plancha and the sweet, tropical scent of ripening fruit from the blender. It’s honest. It’s loud. It’s exactly what a neighborhood joint should be.

The menu is a roadmap of Dominican comfort. You start with the mofongo, a dense, glorious mountain of mashed green plantains laced with enough garlic to ward off a century of vampires, often topped with succulent shrimp or crispy pork cracklings (chicharrón). It’s heavy, it’s primal, and it’s beautiful. Then there’s the 'Pica Pollo'—Dominican fried chicken that puts the global chains to shame. The skin is shattered-glass crisp, seasoned with a hit of oregano and lime that cuts right through the fat. If you want the true soul of the island, order 'La Bandera'—the flag. It’s the tri-color standard of rice, beans, and stewed meat (usually chicken or beef) that sustains a nation. It’s simple, unpretentious, and deeply satisfying.

Don't ignore the liquids. The batidos (shakes) here are a local obsession. Whether it’s zapote, chinola (passion fruit), or morir soñando (a hallucinogenic-ly good mix of orange juice and milk), they are thick enough to stand a spoon in and serve as the perfect fire extinguisher for the vinegar-heavy pique or hot sauce you’ll inevitably douse your rice in. And then there is the Tres Leches. Reviewers talk about it like a religious experience, and they aren't lying. It’s a sponge cake soaked in three types of milk until it reaches a state of structural impossibility—somehow holding its shape while being completely saturated with sweet, creamy nectar.

The service? It’s Dominican. It’s friendly, it’s informal, and when the place is packed on a Sunday afternoon with three generations of a family celebrating a birthday, it might be a little slow. Relax. Order another Presidente beer, lean back, and soak in the atmosphere. This is one of the best Dominican restaurants in Barcelona precisely because it doesn't care about being 'in' Barcelona. It’s a portal.

Is it worth the trek to Nou Barris? If you’re tired of the same three tapas served to every tourist from London to Los Angeles, then yes. It’s a protein-heavy, carb-loaded reminder that the best food in any city is usually found at the end of a long subway line, served by people who cook like they’re feeding their own kin. It’s not a 'gastronomic adventure'—it’s just dinner. And it’s spectacular.