Please Plats

Step away from the gleaming glass towers of Diagonal Mar and the curated 'authenticity' of the city center. Walk a few blocks into the heart of Sant Martí, where the streets feel a little wider and the air smells less like expensive perfume and more like diesel and frying garlic. This is where you’ll find Please Plats. It isn’t a 'concept' restaurant. It isn’t 'curated.' It’s a neighborhood joint, a functional piece of the city’s machinery that feeds the people who actually make Barcelona run.

When you walk in, don't expect a host to whisk you to a candlelit table. Expect fluorescent lighting that doesn't lie, the rhythmic clatter of a coffee machine, and a TV in the corner probably shouting about a La Liga match or the afternoon news. The decor is secondary to the mission: providing a massive amount of calories for a handful of Euros. This is the classic 'bar de barrio'—the kind of place where the floor might be slightly sticky, but the welcome is real if you aren't a jerk about it.

Please Plats represents a fascinating, ubiquitous Barcelona phenomenon: the Chinese-run Spanish bar. For decades, families from China have taken over these neighborhood corners, meticulously maintaining the Spanish 'menu del día' tradition while often sneaking in their own culinary DNA. You’ll see it on the menu—a plate of jamón next to a bowl of fried noodles, or a perfectly respectable tortilla de patatas served alongside spring rolls. It’s a cultural mashup that defines the modern working-class reality of this city, and frankly, it’s often where you find the best value for your money.

The 'menu del día' here is the main event. For a price that seems like a clerical error in 2025, you get three courses, bread, and a drink. We’re talking about honest, unpretentious fuel. You might start with a 'crema de verduras' that actually tastes like vegetables, or a plate of macaroni that reminds you of a school lunch in the best possible way. The main courses lean heavily on the plancha—grilled chicken, pork loin, or perhaps a piece of white fish, usually accompanied by a mountain of fries or a simple salad. It’s not 'fine dining,' and it’s not trying to be. It’s the kind of food that hits the gut and stays there, powering you through the rest of a workday or a long walk toward the beach.

Is it the best meal you’ll have in Barcelona? Of course not. But is it one of the most honest? Absolutely. There is a profound dignity in a place like Please Plats. It doesn't care about your Instagram feed. It doesn't have a PR firm. It survives because the people in the apartment blocks upstairs and the mechanics down the street know they can come here and be treated fairly. The service is brisk, sometimes bordering on indifferent, but that’s because they have work to do. They aren't there to perform 'hospitality' for you; they’re there to feed you.

If you’re the kind of traveler who needs a wine list with fifty entries and a waiter who explains the provenance of the sea salt, stay in the Eixample. But if you want to see the real Sant Martí—the one that exists when the tourists go home—pull up a chair at Please Plats. Order the menu, drink the house red mixed with Casera, and enjoy the rare sensation of being in a place that doesn't want anything from you other than a few Euros and a bit of respect for the local rhythm. It’s cheap, it’s loud, and it’s exactly what a neighborhood bar should be.