Poca-Solta

Rambla de Catalunya is usually where culinary souls go to die, a sun-drenched gauntlet of overpriced frozen paella and laminated menus designed to lure in the unsuspecting. But then there’s Poca-Solta. The name itself is a wink; in Catalan, it means 'cheeky,' 'shameless,' or 'a bit crazy.' It’s a middle finger to the beige, boring tourist traps that surround it, offering something that actually has a pulse.

Walking into Poca-Solta, you aren't greeted by the hushed tones of a fine-dining temple. This is a place of clinking glass, the low hum of a piano waiting for its moment, and the smell of dough hitting a hot oven. The decor is modern Eixample—polished but not precious, with enough neon and wood to feel like a place where you can actually let your hair down. It’s a restaurant that understands the fundamental truth of Barcelona: dinner is just the opening act for the night.

Let’s talk about the 'coca.' If you look at the reviews, you’ll see people raving about 'bread coke' or just 'coca.' Don't call the authorities; they’re talking about the traditional Catalan flatbread. At Poca-Solta, the coca is the undisputed heavyweight champion. It’s thin, impossibly crisp, and serves as a canvas for things like earthy truffles, rich egg yolks, or salty jamón. It’s the kind of thing you start eating with a fork and knife before realizing you’re a fool, discarding the silver, and tearing into it with your hands. The pizzas here also hold their own—blistered crusts and high-quality toppings like creamy burrata that make you forget you’re only a few blocks from the madness of Plaça de Catalunya.

The menu doesn't stop at dough. You’ve got the classics—croquetas that are creamy enough to be illegal and bravas that actually pack a punch. But the real magic of Poca-Solta is the transition. One minute you’re finishing a plate of steak tartare, and the next, the lights dim, the piano bar kicks into gear, and the tray of shots (chupitos) starts making its rounds. It’s a 'function room' in the sense that its function is to ensure you don't go home early. The sangria isn't the watered-down swill served in plastic pitchers down the street; it’s balanced, potent, and dangerous.

Is it perfect? No. If you’re looking for a quiet, romantic corner to whisper sweet nothings, you’ve come to the wrong place. It gets loud. The service is efficient but can be as 'cheeky' as the name suggests when the house is full. It’s a place for groups, for people who like their music with their meal, and for anyone who believes that a good dinner should end with a little bit of chaos.

You come here because you want to be in the thick of it. You come because you’re near the center but refuse to eat like a tourist. You come for unpretentious tapas that don't require a three-month waiting list, and you stay because the energy is undeniable. It’s honest, it’s loud, and it’s exactly what this part of the city needs more of. In a world of 'curated experiences,' Poca-Solta is just a damn good time.