Restaurant Askadinya

Gràcia is a neighborhood that likes to think of itself as a village, a place where the narrow streets still hum with a quiet, local defiance against the glass-and-steel homogenization of the rest of the city. It’s the perfect setting for Askadinya. This isn’t some sanitized, pan-Mediterranean concept dreamt up by a marketing firm. This is Palestinian food, served with the kind of unadorned honesty that makes you realize how much bullshit you usually swallow at trendy tapas joints.

Walking down Carrer de Verdi, you’re dodging strollers and cinema-goers, but once you step through the door of Askadinya, the air changes. It smells of toasted pine nuts, slow-cooked lamb, and the sharp, citrusy punch of sumac. The decor doesn't try too hard—it’s cozy, a bit cramped, and feels like the kind of place where the furniture has seen a thousand arguments and just as many celebrations. It’s a family-run operation, and you feel that in the rhythm of the room. There’s no fawning service here; they’re busy, they’re efficient, and they expect you to be there for the food, not a performance.

Let’s talk about the hummus. If your only experience with hummus is the refrigerated paste from a supermarket, prepare for a reckoning. Here, it’s a warm, velvet-smooth revelation, topped with spiced lamb or shimmering olive oil that actually tastes like olives. It’s a dish that demands you tear off a piece of fresh, pillowy pita and go to work. But the real heavyweight on the menu is the Maqluba. The name literally means 'upside-down,' and when that pot is flipped onto the plate, revealing layers of perfectly seasoned rice, tender meat, and fried cauliflower or eggplant, it’s a beautiful, messy architecture of flavor. It’s the kind of food that feels like a hug from a grandmother you never had, provided your grandmother was a master of Levantine spices.

The Musakhan is another essential—sumac-dusted chicken served on flatbread that has soaked up all the juices and onions until it’s almost a religious experience. This is communal eating at its best. You get your hands dirty. You share. You stop looking at your phone because the plate in front of you is far more interesting than anything on a screen.

And then there is the knafeh. People talk about the knafeh here in hushed, reverent tones, and for good reason. It’s a hot, stretchy, cheese-filled pastry soaked in syrup and topped with crushed pistachios. It’s the perfect balance of sweet and salty, a textural rollercoaster that ruins all other desserts for you. If you leave without ordering it, you’ve fundamentally failed at dinner.

Is it perfect? No. On a Friday night, it’s loud, the service can feel a bit rushed, and you might be elbow-to-elbow with a table of students or a local family. But that’s the point. Askadinya is a living, breathing part of the neighborhood. It’s one of the best Palestinian restaurants in Barcelona because it doesn't compromise. It’s Halal, it’s vegetarian-friendly without being preachy about it, and it serves up a visceral reminder that food is the most powerful way to tell a story of a place and its people. If you want a quiet, sterile dining experience, go elsewhere. If you want to eat something that actually means something, pull up a chair.