Restaurant Cadaqués Barcelona

The first thing that hits you isn’t the menu or the decor; it’s the smell. It’s the primal, unmistakable scent of holm oak—encina—burning in the back of the house. In a city where too many kitchens have traded their souls for electric burners and microwave-safe tapas, Restaurant Cadaqués is a violent, beautiful return to form. Located on Carrer de la Reina Cristina, just a stone’s throw from the harbor where the Mediterranean breeze fights the city’s heat, this place isn't trying to be your friend. It’s trying to feed you the way people ate before the world got soft.

This is the brainchild of the Sagardi Group, but don’t let the corporate backing fool you. This isn't a sanitized chain experience. It’s an homage to the Alt Empordà, that rugged, wind-swept stretch of the Costa Brava that gave the world Dalí and some of the most uncompromising seafood traditions on the planet. The kitchen is dominated by fire. They don't just cook here; they battle the flames to produce rice dishes that would make a fisherman weep.

Let’s talk about the rice, because that’s why you’re here. If you’re the kind of person who thinks paella should be a soft, yellow mountain of mush decorated with frozen peas, do us all a favor and stay on La Rambla. The 'Arroz de Cadaqués' is a different beast entirely. It arrives in a wide, shallow pan, the grains spread thin, kissed by the smoke of the wood fire. It is intense, dark, and—here is the sticking point for the uninitiated—firm. You’ll see reviews complaining about 'raw rice.' Ignore them. They don’t understand the 'punto.' This rice is meant to have a bite, a resistance that gives way to a deep, oceanic umami. And the 'socarrat'—that caramelized, nearly burnt crust at the bottom? That’s the prize. If you aren't scraping the bottom of the pan with your spoon like you’re digging for buried treasure, you’re doing it wrong.

Before the rice hits, you need to navigate the starters. The 'Ensaladilla Rusa' is a benchmark—creamy, honest, and topped with the kind of preserved tuna that actually tastes like fish. But the real sleeper hit is the 'Tortilla de patatas con bacalao.' It’s a messy, gooey, salt-cod-flecked masterpiece that defies the structural integrity of most Spanish omelettes. It’s the kind of thing you eat with a hunk of crusty bread while wondering why you ever bothered with brunch back home. The seafood, from the Gambas de Palamós to the mussels, is treated with the respect it deserves: high heat, salt, and very little else.

The room itself feels like a refurbished shipyard—lots of wood, iron, and a frantic energy that peaks around 9:30 PM. The service is professional, bordering on brisk, which is exactly what you want when the kitchen is pumping out heat like a furnace. It’s loud, it’s crowded, and it’s unapologetically Catalan. You’ll see locals who know exactly what they’re doing, ordering another bottle of Empordà wine and leaning into the chaos.

Is it expensive? A bit. Is it worth it? If you value the taste of fire and the integrity of a grain of rice, then yes, absolutely. It’s a reminder that the best food doesn't come from a lab or a fancy plating kit; it comes from a hot pan, a good fire, and someone who knows how to handle both. Come here when you’re tired of the 'hidden gems' and just want something real. Just don't complain about the rice being firm—you were warned.