Restaurant Chicken Pizza

Forget the Gothic Quarter. Forget the polished marble of Eixample and the overpriced croquetas of El Born. If you want to see how the city actually breathes, you have to climb. You head north, up into the steep, lung-burning inclines of Horta-Guinardó, where the tourists thin out and the laundry hangs over the streets like victory flags. This is where you find Restaurant Chicken Pizza. It’s a name that lacks poetry, sure, but it possesses a brutal, refreshing honesty. It’s not a "gastronomic concept." It’s a place that sells chicken and pizza. And kebabs. And burgers. It’s the kind of multi-hyphenate neighborhood fuel station that keeps the working heart of Barcelona beating.

Walking into this joint on Avinguda de la Mare de Déu de Montserrat, you aren't greeted by a host with a tablet and a fake smile. You’re greeted by the hum of a heavy-duty refrigerator and the rhythmic scraping of a metal spatula against a grill. The lighting is unapologetically fluorescent, the kind that reveals every scar on the counter and every bead of sweat on the brow of the guy working the oven. It’s a sanctuary of utility. People aren't here to be seen; they’re here to eat. You’ll see delivery drivers in helmets waiting for their next run, students counting out coins, and locals who have lived in these hills since before the Olympics changed everything. This is one of those authentic neighborhood eats Barcelona hides from the glossy brochures.

The menu is a glorious, chaotic sprawl. You’ve got your pizzas, which are the antithesis of the thin, charred Neapolitan style currently colonizing the city center. These are thick, heavy, and loaded with enough toppings to sink a small boat. The namesake "Chicken Pizza" is exactly what it sounds like—a protein-heavy slab of dough that doesn't care about your macros. But the real secret here, the thing the reviews whisper about, is the kebab. The durum is a weapon-sized cylinder of meat, sauce, and salad, wrapped tight and toasted until it can withstand the journey back to a fifth-floor walk-up. When reviewers talk about "wealth" here, they aren't talking about the decor. They’re talking about the sheer, unadulterated abundance of the portions. It’s a richness of calories, a generosity of spirit that you only find in places that know their customers work for a living. If you're looking for cheap eats Barcelona 2025, this is the frontline.

There’s a specific kind of magic in these no-frills spots. It’s the sound of the television in the corner playing a football match nobody is quite watching, the hiss of the soda fountain, and the smell of roasting meat that sticks to your clothes. It’s honest. There is no PR firm behind this. No "storytelling" in the marketing sense. The story is the food and the price. In a city that is increasingly becoming a theme park for the wealthy, Restaurant Chicken Pizza is a stubborn holdout of the real world. It’s cheap. It’s greasy. It’s open when you need it to be. It's the best pizza Horta-Guinardó offers when you're done with the pretension.

Is it the "best" pizza in Barcelona? If you’re a snob who needs a sourdough starter with a pedigree, then no. But if it’s 10 PM, you’ve just hiked up from the Guinardó metro, and you’re hollowed out with hunger, this place is a five-star temple. It’s for the hungry, the tired, and the broke. It’s for anyone who understands that sometimes, a massive kebab and a cold can of Estrella is the only thing standing between you and a very bad night. Don't come here for the "experience." Come here because you need to be fed, and you want to be fed by people who don't have time for bullshit. It’s a reminder that the best area to stay Barcelona isn't always where the monuments are—it's where the real food is.