Restaurant Ivorra 10

If you’ve spent more than twenty minutes researching where to eat in this city, you’ve heard of El Tomàs de Sarrià. It is the high church of the patata brava, a place of pilgrimage where people cram themselves into a narrow, fluorescent-lit corridor to worship at the altar of fried tubers. But here is the secret the locals know: if you walk just a few steps around the corner to Carrer d'Ivorra, 10, you’ll find the same DNA, the same kitchen, and—most importantly—the exact same bravas, but with the radical luxury of a table and a chair that isn't being jostled by a hungry tourist's backpack.

Restaurant Ivorra 10 is the functional, no-nonsense annex to the Tomàs empire. It’s located in Sarrià-Sant Gervasi, a neighborhood that used to be a separate village before the city swallowed it whole. Even now, it feels different up here. The air is slightly cooler, the streets are narrower, and the money is significantly older. But Ivorra 10 isn't about the glitz of the upper Diagonal. It’s a Mediterranean restaurant in Barcelona that feels like a time capsule from the 1970s, serving honest, grease-slicked fuel to the people who actually live here.

Let’s talk about the potatoes, because that is why you are here. These aren't those frozen, perfectly uniform cubes you find in the tourist traps of La Rambla. These are hand-cut, irregular hunks of potato, double-fried until the exterior has a structural integrity that shatters under the tooth, revealing a soft, steaming interior. They are drowned in a two-part sauce: a thick, pungent alioli and a secret, spicy red oil that has probably caused more heartburn and happiness than any other substance in the district. It is a protein-adjacent rush of pure starch and fat. It is perfect.

Beyond the bravas, Ivorra 10 specializes in the 'Plato Combinado'—the combo meal. This is the blue-collar backbone of Spanish dining. It’s not fancy. It’s a plate divided into sectors of pure satisfaction: perhaps a couple of fried eggs with yolks waiting to be punctured, a thin slab of lomo (pork loin), a pile of those famous fries, and maybe a few green peppers for the illusion of health. It’s the kind of food that demands a cold beer or a glass of house red that tastes like the earth it came from. The croquettes are another mandatory order—creamy, jamón-flecked centers encased in a dark, crunchy shell, served hot enough to strip the skin from the roof of your mouth if you’re too impatient.

The atmosphere is refreshingly devoid of pretense. You’ll see multi-generational families arguing over Sunday lunch, old men reading the sports papers with a coffee and a brandy, and the occasional savvy traveler who realized that standing in line next door is for suckers. The service is brisk, efficient, and carries that particular brand of Catalan directness that some might mistake for surliness, but it’s actually just the mark of professionals who have no time for fluff.

Is it the most innovative meal you’ll have in Barcelona? Absolutely not. But in a city increasingly filled with 'concept' restaurants and overpriced avocado toast, Ivorra 10 is a reminder of what eating used to be about: good ingredients, traditional recipes, and a place to sit down with your neighbors. It’s one of the best tapas spots in Sarrià precisely because it doesn't try to be anything else. If you want the soul of old Barcelona without the elbow-to-elbow combat of the Gothic Quarter, take the FGC train up the hill, get off at Sarrià, and find this door. Your stomach will thank you, even if your cardiologist won't.