Restaurant Lombo

You don’t come to Sarrià-Sant Gervasi by accident. This isn’t the Gothic Quarter where you stumble over your own feet and land in a tourist trap serving frozen paella. This is the upper part of town—the 'Zona Alta'—where the air is a little thinner, the streets are a little quieter, and the money is very, very old. It’s here, tucked away from the neon-lit chaos of the center, that you find Restaurant Lombo. It’s a place that looks like a classic Italian bar but thinks like a world-class kitchen.

The man behind the curtain is Eugeni de Diego. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because he spent years as the right-hand man to Ferran Adrià at El Bulli. You’d expect a guy with that pedigree to be serving you edible air or nitrogen-blasted olives. Instead, he’s doing something much harder: he’s being honest. He’s making Italian food that doesn't hide behind gimmicks. Lombo is a tribute to the 'trattoria'—the kind of place where the ingredients do the heavy lifting and the chef has the ego-free discipline to let them.

Step inside and the vibe hits you immediately. It’s narrow, intimate, and anchored by a marble bar that begs for a Negroni and a long conversation. There’s wood, there’s warm light, and there’s the unmistakable hum of people who know they’ve found something special. It feels like a neighborhood secret, even if the secret has been out for a while. This is one of the best Italian restaurants in Barcelona precisely because it doesn't try to be 'the best.' It just tries to be right.

Let’s talk about the vitello tonnato. In lesser hands, it’s a grey, depressing slab of meat drowned in mayo. At Lombo, it’s a revelation. The veal is sliced thin enough to read a newspaper through, draped in a tuna sauce that is creamy, briny, and hits the back of your throat with a punch of capers and acidity. It’s a protein rush to the cortex. Then there’s the pizza fritta—a deep-fried pocket of dough that should be heavy but somehow floats. It’s Naples street food served with a tuxedo-level of refinement. When you tear into it, the steam rises, the cheese pulls, and for a second, you forget you’re in Catalonia.

The pasta is where the Bulli-trained precision really shows. Whether it’s a Cacio e Pepe that actually tastes like sheep’s milk and toasted peppercorns or a rich, bone-deep Ossobuco that falls apart if you even look at it sideways, the execution is flawless. There are no shortcuts here. The sauces are emulsified to a glossy sheen, the pasta has that essential al dente snap, and the seasoning is aggressive in all the right ways.

Is it perfect? No. The space is tight. If you’re looking for a sprawling terrace to see and be seen, go elsewhere. The service can be brisk when the room is packed, which is always. And because it’s in Sarrià, you’re going to pay a bit more for the privilege of sitting in those chairs. But you aren't paying for the zip code; you’re paying for the soul. You’re paying for the fact that a chef who could be doing anything chose to make you a perfect plate of meatballs.

If you’re tired of the 'concept' restaurants and the 'gastronomic experiences' that leave you hungry and annoyed, get on the FGC train and head uphill. Restaurant Lombo is a reminder of why we go out to eat in the first place: to sit at a bar, drink a decent glass of red, and eat food that makes the world feel a little less chaotic for an hour or two. It’s Italian food with a Catalan heart and a master’s touch.