Restaurant Mirabé

Barcelona is a city that demands to be looked at, but most people spend their time staring at the back of a tourist’s head in the Boqueria. If you want the real perspective—the kind that makes the sprawling, chaotic grid of the Eixample look like a well-organized Lego set—you have to climb. You head north, past the fancy apartments of the Upper Diagonal, to where the city starts to lean into the mountainside. This is where you find Mirabé, a place that understands that while food is important, a billion-dollar view is the ultimate appetizer.

Located at the base of the Tibidabo Funicular, Mirabé isn’t some dusty relic. It’s a sleek, multi-level glass box designed to ensure that no matter where you’re sitting, you’re confronted with the sheer scale of the Mediterranean metropolis. When you walk in, the first thing that hits you isn't the smell of the kitchen, but the light. During the day, it’s blindingly bright; at night, the city below turns into a shimmering carpet of amber and white. It’s the kind of place where people come to propose, to celebrate a promotion, or to simply remind themselves that they live in one of the most beautiful cities on the planet.

The menu is unapologetically Mediterranean, leaning heavily on the classics but polished for a crowd that expects a certain level of refinement. We’re talking about a kitchen that knows its way around a piece of wild sea bass and doesn't overcomplicate the red prawns. You’ll find the usual suspects: creamy croquetas that actually taste like jamón, octopus grilled until the edges are crisp and the center is butter, and rice dishes that carry the deep, briny soul of the coast. But the real sleeper hit, the one the regulars whisper about, is the French toast—the Torrija. It’s a thick, caramelized slab of brioche that’s been soaked until it’s structurally unsound, then seared to a golden crust. It’s the kind of dessert that makes you forgive the steep price of the wine list.

Let’s be honest: you are paying for the real estate. Mirabé is a favorite for the Sarrià-Sant Gervasi elite—the people who drive German SUVs and wear linen year-round. It can feel a bit 'event-heavy' at times; don't be surprised if you're sharing the terrace with a corporate launch or a wedding party that’s three gin-and-tonics deep. The service can be a bit formal, bordering on indifferent if they don't recognize you, but that’s part of the 'Upper Barcelona' charm. It’s not the gritty, soul-searching experience of a Raval dive bar, and it doesn't pretend to be.

As the night wears on, the vibe shifts. The dining room settles, and the bar takes over. Mirabé transforms into a cocktail lounge where the music gets a little louder and the city lights seem to pulse in time with the bass. It’s one of the best places in the city to nurse a Negroni while watching the sun disappear behind the Collserola hills. Is it a tourist trap? No. It’s too well-executed for that. It’s an indulgence. It’s a reminder that sometimes, it’s okay to get above the fray, leave the humid streets of the old city behind, and eat a well-cooked meal while looking down on the world. Just make sure you book a table by the window, or the whole point of the exercise is lost.