Restaurant Som.y

Sants is not the Barcelona you see on the postcards. It’s a neighborhood that doesn’t give a damn about your Instagram feed or your desire for a curated 'authentic' experience. It just is. And at the center of this fiercely independent barrio lies Plaça d'Osca, a narrow, sun-drenched rectangle that used to be a market square and is now a gauntlet of terraces, beer glasses, and the constant hum of local gossip. This is where you find Restaurant Som.y.

Don’t come here looking for white tablecloths or a waiter who wants to be your best friend. The current 3-star rating tells you exactly what you need to know: this is a place that lives and dies by its location and its ability to fry things quickly. It’s unpolished, it’s loud, and on a Friday night, it’s a beautiful kind of mayhem. You walk into a space that feels like it’s been through a few wars and several thousand late-night shifts. The floors are worn, the air smells faintly of olive oil and sea salt, and the staff are moving at a pace that suggests they have somewhere much better to be. But that’s the charm of a real neighborhood joint in Sants-Montjuïc.

The menu is a greatest hits collection of the Spanish fryer. You’re here for the patatas bravas—the 'Bravas Som.y.' They arrive as chunky, irregular squares of potato, crisp on the outside and steaming within, smothered in a sauce that actually has a bit of a kick to it. It’s not the refined, Michelin-star version; it’s the kind of food designed to soak up three or four cold Alhambras while you argue about football. Then there are the croquettes. They’re heavy, rich, and exactly what you want when the sun starts to dip behind the apartment blocks. If you’re feeling particularly masochistic, order the 'huevos cabreados'—angry eggs. It’s a mess of fries, over-easy eggs, and spicy chorizo that looks like a crime scene but tastes like a Sunday morning cure.

Is it the best tapas Barcelona has to offer? Probably not. But that’s missing the point. Som.y is a window into the soul of Sants. It’s where the students from the nearby university rub shoulders with old men who have lived in the same rent-controlled apartments since the seventies. It’s a place where the service might be indifferent, and you might have to wave your arms like a stranded sailor to get a second drink, but when you’re sitting on that terrace, watching the neighborhood drift by, none of that matters.

The honest truth is that Som.y is a gamble. Some days the kitchen is on fire and the bravas are perfection; other days, the service collapses under the weight of a hundred thirsty locals. But in a city that is increasingly being turned into a theme park for tourists, there is something deeply respectable about a place that refuses to put on a show. It’s a functional, greasy, loud, and vital part of the Plaça d'Osca ecosystem. If you want a sanitized experience, go to Eixample. If you want to feel the pulse of a real Barcelona neighborhood—warts and all—grab a stool here, order a beer, and wait for the magic to happen in the chaos.