Restaurant Xandri

Carrer de Blai is, for the most part, a circus. It is a gauntlet of cheap pinchos, neon signs, and tourists wandering aimlessly with toothpicks in their hands, looking for the next one-euro thrill. It’s a street that has largely traded its soul for high turnover and Instagram-friendly snacks. But at number 65, there is a rupture in the space-time continuum. Restaurant Xandri is a bastion of sanity in a neighborhood that often feels like it’s forgotten how to sit down and eat a proper meal.

Walking into Xandri is like stepping out of a fever dream and into your grandfather’s dining room. There are no Edison bulbs here. No reclaimed wood. No industrial-chic bullshit. It’s a humble, wood-paneled room that smells of garlic hitting hot olive oil and the deep, earthy scent of a slow-simmered sofrito. This is a 'casa de menjars' in the truest sense—a house of meals. It’s the kind of place where the paper tablecloths are there for utility, not aesthetic, and the wine comes in a carafe because why the hell wouldn't it?

If you’re looking for the best Catalan food in Poble Sec, you’ve found the finish line. While the rest of the street is busy assembly-lining bread and toppings, the kitchen at Xandri is busy doing the hard work. They are making fricandó de ternera—thin, tender slices of veal braised with moixernons (wild mushrooms) until the sauce is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon and dark enough to hide secrets. It is a dish that tastes of patience. You don’t find this kind of depth in a pincho bar. You find it in a kitchen where someone has been standing over a pot for hours, making sure the onions are caramelized just right.

The menu is a love letter to the Catalan canon. You’ll see bacallà a la llauna—salt cod cooked with garlic, paprika, and a splash of wine—served with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious relics. The canelons are rich and heavy, the way they should be, stuffed with roasted meats and draped in a béchamel that feels like a warm blanket on a cold night. And then there’s the arroz caldoso, a soupy rice dish that carries the entire ocean in its broth. It’s messy, it’s hot, and it’s glorious.

The service is exactly what it needs to be: efficient, slightly gruff but ultimately kind, and entirely unimpressed by your presence. They aren't here to perform 'hospitality' for a tip; they are here to feed you. The regulars know this. They are the ones sitting in the corner, nursing a glass of the house red and arguing about things that happened thirty years ago. They are the heartbeat of the place, the proof that Xandri hasn't been colonized by the surrounding tourist trap energy.

Is it perfect? No. The lighting is a bit too bright, the chairs aren't designed for lingering for four hours, and if you’re looking for a 'gastronomic adventure' involving foams and gels, you are in the wrong zip code. But that’s the point. Xandri is honest. It’s a place where the price is fair, the wine is cold, and the food tastes like it was made by someone who actually gives a damn about tradition. In a city that is increasingly being polished for export, Restaurant Xandri is a reminder of what Barcelona used to be—and what it still can be if you know where to look. It’s not a hidden gem; it’s a survivor. And in this neighborhood, that’s worth more than all the pinchos in the world.