Restaurante El Paso

If you’re looking for white tablecloths, a curated playlist of chill-out lounge beats, or a waiter who can explain the 'deconstruction' of a potato, do yourself a favor and stay in Eixample. Restaurante El Paso isn’t interested in your aesthetic requirements. Located out in the steep, winding streets of Horta-Guinardó—a neighborhood that feels more like a mountain village than a Mediterranean metropolis—this is a place that trades in the only currency that actually matters: authenticity and grease.

Walking into El Paso feels like being teleported from the humid air of Barcelona straight into a family kitchen in San Salvador. It’s small, it’s bright, and it’s loud with the sound of the plancha hissing and the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of hands shaping masa. This is a Salvadoran stronghold, a place where the local diaspora comes to remember what home tastes like, and where the rest of us come to realize we’ve been overpaying for mediocre tapas for far too long.

You’re here for the pupusas. If you aren’t, you’ve made a tactical error. For the uninitiated, the pupusa is the ultimate comfort delivery system: a thick, hand-molded corn tortilla stuffed with things that make life worth living—usually a mix of chicharrón (pork paste), beans, and a generous amount of molten, salty cheese. At El Paso, they arrive at your table screaming hot, with little burnt lace edges of cheese that escaped the dough and caramelized on the grill. You don't use a fork. You tear into them with your hands, the steam rising in your face, and you top them with a massive heap of curtido—that crunchy, fermented cabbage relish that provides the acidic punch needed to cut through the richness of the pork.

But don't stop at the pupusas. The yuca con chicharrón is a masterclass in texture—starchy, fried yuca paired with chunks of pork that have been rendered down until they’re crispy on the outside and tender within. If they have the tamales de elote (sweet corn tamales) available, order two. They are soft, sweet, and taste like a hug from a grandmother you never had. Wash it all down with a cold Ensalada—not a bowl of greens, but the Salvadoran fruit drink packed with finely chopped apple, pineapple, and marañón. It’s sweet, refreshing, and exactly what you need after a plate of fried glory.

The service is what I’d call 'neighborhood honest.' It’s not fast, and it’s not formal. It’s a family-run operation where the priority is the food coming off the stove, not your ego. You might have to wait for a table, and you’ll definitely be sitting elbow-to-elbow with regulars who have been coming here since the doors opened. That’s the price of admission for finding one of the best cheap eats in Barcelona.

Is Restaurante El Paso worth the trek on the L5 metro? If you care about soul, yes. If you want to see the real Barcelona—the one that works, sweats, and eats like a king on a budget—then get on the train. This is the kind of place that reminds you why we travel in the first place: to find the things that haven't been polished for a brochure, the things that still taste like the hands that made them. It’s honest, it’s filling, and it’s damn near perfect.