Restaurante Il Mercante di Venezia - Italiano Barcelona

Step off the Carrer de Josep Anselm Clavé, just a stone's throw from the bottom of La Rambla, and you’re immediately hit by a different kind of humidity. It’s not the salty, diesel-tinged air of the Barcelona port, but the heavy, scented atmosphere of an 18th-century Venetian salon. Il Mercante di Venezia doesn’t do subtle. It does red velvet. It does gold-leafed mirrors, flickering candlelight, and Commedia dell'arte masks staring down from the walls with an expression that’s half-judgmental, half-inviting. In a world of sterile, white-tiled 'modern' eateries, this place is a glorious, unapologetic middle finger to minimalism.

Most people wandering this part of Ciutat Vella are looking for cheap tapas or a quick exit to the beach. They’re missing the point. You come here when you want to disappear for a few hours. The interior is a theatrical set piece—dark, moody, and undeniably romantic in a way that feels earned rather than manufactured. It’s the kind of room where you expect to see Casanova plotting an escape or a disgraced cardinal nursing a glass of Grappa. It’s thick with atmosphere, the kind you can practically chew on before the first course even arrives.

But the theater would be a joke if the kitchen didn't deliver. Thankfully, they do. This isn't your standard 'spaghetti bolognese' tourist trap. They lean hard into the Venetian repertoire, which means you’re looking at dishes that reflect the Republic’s history as a crossroads of trade. The Bigoli in salsa—thick, ropey strands of pasta tossed with a slow-cooked mess of onions and anchovies—is a masterclass in how three or four humble ingredients can create something profoundly soul-stirring. It’s salty, sweet, and deeply savory. If you’re feeling flush, the Risotto al nero di seppia (squid ink) is a dark, briny inkwell of flavor that will stain your teeth and satisfy your gut in equal measure.

The menu degustación, or tasting menu, is often the move here if you can’t decide. It’s a curated stroll through the lagoon’s greatest hits. You might find the Sarde in Saor—fried sardines marinated in a sweet and sour mix of onions, pine nuts, and raisins. It’s a dish that’s been around since the Middle Ages, designed to keep fish edible on long sea voyages, and it still hits the palate with a complex, ancient vibrance. The pizzas, while available and respectable with their thin, charred crusts, almost feel like a distraction from the more regional Venetian specialties that the kitchen clearly loves to cook.

Service here is professional, bordering on the formal, which fits the surroundings. They aren't going to be your best friend, and they shouldn't be. They are there to facilitate the fantasy. Is it a bit kitschy? Maybe. But it’s a high-quality kitsch that respects the source material. It’s one of the best Italian restaurants in Barcelona for anyone who values mood as much as they value a perfectly al dente noodle.

Don't come here if you're in a rush. Don't come here if you want a bright, loud place to watch the football. Come here when the sun has gone down, when you have someone you want to impress—or someone you want to hide with—and when you want to remember that eating is supposed to be an event, not just a biological necessity. Finish with the Tiramisu; it’s heavy on the mascarpone and doesn't skimp on the espresso, a final, creamy gut-punch before you have to step back out into the 21st-century reality of the Barcelona streets.