Restaurante La Nene 777

If you’re looking for the Barcelona of the postcards—the one with the polished limestone and the overpriced tapas served by a guy who hates his life—get back on the L4 and head south. You’re in the wrong place. But if you want the real city, the one that breathes, sweats, and eats with its hands, you get off at Via Júlia and walk into the heart of Nou Barris. This is where you find Restaurante La Nene 777. It’s not a 'concept.' It’s not a 'gastronomic project.' It’s a Dominican outpost that feels like someone took a slice of Santo Domingo and dropped it into a quiet street in Barcelona.

Walking into La Nene 777 is like walking into a family reunion you weren't invited to, yet somehow, you’re the guest of honor. The air is thick with the scent of garlic, oregano, and the unmistakable, life-affirming hiss of chicken hitting hot oil. There are no white tablecloths here. There is no pretense. There is just 'La Nene' and her crew, serving up plates of food that have more soul in a single bite than an entire tasting menu in the Eixample. The reviews aren't lying when they mention 'blessings.' You don't just get a check here; you get a 'Dios te bendiga' that feels like it actually carries some weight.

Let’s talk about the pica pollo. This isn't the corporate, breaded-to-death bird you find in a bucket. This is Dominican fried chicken as it was meant to be: marinated until the flavor reaches the bone, fried to a shattering crisp, and served with tostones—fried green plantains—that are salty, starchy, and perfect. It is a protein rush that demands you put down your phone and use your fingers. Then there’s the mofongo. It’s a dense, garlicky mountain of mashed plantains enriched with chicharrón (pork cracklings) that provides a textural contrast that should be illegal. It’s heavy, it’s unapologetic, and it’s exactly what you need after a long day of dealing with the world.

On weekends, if you’re lucky, there’s sancocho. This is the heavy artillery of Dominican cuisine—a thick, meat-heavy stew that eats like a meal and heals like a medicine. It’s the kind of cooking that requires time, patience, and a grandmotherly level of intuition. You see the regulars here, the Dominican diaspora and the locals who know better, hunched over bowls, oblivious to the world outside. They aren't here for the 'vibe.' They’re here because this food tastes like home, even if your home is three thousand miles away.

The service is what I’d call 'aggressively hospitable.' It’s fast, it’s loud, and it’s deeply personal. You aren't a table number; you’re a human being who needs to be fed. If the place is full, you wait. If the kitchen is slammed, you wait. Because the payoff is a level of authenticity that you simply cannot manufacture with a PR firm and a designer. It’s a cheap eat in Barcelona that doesn't feel cheap; it feels valuable.

Is it out of the way? Yes. Is the decor basic? Absolutely. Will you leave smelling slightly of fried plantains? You bet. But that’s the price of admission for the truth. Restaurante La Nene 777 is a reminder that the best meals aren't found in the guidebooks. They’re found at the end of a long metro line, in a neighborhood where people actually live, served by people who give a damn about the food they put on the plate. It’s honest, it’s visceral, and it’s one of the best Dominican restaurants in Barcelona. Go there, eat the chicken, and take the blessing. You probably need it.