Restaurante MexGal

Let’s be honest about Poble Espanyol. It’s a strange, beautiful, and slightly hallucinogenic concept—an 'architectural museum' built in 1929 to show off the best of Spain in one contained village. Usually, places like this are where culinary dreams go to die, replaced by overpriced frozen croquettes and sangria that tastes like neon-colored regret. But then you stumble upon MexGal, and the narrative shifts. It’s a collision of two worlds that, on paper, have no business sharing a kitchen: the rugged, mist-soaked Atlantic soul of Galicia and the vibrant, sun-scorched heat of Mexico.

Walking into MexGal feels like a glitch in the matrix, but a welcome one. You’re in a replica of a Spanish village on a hill in Barcelona, eating food that bridges a 5,000-mile gap. The name isn't just a clever portmanteau; it’s a mission statement. You have the Galician side—the land of pulpo, albariño, and heavy-handed pours of olive oil—meeting the Mexican side—the land of habanero, slow-cooked carnitas, and the kind of acidity that wakes up your brain cells. It’s a high-wire act, and somehow, they don’t fall off.

The menu is a schizophrenic delight. You can start with a plate of Pulpo a la Gallega, the octopus tender enough to yield to a plastic fork, dusted with that smoky pimentón that defines the Spanish northwest. Then, without missing a beat, you’re diving into Tacos al Pastor or a plate of Nachos MexGal that are loaded with enough conviction to satisfy a homesick Chilango. This isn't 'fusion' in the pretentious, tiny-dots-of-sauce sense. This is 'fusion' in the sense of two cultures that both understand that the best things in life are salty, spicy, and meant to be shared over a cold drink.

And let’s talk about the elephant in the room: the paella. In a place like Poble Espanyol, ordering paella is usually a rookie mistake. But here, they actually give a damn. The rice has texture, the seafood isn't rubbery, and it doesn't feel like a cynical cash grab for tourists. It’s honest. That’s the word that keeps coming back when you eat here. Whether it’s the Galician-style empanadas or the burritos, there’s a human being in the back who actually likes food.

The atmosphere is dominated by the terrace. Sitting outside in the 'village' while the sun dips behind Montjuïc is one of those moments where you forget you’re in a manufactured environment. The service is surprisingly warm for a high-traffic area; they aren't just cycling through bodies. They’ll talk to you about the mezcal, they’ll recommend the right wine from the Rías Baixas, and they’ll treat you like a regular even if it’s your first time climbing the hill.

Is it a 'hidden gem'? No, it’s right there in the middle of one of the city’s biggest attractions. But is it a relief? Absolutely. It’s a place for the traveler who is tired of the same three tapas options found on every corner of the Gothic Quarter. It’s for the person who wants the comfort of a taco but the soul of a Galician tavern. It’s weird, it’s loud, and it’s a hell of a lot better than it has any right to be. If you’re spending the day wandering through the history of Spanish architecture, this is where you stop to remind your stomach that the present day tastes pretty damn good too.