Restaurante MUC

Poblenou used to be the 'Manchester of Catalonia,' a sprawling landscape of smoke-belching factories and grit. Today, it’s the 22@ district—a shiny, glass-and-steel vision of the future populated by tech startups, design students, and people who use words like 'synergy' without irony. In the middle of this polished landscape sits Restaurante MUC, tucked into the ground floor of the Hotel SB Glow. Usually, 'hotel restaurant' is a phrase that sends a shudder down my spine, conjuring images of beige buffets and sad, overpriced club sandwiches. But MUC is doing something different. They’ve brought the fire back to the neighborhood.

When you walk in, you’re hit with a contrast that shouldn't work but somehow does. The design is hyper-modern—high ceilings, vertical gardens, and sleek lines that mirror the architecture of the nearby Torre Glòries. But then there’s the smell. It’s the unmistakable, primal scent of oak charcoal and searing protein. This isn't a kitchen run by tweezers and foam; it’s a kitchen run by the brasa. The open kitchen is the heart of the room, a stage where chefs battle the heat of the grill to produce food that feels surprisingly honest for such a curated environment.

The menu is a love letter to the Mediterranean, filtered through the smoke of a Josper oven. If you’re here, you’re here for the grill. The pulpo a la brasa—octopus charred until the suckers are crisp but the meat remains tender—is a mandatory starting point. It’s served with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing your product is fresh. Then there are the meats. From the thick-cut chuletón to the delicate pieces of Iberian pork, the fire does the heavy lifting, rendering fat into a savory glaze and creating that essential crust that defines a serious piece of meat.

But it’s not just a carnivore’s playground. They treat vegetables with the same respect, charring seasonal greens until they develop a sweetness you won't find in a steamer basket. The rice dishes, particularly the arroz de montaña with its deep, earthy undertones, show a kitchen that understands the Catalan soul. It’s the kind of food that demands a serious glass of wine, and the list here doesn't disappoint, leaning heavily into the bold reds of Priorat and the crisp whites of Penedès.

The crowd is a revolving door of the neighborhood’s new identity. At lunch, it’s the executive power-lunch set—men and women in sharp blazers closing deals over plates of grilled sea bass. By night, it softens. The lighting dims, the vertical garden glows, and it becomes a place for people who want a sophisticated meal without the stifling pretension of the city’s white-tablecloth temples.

Is it perfect? No. The service can occasionally feel like it’s running on 'hotel time'—a bit formal, a bit scripted. And if you’re looking for the dusty, chaotic charm of a traditional Gothic Quarter bodega, you’re in the wrong zip code. This is Sant Martí in 2025; it’s clean, it’s efficient, and it’s undeniably modern. But beneath that sheen, Restaurante MUC is holding onto something real. It’s a reminder that no matter how many glass towers we build, we still want to sit near a fire and eat something that tasted the flames. It’s a sophisticated, smoke-kissed anchor in a neighborhood that’s moving very fast.