Restaurante rumano Transilvania Barcelona

Barcelona is a city of light, of Gaudí’s curves and the Mediterranean breeze. But sometimes, you don't want a light tapas plate or a delicate glass of cava. Sometimes, your soul demands something heavier, something that tastes like woodsmoke, fermented cabbage, and the kind of garlic punch that keeps vampires—and polite society—at a distance. That’s when you head to Carrer de Provença, 99.

Restaurante Transilvania isn't trying to win a design award. It’s a wood-paneled portal to the Balkans smack in the middle of the Eixample. When you walk in, the air is thick with the scent of mici hitting the grill. It’s the kind of place where the chairs are sturdy because the food is heavy, and the portions are designed for people who have spent the day felling timber in the Carpathians, not scrolling through TikTok in a co-working space. It’s one of the most honest examples of a Romanian restaurant in Barcelona, serving a diaspora that knows exactly how home should taste.

Let’s talk about the mici. If you haven't had them, they are small, skinless grilled sausages, a blend of beef, lamb, and pork spiked with spices and a bit of bicarbonate to give them that characteristic springy texture. They arrive with a dollop of sharp yellow mustard and maybe some bread. It’s simple, primal, and deeply satisfying. Then there’s the sarmale—minced meat and rice wrapped in pickled cabbage leaves, slow-cooked until the flavors meld into a singular, sour-savory hug. This is grandmother food, the kind of dish that takes all day to prepare and five minutes to inhale. It’s unapologetically rustic and better for it.

But the real reason people crowd these tables—the reason the Romanian community flocks here from across the city—is the papanasi. Forget everything you know about doughnuts. These are fried cheese-based spheres, topped with a smaller sphere, smothered in a mountain of smântână (sour cream) and tart blueberry jam. It is a glorious, high-calorie middle finger to every diet ever conceived. It’s hot, cold, sweet, and tangy all at once. If you leave without eating one, you’ve failed the assignment. It is, quite simply, the best papanasi Barcelona has to offer.

The service is efficient and no-nonsense. They aren't here to blow smoke; they’re here to bring you cold Ursus beer and hot soup. Speaking of soup, the ciorbă rădăuțeană—a garlic-heavy chicken soup thickened with sour cream—is a masterclass in restorative cooking. It’ll cure a hangover, a broken heart, or a mild case of the flu. It’s the kind of place where you don't look for a wine list with fancy vintages; you look for the house carafe or a shot of țuică to kickstart your heart.

Is it fine dining? Hell no. It’s real dining. It’s a place where families argue over large platters of grilled meats and regulars nurse glasses of plum brandy that tastes like liquid fire. It remains stubbornly, beautifully itself in a neighborhood that is increasingly becoming a playground for brunch spots and specialty coffee shops. If you want the truth, and you want it served with a side of sour cream, this is your spot. It’s affordable, it’s filling, and it’s a reminder that the best food doesn't need a garnish of micro-greens—it just needs soul.