Rosticería La Mami Chulis

Horta-Guinardó is not the Barcelona you see in the glossy brochures. There are no Gaudí chimneys here, no overpriced sangria, and mercifully, very few selfie sticks. This is a neighborhood of steep hills, residential blocks, and people who work for a living. And when those people don’t want to cook, they head to Pg. de la Vall d'Hebron for a bird. Specifically, they head to Rosticería La Mami Chulis.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t fine dining. If you’re looking for a curated wine list or a waiter who explains the 'provenance' of your kale, you’ve wandered into the wrong part of town. This is a rosticería—a temple of rotating protein and hot oil. The air inside is thick with the scent of salt, garlic, and rendered chicken fat. It’s the kind of place where the fluorescent lights are a little too bright and the floor might be a bit tacky, but that’s because they’re too busy moving chickens to worry about your aesthetic sensibilities.

The star of the show is the pollo asado. It’s a simple thing done with brutal efficiency. The skin is the prize—salty, burnished bronze, and holding onto just enough grease to make it interesting. Beneath that, the meat is usually steaming and tender, though like any neighborhood joint with a 3.2 rating, consistency can be a fickle mistress. You’re here for the 'salsa verde'—that pungent, herbaceous kick that cuts through the fat and wakes up your palate.

But the locals know the real secret lies in the side hustle. The empanadas here are fried gold, stuffed with seasoned meat or cheese, and they disappear off the counter faster than you can say 'una más.' Then there are the croquetas—crunchy exteriors giving way to a creamy, molten center. And the potatoes? They’ve been sitting under the rotisserie, soaking up every drop of chicken drippings like a sponge. It’s a caloric landmine, and it’s glorious.

You’ll see the 'Mami Chulis' name and maybe smirk, but the vibe here is all business. On a Sunday afternoon, the place is a chaotic theater of takeaway bags and shouted orders. It’s a hub for the Latin American community and the local Catalans alike, all united by the universal need for a cheap, hot meal. The service? It can be indifferent. The wait? Sometimes longer than it should be. But that’s the tax you pay for eating where the tourists don’t go.

Is it the best chicken in the world? Probably not. Is it an honest reflection of a Barcelona neighborhood that doesn't give a damn about your Instagram feed? Absolutely. It’s one of those cheap eats in Barcelona that reminds you that the city’s heart doesn't beat in the Gothic Quarter—it beats in places like this, over a plastic container of roasted potatoes and a half-chicken that cost less than a cocktail in Eixample. If you’re near the Vall d'Hebron hospital or just exploring the northern fringes of the city, pull up a chair or grab a bag to go. Just don't expect a napkin made of anything other than thin paper. This is raw, functional, and deeply satisfying soul food for the Horta-Guinardó soul.