Somodó

Barcelona is full of people trying too hard. You see them on the main drags, waving menus with faded pictures of paella, shouting into the void for your attention. Then there was Somodó. Located in the Passatge de Batlló—a narrow, unassuming slice of Eixample that feels like a different zip code—this place didn’t shout. It barely whispered. But if you were paying attention, what it was saying was far more interesting than anything you’ll find on the Rambla.

Walking into Somodó was like stepping into a decompression chamber. The decor was minimalist, almost clinical, but in a way that focused your brain on the only thing that mattered: the plate. There were no distractions. No kitschy Spanish tiles, no flamenco soundtracks. It was a white-walled sanctuary where Chef Shojiro Omi and his team performed a quiet miracle of cultural synthesis. This wasn't 'fusion' in that messy, confused 1990s way where someone throws ginger at a steak and hopes for the best. This was a disciplined, respectful marriage of Japanese technique and Mediterranean ingredients.

The real story at Somodó—the one that locals tried to keep under wraps—was the lunch menu. In a city where 'Menú del Mediodía' often means a heavy stew and a glass of house red that tastes like paint thinner, Somodó offered a multi-course tasting experience that felt like a heist. You were getting Michelin-level thought and execution for the price of a mediocre steak elsewhere. It was, quite frankly, one of the best value-for-money meals in the city.

Let’s talk about the food. It started with the dashi—clean, deep, and hitting those umami notes that make your lizard brain sit up and take notice. Then came the seasonal product. Maybe it was a piece of hake, cooked with such terrifying precision that it flaked at the mere suggestion of a fork, paired with a sauce that bridged the gap between Tokyo and Tarragona. The flavors were subtle. They didn't punch you in the throat; they crept up on you. You might find Mediterranean vegetables treated with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious relics, or a dessert that balanced sweetness with a savory, earthy Japanese edge.

The service matched the room: quiet, efficient, and entirely devoid of the 'look at me' theatricality that plagues modern fine dining. They weren't there to be your best friend; they were there to facilitate a serious relationship between you and your lunch. It was the kind of place where you could actually hear yourself think, which is a rare luxury in this town.

While Somodó has closed its doors and Chef Omi has moved on to his new project, Soma, it remains a legend for the eaters. It was an honest, stripped-back experience that reminded you why we travel in the first place: to find those rare moments where two different worlds collide and create something entirely new, right there in the middle of a quiet alleyway in Barcelona.