SPEAKEASY

The word 'speakeasy' has been beaten to death by every two-bit marketing firm looking to sell overpriced gin in a room with a velvet curtain. But here, in the heart of Eixample, Javier de las Muelas—the high priest of the Martini—actually means it. You don’t just walk into Speakeasy; you infiltrate it. You start in the Dry Martini bar, a place that feels like a sacred site for those who believe a cocktail should be stirred, not shaken, and served by men who treat mixology like neurosurgery. Then, you’re led through the back, past the crates of spirits and the industrial hum of the warehouse, into a room that feels like a well-kept secret.

Walking into the dining room is like stepping into a 1930s noir film where the protagonist is about to make a very bad decision. It’s dark, wood-paneled, and lined with thousands of bottles that have seen more secrets than a confessional booth. There are no windows. No views of the street. No distractions from the business at hand: eating well and drinking better. This is a place for grown-ups who understand that a proper dinner should feel like a conspiracy. It’s intimate, slightly claustrophobic in the best way possible, and smells of old leather and expensive vermouth.

Let’s talk about the 'letter'—the menu. It’s a Mediterranean-leaning manifesto that doesn't try to reinvent the wheel but polishes it until it shines. The croquetas are a mandatory entry fee; they arrive crisp, golden, and filled with a béchamel so creamy it’s borderline indecent. But the real star, the dish that people whisper about, is the steak tartare. It’s prepared with a level of precision that borders on the obsessive, seasoned to a razor’s edge, and served with the kind of confidence only a kitchen at the top of its game can muster. If you’re more of a seafood person, the wild sea bass with Mediterranean herbs is a clean, honest alternative, but let’s be real—you’re here for the heavy hitters.

You cannot, under any circumstances, skip the drink. This is the house that Javier built. The Martini here isn't just a beverage; it’s a ritual. It arrives in a frozen glass, bone-dry, with an olive that looks like it was hand-selected by a jeweler. It’s the kind of drink that makes you want to smoke a cigarette even if you’ve never touched one in your life. The service matches the liquid: professional, slightly stiff, and utterly efficient. They aren't your friends, and they don't want to hear about your day. They are there to ensure your glass is never empty and your steak is exactly as you ordered it.

Is it a bit theatrical? Sure. Is it expensive? Absolutely. But in a city increasingly filled with bright, airy 'concept' restaurants designed for Instagram likes, Speakeasy is a middle finger to the trend. It’s a place for people who want to disappear for a few hours. It’s for the late-night crowd, the lovers, the deal-makers, and the solo drinkers who appreciate the weight of a heavy tablecloth and the snap of a cold gin.

If you’re looking for a view of the Sagrada Família or a place to take the kids, go somewhere else. Speakeasy is for the shadows. It’s for the moments when you want the world to stop spinning and the only thing that matters is the temperature of your drink and the quality of the protein on your plate. It’s one of the best restaurants in Eixample because it knows exactly what it is and refuses to apologize for it. Just remember to book ahead—secrets this good don't stay quiet for long.