Sushiko

Let’s be honest about what we’re doing here. You aren’t coming to Sushiko on Avinguda de Rio de Janeiro for a spiritual communion with a silent sushi master who spent twenty years learning how to wash rice. You’re here because you’re hungry—the kind of hollow, bottomless hunger that only a relentless parade of protein and vinegar-soaked grains can fix. This is 'Infinity' sushi, a concept that sounds like a Marvel movie but functions more like a high-speed Japanese assembly line dropped into the heart of Nou Barris.

Nou Barris isn't the Barcelona you see on postcards. There are no Gaudí chimneys here, no Gothic spires, and mercifully, very few selfie sticks. It’s a real-deal residential neighborhood, and Sushiko fits right into that landscape of practical, high-volume excellence. When you walk in, the first thing you notice isn't the decor—though it’s sleek, dark, and modern enough to feel like a night out—it’s the hum of efficiency. This is a machine designed to feed the masses, and it does so with a digital precision that would make a Swiss watchmaker weep.

You’re handed a tablet, your digital dealer for the evening. This is the 'Infinity' experience. You tap, you order, and minutes later, the plates start arriving. It’s a dangerous game. The menu is a sprawling map of Japanized Western hits: nigiri that actually tastes like fish, uramaki draped in avocado and crispy onions, and gyoza that arrive with the necessary sear. The salmon is the workhorse here—fatty, fresh, and appearing in a dozen different iterations. Is it the best sushi in Barcelona? If you’re comparing it to a three-hundred-euro omakase in Eixample, no. But for a sushi restaurant in Nou Barris, it’s a goddamn revelation of value and consistency.

The 'Japanized Western' tag is accurate. You’ll find cream cheese where a purist might demand shiso, and sauces that lean into the sweet and savory profile that the local palate craves. But look past the fusion flourishes and you’ll find solid fundamentals. The tempura is light and shattering; the tataki is seared with respect. The 'noon' rush is a sight to behold—families, office workers, and groups of teenagers all hunched over their tablets, engaged in a silent, high-stakes race to see who can finish their fifth round of rolls before the clock runs out.

There are flaws, of course. When the house is full, the service can feel like a frantic blur. If you order too much and leave it on the plate, they’ll charge you for the waste—a fair rule in a world of excess. And yes, it can get loud. But that’s the energy of a place that people actually use. It’s not a museum; it’s a refuelling station.

If you’re looking for a quiet, romantic corner to whisper sweet nothings over a single piece of toro, keep walking. But if you want to sit down in a neighborhood that doesn't care about your Instagram following and eat until you physically cannot move, Sushiko is your temple. It’s honest, it’s fast, and in a city that’s increasingly being sold off to the highest tourist bidder, it’s a relief to find a place that just wants to give you exactly what you asked for: more.