Ta - Tung

Gràcia is a neighborhood that likes to think of itself as a village, a labyrinth of narrow streets and worn-out squares where the ghosts of anarchists still linger in the shadows of the boutiques. But if you keep walking north, past the trendy vermuterías and the shops selling artisanal soap, the air gets thinner and the hills get steeper. This is where you find Ta-Tung. It’s not the kind of place that shows up on 'top ten' lists curated by people who spend more time on their hair than their palate. It’s a neighborhood joint, a survivor, sitting on Carrer de la Mare de Déu de la Salut like it’s been there since the dawn of time, or at least since the 90s when 'Asian Fusion' was a revolutionary concept rather than a tired cliché.

Walking into Ta-Tung feels like stepping into a version of Barcelona that isn't trying to sell you anything. There are no neon signs designed for TikTok, no industrial-chic exposed brick, and the lighting doesn't care about your skin tone. It’s a room built for eating. The menu is a sprawling, ambitious map of the East, jumping from Cantonese classics to Thai curries with a confidence that would be arrogant if the kitchen couldn't back it up. They call it fusion, but it feels more like a conversation—a dialogue between the immigrant families who brought these flavors to Catalonia and the locals who demanded they stay.

The Peking duck is the undisputed heavyweight champion here. It arrives with that deep, lacquered mahogany sheen that tells you someone in the back actually gives a damn. The skin is a crackling, fatty revelation, shattering under the teeth to release a rush of salt and five-spice. You wrap it in those thin, translucent pancakes, smear on the hoisin like you’re painting a masterpiece, and add the crunch of scallions. It’s a visceral, messy, glorious ritual that reminds you why we bother going out to eat in the first place. It’s not about 'concepts'; it’s about the protein, the fat, and the fire.

Then there’s the red curry. In a city where 'spicy' often just means 'we added a pinch of black pepper,' Ta-Tung’s curry actually has some teeth. It’s rich with coconut milk but carries a heat that builds slowly, a creeping warmth that demands another sip of cold beer. The portions are generous, almost aggressively so, a middle finger to the tiny, overpriced small-plates trend that has colonized the lower half of the city. This is food meant to be shared, argued over, and finished with a sense of accomplishment.

The service is what I’d call 'honest.' Don't expect the staff to perform a choreographed dance of hospitality. They are busy, they are efficient, and they’ve seen a thousand people just like you. There’s a certain respect in that indifference. They aren't there to be your best friend; they’re there to get the duck to the table while the skin is still screaming hot.

Is it the most 'authentic' Chinese restaurant in Barcelona? Who cares. Authenticity is a trap. Ta-Tung is authentic to itself. It’s a place for the people who live in the upper reaches of Gràcia, the ones who want a good meal at a fair price without the performative nonsense of the city center. It’s a reminder that the best parts of a city are often found at the end of a long, uphill walk, tucked away in the quiet corners where the tourists rarely tread. If you’re looking for a meal that doesn't feel like a marketing campaign, pull up a chair, order the duck, and shut up.