Tandoor

Walk down Carrer d’Aragó and you’re mostly dodging scooters and the relentless hum of Eixample traffic. But at number 8, the air changes. It stops being about exhaust fumes and starts being about the primal, intoxicating scent of charred flour and ginger hitting a hot clay oven. This isn't your typical 'curry-in-a-hurry' joint where the decor hasn't changed since the eighties. This is Tandoor, and it’s a middle finger to every cliché about Indian food in Europe.

The story here is one of blood and fire. Ivan Surinder didn’t just stumble into a kitchen; he was born into one. His father, Nathu Surinder, was a pioneer, opening the original Tandoor back in 1996 when finding a decent cumin seed in Barcelona was a scavenger hunt. When Ivan took the reins, he didn't just polish the silver. He moved the whole operation to this cavernous, industrial space, stripped the walls, added splashes of neon and street-art murals, and decided to cook the food he actually wanted to eat. It’s a legacy reimagined for a city that demands style as much as substance.

Let’s talk about the 'Indian Croqueta.' In a city where the ham croqueta is sacred, serving a version stuffed with spiced chicken or vegetables is a ballsy move. It’s the ultimate cultural bridge—the crunch of a Catalan classic giving way to the heat and soul of the Punjab. It’s brilliant, it’s irreverent, and it’s exactly why this place is packed. The menu is a tightrope walk between the hits you expect and the stuff that makes you sit up straighter. The Butter Chicken is a revelation—not that neon-orange, sugar-laden sludge served to drunk tourists, but a velvety, complex masterpiece that tastes of actual tomatoes and patience.

The space itself feels like a Brooklyn warehouse met a Delhi market. High ceilings, exposed ducts, and an open kitchen where you can watch the tandoori masters slapping dough against the walls of the oven. There’s a buzz here that you don't find in the more formal dining rooms of Eixample. It’s loud, it’s energetic, and the service is usually fast enough to keep up with the kitchen’s frantic pace, though don't expect them to hold your hand. They’ve got tables to turn and people to feed.

Is it the cheapest Indian food in Barcelona? No. If you want a five-euro menu del día, go find a basement in El Raval. But if you want to see what happens when a second-generation chef with serious talent decides to stop apologizing for his heritage and starts celebrating it with modern technique, you come here. You order the lamb curry, you tear into a piece of garlic naan that’s still bubbling from the heat, and you realize that tradition is only worth keeping if you’re willing to evolve it. Tandoor is the best Indian restaurant in Barcelona for anyone who’s tired of the same old story. It’s honest, it’s loud, and it tastes like the future.