Tendiez Barcelona Restaurante & Tapas Bar

Let’s be honest: hotel restaurants usually smell like desperation and overpriced club sandwiches. They are often the purgatory of the culinary world—places where flavor goes to die in favor of 'international appeal.' But then you stumble into Tendiez, tucked inside the Pullman Barcelona Skipper, and you realize someone actually gave the chef a budget and a mandate to cook real food. This isn't a lobby snack bar; it’s a serious Mediterranean restaurant in Barcelona that happens to have rooms upstairs.

Located at Avinguda del Litoral 10, right where the city’s grid starts to dissolve into the salt air of the Mediterranean, Tendiez sits in that weird, glossy liminal space between the Gothic Quarter and the beach. It’s a neighborhood—Vila Olímpica—that can feel a bit sterile, a bit too much like a 1992 time capsule. But inside these doors, the vibe is strictly 21st-century polished. Think low lighting, clean lines, and a terrace that makes you feel like you’ve successfully escaped the tourist gauntlet of nearby Barceloneta.

Executive Chef David Beltrán is the man behind the curtain here, and he’s not interested in serving you the frozen-in-the-middle croquetas you’ll find at the beach bars down the street. The menu is a heavy-hitting tribute to the sea and the Catalan soil, executed with a precision that borders on the obsessive. You start with the 'Tendiez' patatas bravas—not the soggy cubes of misery found elsewhere, but a refined, architectural take on the classic. Then comes the octopus, served with a potato foam so light it’s practically atmospheric, punctuated by the smoky hit of pimentón. It’s a protein rush that reminds you why people bother coming to Spain in the first place.

But the real test of any joint claiming the title of best Mediterranean restaurant Barcelona is the rice. The paellas here are handled with respect. From the seafood version to the more earthy vegetable rice, they nail the texture—no mush, just individual grains of rice that have absorbed every drop of the rich, complex stock. If you’re feeling carnivorous, the suckling pig (cochinillo) is a masterclass in contrast: skin that shatters like glass and meat that yields to the slightest pressure of a fork.

Is it corporate? A little. You’ll see business travelers in expensive suits nursing gin and tonics next to couples who look like they just spent four hours at the Picasso Museum. But that’s the charm. It’s professional. The service is crisp, the wine list is intelligent without being snobbish, and the cocktails are actually worth the fifteen euros they’ll charge you. It’s a place for people who want the flavors of the city without the chaos of a crowded tapas bar in the Gothic Quarter.

The honest truth? You come here when you’re tired of the noise. When you want a tablecloth, a glass of cold Albariño, and a meal that doesn't require you to elbow a backpacker out of the way. It’s a sophisticated, slightly detached way to experience the best of Catalan cooking. It might lack the grit of a Raval dive bar, but when the octopus hits the table and you’re looking out at the palms, you won’t care. It’s a clean, well-lighted place for serious eaters who find themselves near the Port Olímpic.