Ugarit Bruniquer 37

Gràcia is a neighborhood that likes to think it’s a village, and in many ways, it still is. It’s a place of narrow streets, hidden squares, and a fierce sense of independence. But as the tourists start to bleed over from the Passeig de Gràcia, looking for something 'authentic,' they often miss the real deal. They want a postcard; what they need is a plate of hummus at Ugarit Bruniquer 37. This isn't a place for white tablecloths or fawning service. It’s a place for eating.

Ugarit is a local institution, a Syrian-run empire that has been feeding Barcelona since the mid-90s. While the Verdi location gets the lion's share of the foot traffic, the Bruniquer outpost feels a bit more like a neighborhood secret—or at least as much of a secret as a place this popular can be. You walk in and the first thing that hits you isn't the decor, which is functional and unpretentious, but the smell. It’s the scent of cumin, garlic, and meat hitting the grill. It’s the smell of a kitchen that knows exactly what it’s doing and has been doing it for decades.

Let’s talk about the food, because that’s why you’re here. The hummus isn't that refrigerated, flavorless paste you find in plastic tubs. It’s rich, tahini-heavy, and slicked with olive oil, served with warm pita that you’ll use to scrape every last bit off the plate. Then there’s the mutabal—smoky eggplant caviar that tastes like it was charred over an open flame in Damascus. If you’re looking for a protein rush, the shawarma is the move. It’s shaved thin, seasoned with a proprietary blend of spices that hits the back of your throat just right, and served in portions that assume you haven't eaten in three days.

The 'raciones' here are designed for sharing, which is how this food should be eaten. You get a table full of friends, order the falafel—crispy on the outside, vibrant green and herbaceous on the inside—some kibbeh, and maybe the fattoush salad to cut through the richness. It’s a chaotic, beautiful spread that represents the best of Levantine hospitality. You aren't just eating a meal; you're participating in a tradition of generosity that transcends borders.

Is it perfect? No. The service can be brisk, bordering on indifferent when the house is full, which it almost always is. The tables are packed close together, meaning you’ll likely be privy to the breakup or the political debate happening at the next table. It’s loud, it’s crowded, and if you’re looking for a quiet, romantic candlelit dinner, you’ve come to the wrong place. But that’s the point. Ugarit is honest. It doesn't pretend to be anything other than a damn good Syrian restaurant in a city that sometimes forgets what 'good' actually means.

In a city where prices are skyrocketing and 'concept' restaurants are popping up like weeds, Ugarit Bruniquer 37 remains a bastion of affordability and quality. It’s one of the best cheap eats in Barcelona, not because it’s low quality, but because it’s democratic. It’s food for the people—students, families, old-timers who remember when Gràcia was a separate town. It’s the kind of place I’d go when I’m tired of the bullshit and just want a plate of food that tastes like someone’s grandmother is in the back making sure everything is done right. If you can’t appreciate that, you’re in the wrong city.