Velada - Vegan Tapas and Cocktails

Carrer de Ferran is, for the most part, a gauntlet of despair. It is a sun-bleached corridor connecting La Rambla to the seat of government, lined with the kind of 'Paella & Sangria' signs that should trigger an immediate fight-or-flight response in anyone with a functioning palate. It’s a place where culinary dreams go to die under the weight of frozen croquettes and overpriced tourist menus. But then, at number 25, there is Velada. It’s an anomaly. A middle finger to the surrounding mediocrity. And here’s the kicker: it’s entirely vegan.

Now, I’ve spent a lifetime praising the virtues of the pig, but even the most hardened carnivore has to respect what’s happening in this dimly lit, stone-walled bunker. You walk in and the temperature drops ten degrees—a mercy in the humid Barcelona summer. The vibe is industrial-chic meets Gothic Quarter grit. It’s the kind of place where you expect to find people plotting a revolution or, at the very least, having a very serious conversation about vermouth. It doesn’t smell like a health food store; it smells like a kitchen. It smells like garlic hitting hot oil and the earthy, charred scent of vegetables being treated with the respect usually reserved for a prime cut of beef.

Let’s talk about the patatas bravas. In this city, bravas are a religion, and most vegan versions are a blasphemy of watery 'aioli' and sad potatoes. Not here. At Velada, they are a masterclass in texture—crispy, jagged edges giving way to a fluffy interior, smothered in a sauce that actually bites back. Then there are the artichokes. They come out looking like something excavated from a delicious, salty ruin, charred to perfection and served with a romesco that tastes of the earth and the fire. The mushroom croquettes are another trick of the light; they are creamy, rich, and deeply savory, making you wonder why we ever bothered with the cow in the first place. This isn't 'diet' food. This is food designed to be eaten with a drink in your hand and grease on your chin.

Speaking of drinks, the cocktail program here isn't an afterthought. They aren't just pouring gin into a glass and calling it a day. The sangria is a far cry from the sugar-water buckets sold on the street outside; it’s balanced, boozy, and sophisticated. The wine list leans into the local, highlighting bottles that pair with the salt and spice of the tapas. It’s a bar that happens to serve incredible vegan food, rather than a vegan restaurant that happens to have a bar. That distinction matters.

The service is what you want in the Ciutat Vella: efficient, slightly cool, but ultimately knowledgeable. They know the menu is a surprise to the uninitiated, and they let the food do the talking. You’ll see a mix of people here—locals who’ve escaped the madness of the plaza, savvy travelers who did their homework, and the occasional confused tourist who wandered in looking for a burger and stayed for the best meal of their trip.

Is it perfect? Nothing in the Gothic Quarter is. It can get loud, it can get crowded, and if you’re looking for white tablecloths and hushed whispers, you’re in the wrong zip code. But if you want to see what happens when someone takes the DNA of a traditional Spanish tapas bar and drags it, kicking and screaming, into a plant-based future without losing the soul of the thing, this is where you go. It’s honest, it’s visceral, and it’s one of the few reasons to actually walk down Carrer de Ferran.