Vivanda

Sarrià is not the Barcelona you see on postcards. It’s not the sweat-slicked chaos of the Rambla or the architectural fever dreams of Eixample. It’s a village that got swallowed by a city but refused to digest. It’s quiet, it’s wealthy, and it has a very specific, very high standard for what constitutes a good lunch. This is where you find Vivanda, tucked away on the Carrer Major de Sarrià, acting as a sort of sanctuary for people who want to eat exceptionally well without the performative nonsense of the downtown dining scene.

You walk through an unassuming entrance and find yourself in the garden. This isn't a 'terrace' in the way most Barcelona restaurants use the word—which usually means a few wobbly tables dodging scooters on a sidewalk. This is a lush, walled-in courtyard, a green lung where the air feels five degrees cooler and the city noise just... evaporates. If there is a better place in this neighborhood to lose three hours to a bottle of Priorat and a succession of small plates, I haven't found it.

The pedigree here is serious. Vivanda is the more relaxed, approachable sibling of Alkimia, run by Jordi Vilà, a man who understands the soul of Catalan cooking better than almost anyone alive. He isn't trying to reinvent the wheel here; he’s just making the wheel better than you’ve ever seen it. The menu is a love letter to the classics, executed with a level of precision that reminds you why these dishes became classics in the first place.

Let’s talk about the croquettes. Everyone in this city claims to have the best, but Vilà’s are a masterclass. They are dangerously creamy, encased in a breading so thin and crisp it shatters like glass. Whether it’s the jamón or the roasted chicken, it’s a hit of pure, unadulterated nostalgia. Then there are the canelons—rich, savory, and draped in a béchamel that probably has more butter than your doctor would approve of. It’s the kind of food that makes you want to call your grandmother and apologize for ever doubting her, even if your grandmother wasn't Catalan.

The rice dishes are another reason to make the trek uphill. They don't do the tourist-trap paella here. They do 'arròs'—thin layers of rice cooked in intense, reduced stocks until every grain is a bomb of flavor. If they have the rice with prawns or the seasonal mushroom variety, don't overthink it. Just order it. The socarrat—that caramelized, crispy layer at the bottom of the pan—is the prize you’re fighting for.

Is it perfect? Nothing is. The service can be a bit 'Sarrià'—which is to say, professional and efficient, but occasionally possessing that slightly detached air of someone who knows they have the best garden in the district and doesn't need to beg for your affection. It’s also not a cheap date. You’re paying for the quality of the ingredients and the privilege of the setting. If you’re looking for a five-euro menu del día, you’re in the wrong part of town.

But if you want to understand the quiet, dignified side of Barcelona—the one that values tradition, shade, and a perfectly executed fricandó—Vivanda is the place. It’s honest food served in a beautiful space by people who know exactly what they’re doing. In a world of 'concept' restaurants and Instagram-bait, that’s worth every cent. It’s the kind of place where you realize that the best thing a chef can do is get out of the way of a great ingredient and a perfect afternoon.