Xemei

If you’re looking for a red-checkered tablecloth and a waiter singing 'O Sole Mio' while grating cheap parmesan over a bowl of mushy spaghetti, keep walking. Xemei is not that kind of Italian restaurant. Located on a quiet, unassuming stretch of Poble-sec at the base of Montjuïc, this place is a middle finger to the sanitized, tourist-friendly versions of Italian cuisine that plague most European capitals. This is Venetian food—raw, salty, fish-forward, and deeply rooted in the lagoon.

Run by the Colombo twins, Max and Stefano, Xemei (which means 'twins' in Venetian dialect) has become a cult favorite for a reason. It’s the kind of place where off-duty chefs, local artists, and people who actually give a damn about what they put in their mouths congregate. The vibe is cramped, chaotic, and loud. The walls are lined with bottles of natural wine, and the lighting is just dim enough to make you feel like you’re part of a secret society. It’s a room that smells of garlic, sea salt, and the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you’re the best at what you do.

You start with the vitello tonnato. It’s a classic, sure, but here the veal is sliced thin enough to be translucent, draped in a tuna-caper sauce that is creamy without being heavy, hitting that perfect balance of fat and acid. Then there’s the burrata, served with anchovies that actually taste like the ocean, not a tin can. But the real reason you’re here—the reason anyone with a pulse is here—is the pasta.

The bigoli in salsa is the soul of Venice on a plate. It’s thick, whole-wheat pasta tossed in a sauce of onions and salt-cured anchovies that have been cooked down until they’ve practically dissolved into a briny, umami-rich sludge. It’s not pretty. It’s brown. It’s intense. It’s magnificent. If you’re feeling more conventional, the cacio e pepe is legendary, though it’s a Roman interloper on a Venetian menu. The pappardelle with ragu is another heavy hitter, the kind of dish that makes you want to cancel your afternoon plans and find a dark corner to nap in.

Don't expect the service to be fawning. The staff is busy, the kitchen is small, and the pace is dictated by the food, not your schedule. They might ignore you for ten minutes, but when the wine arrives—usually something funky, unfiltered, and Italian—you’ll realize it doesn’t matter. This is one of the best Italian restaurants in Barcelona precisely because it doesn't try to please everyone. It’s expensive for the neighborhood, and the chairs aren't particularly comfortable, but that’s the price of entry for authenticity.

As the night wears on and the grappa starts flowing, the line between the staff and the regulars begins to blur. Xemei feels less like a business and more like a long-running dinner party that you were lucky enough to get an invite to. It’s a reminder that the best meals aren't about white linen and hushed tones; they’re about noise, sweat, and food that tastes like it was made by someone who actually likes to eat. If you want the best Venetian food in Barcelona, this is the only place that matters. Just don't ask for a side of ketchup.