FIRE

You’re at the edge of the world, or at least the edge of Barcelona, standing under that giant glass sail they call the W. It’s a monument to excess, a beacon for the beautiful people and the people who want to be near them. It’s the kind of place that usually makes me want to run for the nearest dark dive in El Raval. But tucked inside is FIRE, and despite the name sounding like a marketing brainstorm, the kitchen is doing something remarkably honest: they’re playing with matches.

Walking into FIRE is a transition from the blinding Mediterranean sun and the neon-blue glitz of the W lobby into something darker, more primal. The air smells of oak and embers. It’s a sophisticated room, sure—all sleek lines and moody lighting—but the heart of the place is the open kitchen where the grill is the undisputed god. This isn't molecular gastronomy; there are no foams or spheres here. It’s about what happens when high-quality protein meets extreme heat.

The menu is a roadmap of things that taste better with a bit of char. You start with the vegetables, which are treated with more respect than most places treat a prime cut. The leeks are blackened until the outer skin is a carbon shell, protecting a heart that’s sweet, melting, and smoky. But let’s be real: you’re here for the meat. The beef tenderloin is a standout—a thick, unapologetic slab of muscle that’s been kissed by the flames until it has a crust that yields to a deep, ruby-red center. It’s a protein rush to the cortex, seasoned with nothing but salt and the ghost of the fire.

If you’re not a meat person, the seafood is pulled straight from the water you’re looking at through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The grilled octopus has that essential snap, the tentacles charred just enough to provide a bitter counterpoint to the tender, oceanic interior. It’s simple, it’s visceral, and it’s exactly what you want to eat when you’re sitting this close to the salt spray.

The wine list is a heavy-hitter, leaning into bold Spanish reds that can stand up to the smoke. It’s not a place for a delicate white unless you’re just there for the view. And the view is spectacular—a wide-angle shot of the Mediterranean that reminds you that while you’re in a temple of luxury, the sea is still the boss.

Is it expensive? Of course it is. You’re paying for the zip code, the brand, and the fact that someone is meticulously managing a live fire in a multi-million dollar hotel. The service is polished, perhaps a bit too corporate for some, but they know the menu and they don't hover. It’s a 'see and be seen' crowd, especially on weekends when the birthday parties and the high-rollers descend.

But here’s the truth: beneath the gloss and the 'W' branding, the food at FIRE holds its own. It’s a reminder that even in the most manufactured environments, the combination of good ingredients and a hot grill is a universal language. If you want a quiet, dusty corner of old Barcelona, go elsewhere. But if you want to sit at the edge of the sea, drink a glass of Priorat, and eat a steak that’s been properly scorched, this is your spot. It’s a high-end, smoke-filled fever dream that actually delivers on the plate.