Otra cosa taberna

To find the soul of Barcelona, you have to get on the L1 metro and head north until the tourists start to disappear and the signs are only in Catalan. You get off at Sant Andreu, a neighborhood that still feels like the independent village it once was. This isn't the Gothic Quarter with its overpriced frozen croquetas and menus with pictures. This is real life. And in the middle of it all sits Otra cosa taberna, a place that lives up to its name—it really is 'something else.'

Walking into Otra cosa feels like stumbling into a private party you weren't invited to, but the hosts are too cool to kick you out. It’s small, it’s tight, and it’s usually buzzing with the kind of energy you only get when the people in the room actually know each other. There are no white tablecloths here. No fawning waiters in waistcoats. Just a bar, a few tables, and a kitchen that’s punching way above its weight class. The decor is minimalist, almost industrial, but warmed up by the rows of natural wine bottles that line the walls like a library of fermented rebellion.

Let’s talk about the food, because that’s why you made the trek. In a neighborhood where 'tradition' usually means a plate of patatas bravas and a glass of cheap vermouth, Otra cosa is doing something radical. They take the classics and give them a sharp, modern edge without losing the plot. Their ensaladilla rusa is a benchmark—creamy, balanced, and topped with just enough flair to make you realize you’ve been eating garbage elsewhere. It’s the kind of dish that tells you everything you need to know about a kitchen: if they care this much about a potato salad, they care about everything.

Then there’s the ceviche. It’s become a bit of a cliché in Barcelona lately, but here, it’s a revelation. Fresh corvina, bright citrus, the right amount of heat, and a level of acidity that cuts through the humidity of a Mediterranean afternoon like a razor. It’s clean, honest, and better than what you’ll find in most of the high-rent bistros in Eixample. They also do a steak tartare that’s seasoned with a confident hand, and croquetas that actually taste like the ingredients they’re named after.

And then there’s the wine. If you’re looking for a generic Rioja, you’re in the wrong place. This is a temple to the natural wine movement. We’re talking about small-batch producers, minimal intervention, and flavors that can be funky, cloudy, and wildly unpredictable. The staff knows their juice. They’ll pour you something that smells like a barnyard and tastes like sunshine, and they’ll do it with the kind of passion that makes you want to order another bottle immediately. It’s the perfect pairing for a menu that refuses to play it safe.

Is it perfect? No. It’s cramped, it can get loud, and if you don’t have a reservation, you’re probably going to be standing on the sidewalk looking in with envy. The service is direct—very Sant Andreu—but it’s honest. They aren't here to blow smoke; they're here to feed you. It’s the kind of place that reminds you why we travel in the first place: to find those corners of the world where people are doing exactly what they want to do, exactly how they want to do it, for the people who live right down the street. If you want the 'best tapas Barcelona' without the Disney-fied bullshit, get on the train. It’s worth the ride.