The Best Restaurants in Spain

A family-run bar and restaurant in Barrio de Salamanca that turns out more than 200 tortillas de patatas a day, each one with a set exterior and a molten, barely-cooked centre. Madrid takes its tortilla seriously, and this place has become the reference for locals who know the difference. Arrive around eleven before the lunchtime crowd makes finding a seat a project, and consider the callos a la Madrileña if you're in the mood to go full old-school Madrid.

A small restaurant in Chueca that becomes a pilgrimage site when wild mushrooms come into season in fall. El Cisne Azul has been cooking every variety that grows around Spain long enough that the staff knows the regulars by name and the menu by heart. The preparations stay simple, which is how you know they're confident. Outside of mushroom season, it reads like a neighborhood tapa bar that never needed to reinvent itself.

Heaps of fried potatoes crowned with a runny egg and chorizo land on tables while regulars wash down their stewed tripe with a cafe con leche and a small draught beer, sometimes at the same time. Gelida is an old-school Catalan restaurant in Eixample that keeps the tradition of the "fork breakfast" alive, the kind of hearty early meal built around veal, snails, or pig's trotters that modern Barcelona mostly forgot.

A sleek bar built around Madrid's aperitivo hour, which is basically a city-wide agreement that vermouth and pickled things are a perfectly reasonable way to spend an afternoon. The design here swapped out the old-school tiled-bar aesthetic for something considerably sharper, which the locals approved of so enthusiastically that a second and third location followed. Cold cañas, gildas, cockles with chile sauce, and the crowd that never quite leaves.

The bomba, that fried potato croquette stuffed with ground beef and hit with aioli and hot sauce, was invented here, and you'll find its descendants on menus all over Barcelona. This old-school Catalan tavern in La Barceloneta keeps the original alongside grilled squid, summer sardines, and cap i pota for anyone who wants tripe and veal trotters in tomato. Cash only, no reservations, and the line out front is part of the deal.

A broiler-caramelized pasta gratin named after someone's grandmother Alberta sets the tone at this Gràcia neighborhood spot. La Fonda de Pirenaicas is a casual Catalan dining room built around the kind of slow-cooked, braised, and stewed food that home cooks used to make before everyone got busy. The Spanish omelet that made the parent shop famous shows up here too, and the room fills with locals who already know the menu by heart.

Gildas, those briny olive-anchovy-pepper skewers named after the Rita Hayworth film, are the whole thesis here. La Gildería is a vermouth and aperitivo bar in La Latina, near the Rastro market, devoted to the kind of standing-around eating that Madrid does quietly well but rarely formalizes. Canned mussels, razor clams, a potato salad from Murcia, an octopus sandwich with Basque chile mayo. Vermouth pours from Galicia to Cataluña, served on the rocks or with a splash of gin.

A neighborhood restaurant in Sants that slides easily between a quick beer and tapas and a full multicourse dinner, which says something about how comfortable it is in its own skin. The kitchen pulls from Catalan, Mediterranean, French, Asian, and Latin American traditions all at once, yet nothing on the plate reads like a concept pitch. Regulars fill the room on weeknights without consulting the menu.

No reservations, ever, which means you'll be waiting alongside the construction workers and shop owners who fill this old-school Madrid comedor every lunch. La Sanabresa is a neighborhood dining room doing straightforward Spanish home cooking, the kind that rarely leaves the house, at prices that feel almost accidental. The ensaladilla rusa and stewed oxtail are the things to know.

Consommé served from a silver samovar is either the most theatrical thing in Madrid or the most sensible, depending on your mood. Lhardy is an old-school institution steps from Puerta del Sol, serving traditional Spanish cooking with French undertones in a room that time seems to have negotiated around. The cocido madrileño and oxtail bring regulars back; younger ones come knowing it from a C. Tangana video and stay for the croquettes.

The restaurant takes its name from a small island deep in the Bay of Bengal, and the cooking follows that logic: coastal India, light on the cream, heavy on coconut, fresh herbs, and seafood. The menu roams beyond the island to pull in dishes from shorelines all across the subcontinent. The room is chic enough for a date but relaxed enough for lunch, and the kitchen is unusually good to vegetarians and vegans without making a fuss about it.

The red banquettes, popcorn stucco walls, and tile-clad bar look like they belong in an Almodóvar film, but this tortilla specialist on the pedestrianized stretch of Consell de Cent is a recent arrival wearing vintage clothes well. The menu runs sixteen personal-sized Spanish omelets, from the classic to the quietly unhinged, with truffle and Thai curry sharing space alongside chorizo and manchego. A narrow focus, executed with real conviction.

A Greek chef cooking Mediterranean on a narrow, tree-lined slope of Montjuïc, Margarit is a sit-down dinner spot where the open kitchen turns out dishes rooted in Hellenic tradition without feeling like a taverna theme park. The wine list leans into natural bottles and some potent Greek reds you won't find most places. It's the kind of room where the food tastes like it comes from somewhere specific, which is rarer than it should be.

Chef Tan built this Northeast Asian restaurant out of pandemic-era private dinners and lunchbox deliveries, which explains why it feels less like a project and more like someone's actual cooking finally finding a room. The Eixample spot pulls from Northern China, Japan, and Korea without making a theme park of it. Lunch is a fixed-price spread; evenings go à la carte and sharing-friendly, with natural wines from small European producers alongside.

The pitas come straight from a wood-fired oven inside what used to be a parking garage, the signage deliberately subtle enough that you feel clever for finding it. This is a fast, casual Levantine and Mediterranean spot where the menu roams from falafel and lamb kofta to chicken tandoori, with North African and South Asian detours along the way. The long communal table fills with Eixample office workers at noon, so go early or embrace the wait.

An old-school colmado in Eixample that somehow found room for a dining room behind the storeroom doors, Queviures Múrria has been stacking 200-plus cheeses and serious conservas since forever. The kitchen, guided by the chef behind Alkimia, turns that pantry tradition into Catalan cooking that leans elegant without losing the nostalgia. Come for the shelves, stay for the lamb.

A fried chicken sandwich shop in Eixample where everything, the brioche buns, fermented pickles, herb breading, dipping sauces, and brownies, comes out of their own kitchen. The menu is refreshingly short: a handful of sandwich styles, nuggets, twice-cooked fries, and coleslaw in two camps (vinegar or mayo, pick a side). Corn-fed Catalan chicken is the through-line, with jackfruit and tofu options that don't feel like an afterthought. Craft beers round it out.

Behind an electric-blue façade on a quiet Chamartín street, this old-school bistro has been drawing Madrid's chefs on their nights off for decades, which tells you most of what you need to know. The dining room runs to black-and-white prints, white tablecloths, and wooden chairs kept simple on purpose. Classic French-ish fare anchors the menu: onion soup, sole meunière, pig's ear, and a steak tartare that regulars treat as non-negotiable.

David Muñoz of three-Michelin-starred DiverXO runs this loud, open-kitchen street food spot tucked inside the El Corte Inglés on Serrano. The menu swings between Asia and Latin America, the chefs cook everything in plain view, and the club sandwich turns out to be a steamed pork bun crowned with a fried quail egg. Lines stretch an hour or more, so arriving early is less a tip than a survival strategy.

Platters of pintxos line the well-polished bar here, but the real move is opening the menu and ordering from the longer list of Basque classics behind them. This old-school Basque bar and restaurant in Eixample feels airlifted from Bilbao, down to the jai alai baskets on the walls and the sour cider on the bar. The after-work crowd packs the entrance; quieter tables in back are where the roasted hake and txultetón tend to land.

The sharing plates rotate with the seasons, but the vibe stays fixed: a light-filled, high-ceilinged room on a quiet Poble Sec street where natural wines from small local producers do most of the talking. Tiberi Bar grew out of a creative events collective, and the food still has that spirit, riffing on Catalan staples with genuinely unexpected turns. The kind of casual Mediterranean spot where you order more than you planned to.

The nickname El Comunista tells you most of what you need to know before you even sit down. This old-school casa de comidas in Chueca has been around forever, and the menu reads like a time capsule: stews, squid in its ink, migas with grapes. The kind of dishes that disappeared from most Madrid kitchens a generation ago still show up here at lunch, shared by the bohemian regulars who fill the place like they own it.

Noodles with kimchi mayo and raw red tuna put this small La Latina restaurant on the map, and the dish hasn't left the menu since because nobody will let it. Toga is a compact, casual spot where the cooking moves between Nikkei, Japanese, and Latin American without making a fuss about the itinerary. The room fills fast enough that the team opened a second location to handle the overflow, which tells you something about the regulars.

A small open kitchen and a communal table inside Mercado de Vallehermoso, where a chef mixes Spanish, Asian, and Latin flavors into shared plates that don't really ask for your approval before arriving. The format is market stall, but the cooking has a tasting-menu sensibility, and you can go either route. Bold combinations, tight space, and strangers eating next to you who are probably also confused in a good way.

The charcoal oven and open fire grill do most of the talking at this serious steakhouse in Costa Adeje, where chef Babacar Fall runs his own in-house butchery to control aging before anything reaches the flame. Spanish and Wagyu beef, dry-aged on site, gets treated with the kind of reverence usually reserved for Basque country institutions. Ranked among the World's Best Steak Restaurants, it makes a strong case for Tenerife as a destination for fire cooking.