Leaving Sarrià: The Memory of Bar El Tomàs and the Surprise of Bodega Dalmau
We haven’t lived in Sarrià for long—only ten months, really—but as we prepare to move out, it feels as if I’ve been here for years. I’m carrying a genuine sense of leaving behind a neighborhood I’ve grown deeply fond of.
We’re heading a few stops further out from the city center, towards Esplugues de Llobregat. We’re trading in the charm of a lived-in neighborhood for the convenience of a gated community. More comfort, more practicality—but less soul, less flavor.
Each time I step outside with no particular purpose, just to clear my head, my feet almost automatically lead me to the same place: Bar El Tomas de Sarrià. The line in front of its door never disappears, summer or winter, lunch or dinner. It’s famous for its patatas bravas, but honestly, that queue—its atmosphere, its anticipation—is more flavorful and memorable than most dishes inside.
In a time when restaurants often lean into spectacle, selling “experiences” rather than food itself, Bar El Tomas de Sarrià offers an authentic kind of experience. Not futuristic or curated, but something rooted, traditional, and alive with real stories. That’s what makes it linger in memory. The food? It’s decent enough, but the place itself—that’s what draws people in and keeps them coming back. I’m always happy to stand in that line. Sometimes, I even become a part of it.
Bar El Tomàs de Sarrià
Patatas Bravas, Bar El Tomàs de Sarrià
Of course, Bar El Tomas de Sarrià is only one piece—perhaps the most iconic and tourist-friendly one—of a surprisingly rich food scene in Sarrià and its neighbor Pedralbes. While these areas may not qualify as gastronomic hubs in the conventional sense, they boast a solid collection of local eateries that are often consistently above average—and where finding a table without a reservation is more about luck than timing. Spots like El Colmadito de Sarrià, which deserves praise for its earnest effort; the reliably satisfying Casa Petra; the panini haven Bodega Santo Porcello; the always-buzzing Bistro Mató; the historic Dole Café; and many others.
I’m deliberately leaving Vivanda—a Michelin Guide restaurant by Jordi Vilà—out of this “consistently above average” rule of thumb I’ve been using. I thought I should give both them and myself one more chance before putting it into words.
It’s never easy for new places to break through in old neighborhoods. Not because locals are closed-minded, but because their social resources are limited, and they tend to invest them where they already feel connected. That lack of built-in sociability can keep a new spot in the shadows for a long time.
Chorizo a la sidra con queso fundido(chorizo in cider with melted cheese), Bodega Dalmau
Bodega Dalmau is one of those places. Just downhill from Bar El Tomas de Sarrià, it opened after we moved in—so even newer than us. But it hasn’t quite entered the neighborhood’s social circle. It feels more like a café-bar than a true bodega, and that might make it harder to be seen, to be trusted.
I discovered Bodega Dalmau during the chaos of our move. The kitchen at home was less and less usable, and most local places were packed when I escaped the boxes and errands for a break. Except Dalmau. Every time I went, there were only a couple of people at the bar, maybe one or two tables occupied. Quiet. Almost invisible.
Ensaladilla rusa(Russian salad), Bodega Dalmau
But the tapas? Some of them are unexpectedly excellent. It may not have the weight of the word bodega, but it certainly earns the title of a surprise. Take their ensaladilla rusa—the Russian salad.
In my mind, this dish is forever tied to my mother’s New Year’s table. It’s a common plate on menus across Barcelona, but I’ve never liked it here. At home, the salad had cubes of cucumber pickles and no tuna—just the way I liked it. Here in Barcelona, it’s usually made with tuna and no pickles. And worse, the pickles, when they exist, are sweet. No thank you.
But at Bodega Dalmau? They use pickles, not cucumber but green peppers. Real, sharp, acidic pickles and they top it with jamón, which adds a salty umami layer. Balanced, textured, and beautifully presented. A real surprise.
Gilda clásica(Classic Gilda), Bodega Dalmau
Another win: their Gilda. Born in the Basque Country, not Catalonia, Gilda is one of my personal benchmarks. And Dalmau’s version ranks among the best I’ve had in Barcelona. The anchovy isn’t mass-produced or bland—it tastes as if they’ve gently rinsed the excess salt at the bar. Just the way I like it.
If a place does the classics well, it has a future. And Bodega Dalmau does them very well. It deserves a place in the hearts (and routines) of the neighborhood.
But let me offer one small piece of advice: when you go, choose your own vermouth. Don’t let them pick. They won’t quite know what you want.
Esqueixada de Bacalao(Salted cod salad), Bodega Dalmau
