A Restaurant That Deserves Its Star
The number of Michelin-recommended restaurants that truly stay with me, places whose flavors leave a lasting trace in memory, seems to shrink every year. Lately, though, a few have finally broken the curse. One is Nairod. The other is Mantis Bar, which I will write about soon.
I went to Mantis twice in a row. A third visit is already inevitable. Nairod belongs in the same category.
Located on Carrer d’Aribau, in Eixample, perhaps Barcelona’s finest neighborhood and certainly one where Michelin plaques appear at almost every turn, Nairod takes on difficult territory: game. Quail, venison, rabbit and other meats that many kitchens approach cautiously.
Yet Nairod refuses shortcuts. Unlike many places around it, it does not rely on easy formulas. Chef and owner David Rustarazo, known simply as “Rusti,” gives flavor the respect it deserves, combining solid technique, quality ingredients and creativity without compromise.
Rusti named the restaurant after his son Dorian, reversing the letters of his name to create Nairod. The gesture says much about him. He is creative, open and disarmingly sincere. He also knows he is good. Perhaps too good for his current space, at least in his own view. He believes the restaurant needs to grow.
Iberian Suckling Pig with Roasted Apple and Grilled Lettuce Heart
I disagree, at least as a guest. The room feels right: small, warm, thoughtfully designed and intelligently used. Perhaps the kitchen is too tight for the staff and for the chef himself; that is not for me to judge. But I do know something else: Michelin stars often seem to look at many things besides flavor. Relationships. Atmosphere. Investment. The sort of setting that can carry those relationships. Chefs are pushed toward bigger rooms, larger investments and higher prices, while flavor itself stands in the middle of the dining room shouting: I am here.
At Nairod, not only the game dishes but also the sauces built from game stock speak loudly. In truth, almost everything speaks loudly.
Nairod shines even without a star.
Morels Stuffed with White Prawns and San Marzano Tomatoes Infused with Basil
Butterflied Mackerel Served with a Sauce Made From Its Bones
Perhaps it is time to launch a campaign: Give the star to flavor.
Before getting to the dishes themselves, one detail deserves mention: Rusti runs almost everything himself. He has support in both kitchen and dining room, and Dana, who oversees the floor, clearly makes his work easier. Yet Rusti’s hands still physically touch almost every part of the operation.
The menu opens with individual bites, though “individual” feels misleading. The portions are generous enough to share and the flavors so concentrated that half a portion is often enough.
Take the croquette. In Barcelona, a city that practically worships croquetas and offers endless variations with seafood and offal, reading “chicken croquette” hardly raises expectations. It feels almost humble. That would be a mistake. This croquette tastes as if an entire roast chicken had somehow been compressed into one bite.
Chicken Croquette and Spices
Piquillo Pepper Stuffed with Venison, Cauliflower Cream and Basil
For years in Sweden I ate älg, moose hunted by friends. Apart from the dried loin, I never found it particularly memorable. Lean, dry, often forgettable. The venison filling inside Nairod’s piquillo pepper changed my mind. Either this came from a different animal altogether, or the filling itself transformed the meat into something greater.
One of my favorite dishes was the zucchini flower stuffed with brandada de bacalao.
Brandada is made by desalting cod and turning it into a creamy spread with olive oil, garlic and a touch of cream, usually served on bread. As someone culturally attached to stuffed zucchini flowers, perhaps even genetically programmed for them, since they are beloved on both shores of the Aegean, this dish carried special meaning. In my view, anyone who can make a great stuffed zucchini flower can cook anything.
Zucchini Blossom Stuffed with Codfish “Brandade” and Provençal Tomato
Pink Tomato, Marinated Anchovy, Raspberry Vinegar, Beetroot and Spring Onion
Spanish cuisine has a long rivalry between boquerones en vinagre, anchovies marinated in vinegar, and anchoas en aceite, salt-cured anchovies preserved in oil.
The competition is fierce. Usually the winner is anchoa, especially when it comes from Cantabria and reaches the coveted double-zero quality. But excellence comes at a price, literally. You rarely eat more than one or two.
Even in a Gilda, the classic Basque pintxo, the two often compete for space. The original uses anchovy, though some boquerones versions can come surprisingly close.
On Nairod’s boquerones dish, served over a purée, only the olives felt slightly out of place. Convincing me with black olives in Spain is difficult anyway. The green olives offered at the table, however, were magnificent with their sharp acidity. Black olives can always be found later. If not, I can send some myself.
Not everything has to be perfect, nor perfectly aligned with my palate.
White Asparagus, Spinach Pesto, Marinated Bonito Fish and Dried Cherry Tomatoes
The white asparagus with spinach pesto and raw bonito was one such moment. The fish opened beautifully with a little extra salt. Coming from the homeland of lakerda and as someone who loves bonito sashimi touched with citrus, first tasted at Apartman Yeniköy in Istanbul, I felt the dish benefited greatly from that adjustment.
This also reminds me of bonito en salazón, a salted bonito preparation close to lakerda, though somewhat less refined. Murcia and Andalusia often produce excellent versions.
Every traveler has dishes they order automatically when they see them on a menu. Sometimes out of passion, sometimes out of conservatism.
Sweetbreads are one of those obsessions for me.
Before Paris I had never eaten veal sweetbreads, but I grew up eating lamb sweetbreads at family tables, especially from my mother’s kitchen. Perhaps my fascination is simply nostalgia.
Nairod did not end this search, but I must admit it calmed it.
Vendée Quail Stuffed with Chicken, Served with Its Own Juices
Veal Sweetbreads, Roasted Stock Sauce, Asparagus and Sweet Potato Cream
At my age, perhaps I have finally become more peaceful about sweetbreads. Bar Cañete had already softened me when I first tasted them glazed with carob molasses. Sweetbreads occupied the very top of my childhood hierarchy of flavors alongside fried turbot, both part of our family rituals of abundance. Facing newer and even more delicious versions is not easy.
Fortunately, my attention kept moving: toward the Vendée quail stuffed with chicken; toward the mackerel served with a sauce made from its own bones; toward the suckling pig.
The internal debates disappeared under the weight of delicious plates.
Everything was very good.
I am not particularly fond of stars, to be honest.
But this place deserves one.
I only hope it does not arrive too late.
Great content! Keep up the good work!