Atempo

It is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, which is my complaint, because those are just the evenings I find myself wanting a meal like this. Step outside afterwards and the Eixample is doing its usual brisk business, taxis and late offices, people crossing with somewhere to be, and the contrast flatters the restaurant: everything inside moves at its own considered tempo, as the name promises. The cooking is built around clear ideas, textures layered to make a point rather than a show, and finished with visible care. Personal cooking that avoids self-indulgence is a harder balance than it looks, and this kitchen keeps it. The progression is coherent, the bold flourishes earned. An unhurried evening here has become a fixture in my calendar, three or four times a year; the format asks for that time, and deserves it.