Bisavis

One plate of the simplest, freshest thing the kitchen had that day, and around me eleven other people eating more or less the same. Twelve seats at Bisavis, weekdays only, and the crowd tells you everything: neighbours, regulars, a couple of office escapees, nobody performing for anybody. A modest corner of Sarrià-Sant Gervasi, more sincerity than polish, and the cooking keeps within its means; it rarely surprises, and it rarely lets you down. The welcome is unforced, the prices sane, and the company half the pleasure, because at a counter this small you end up trading opinions whether you planned to or not. I would not build an evening around it. Once a year, caught nearby on a weekday with an hour to spare, it is quietly the right lunch.