Enoteca (Paco Pérez)

Just past nine, the light over the Port Olímpic going violet, and the dining room had settled into its particular sound: not silence, a low even hum, conversation kept at the level where you can still taste. The acoustics matter, because this creative Mediterranean cooking asks for concentration. It is built on whatever the sea hands over, and the kitchen treats that seafood, so easily wrecked by thirty seconds of inattention, with visible care; the cuisson was judged finely all evening, the seasoning held back wherever the product could speak for itself. A few flourishes lean ornamental, garnish doing more waving than work, yet the substance beneath them never wavers. Service is formal because the food requires it, and the room's quiet lets the whole thing land. Save it for an evening of consequence; one visit a season feels right, when the appetite turns serious and sea-bright.