Le Romane

I was in Barcelona with 35 degrees in the shade and decided to hunt down a carbonara. Makes sense, right? Well, someone had told me Le Romane did a good one, so I had to check it out.

The place is nice, in a non-touristy area, two rustic dining rooms inside and tables outside. Packed with Spanish people who are all eating pizza though. And not even the classic round kind—it's like a giant peel you're supposed to share with a thousand toppings. Alright then.

I go straight for the supplì and carbonara, because that's what I came for. The supplì is tiny but decent, ragù inside, fried properly. For being abroad, it holds up well—plenty of places in Rome would do worse. You can tell it's handmade.

Then the carbonara arrives and things get complicated. Look, the pasta is al dente, the guanciale is beautifully crispy, the sauce comes together almost perfectly. The chef clearly knows what he's doing. Except. The pecorino. Christ, what kind of pecorino did they use—that super salty white one you eat with fava beans in spring, you know? The one aged so much it burns your mouth with salt. Zero roundness, zero delicacy. They ruined a dish that could have been truly excellent with one wrong choice of cheese.

It's a shame because the technique is all there, but that pecorino kills everything. Maybe it's even among the best carbonaras in Barcelona, who knows, but with the right cheese it would be on another level entirely. I hope someone in that kitchen reads this, because they deserve to do better.