Roig Robí, the precise and joyful relevance of a classic

It had been quite a few years since I had been to Roig Robí (Barcelona), not because I didn't want to, but because of the logistical complications of my wandering life, until one day Sonsoles Llorens, designer and wife of Joan Crosas, who has been in charge of the restaurant since the death of the much-loved Mercé Navarro, her mother and the chef and founder of the establishment, called me. This time, I didn't miss it. Sitting at a table on that delightful indoor terrace, where we spent so much time during Barcelona's heyday, I let Joan brighten up my afternoon. And I can tell you, it was gastronomic pleasures combined with exquisite, carefully prepared produce. Just as it has been for the last 43 years.

Time has stood still at Roig Robí; or rather, it has passed in the best possible way. The restaurant looks just as it did in the beginning, with its understated elegance, careful lighting, discreet dining rooms with generously spaced tables and, of course, the secluded terrace. A witness to and protagonist of the colourful 1980s and 1990s, when everything resonated in the city, today (it's Tuesday) it is still practically full, with tables gleaming with conspicuous figures from Barcelona's cultural scene. As always.

And as always, Joan too. His philosophy, inherited from his mother – ‘although she was more creatively daring,’ he tells me – of love for cooking expressed through the seasons, its products, direct management of the market – ‘now I have a fisherman who works for me and brings me exceptional catches’ – and the subtle care in the execution has not changed one iota. Catalan cuisine that is dazzling, with clean and evocative flavours, simple but perfectly timed accompaniments, and, in short, refined neatness.

It is interesting to reflect on time: the sensations (flavours, textures, combinations, atmosphere) at Roig Robí remain as naturally hedonistic as ever, and yet we know that those dishes are not these. The kitchen, run by Joan and his cosmopolitan team, has managed to move forward in time while maintaining the illusion of remembered magic. In other words, the light cod fritters I am eating – one of the hits since the beginning – are the same, but at the same time they are different. Updating and improving nostalgia, because I am sure that the ones now are better. A caress for the palate, brother.

With the pristine cleanliness that marked Mercé, Roig Robó's truth is not speculative. There are those refined anchovies, simply laid on bread with tomato. Excellent. Or the pumpkin cream, with its elegant depth, touched with crispy pork jowl.

A metaphor for an ideology that seeks the soul of the product from an ontological perspective are the mushrooms (milk caps, boletus and black trumpet mushrooms), briefly sautéed, an instant synesthesia of the forest.
Gourmand, too. Here are the macaroni au gratin with St. George's mushrooms and pork, in which direct pleasure is subtly enhanced with a lot of chic.

The sea bass and prawn tartare, lubricious and rich, is one of the highlights of the menu, sparkling with trout roe. And the hummus topped with grilled octopus is very classy.
The seared turbot is fine and precise, minimalistically accompanied by thin, crispy potatoes. The sophistication of simplicity. Finally, the classic steak tartare with mascarpone quenelle and old-fashioned mustard, who could say no to that?

I can't help myself, because it was created as a tribute to my dear Imma Crosas (cook, Joan's sister and former chef at Roig Robí), the rum baba flambéed live, an inevitable reminder of the old days we spent together.

Epilogue. Sitting down at Roig Robí is not just a Proustian thought. It is a joyful journey through the most current and noble aspects of Catalan cuisine.