If there’s ever a dish that sets the tone for a trip, this was it. On our first evening in Palma, we headed to Restaurante Brutal, tucked into C. de la Fàbrica 10, in the beating foodie heart of Santa Catalina — and it absolutely delivered. We dined al fresco on the avenue, the golden light fading, glasses wiping condensation, the whole street alive with relaxed chatter and the smell of grilled seafood from nearby kitchens.

I kicked things off with the traditional Mallorcan cod (bacallà), salt-rich and silky, bathed in olive oil with confit tomatoes and a flirt of garlic — island cooking at its most honest. No fuss, no flash — just confident Mediterranean flavour on a plate.

It was the kind of meal that gently said: “You’re in Mallorca now, darling. Settle in and savour for the good stuff to come!”

You know when you book a Spanish city break and end up eating Italian food… and you feel a bit quietly ashamed about it? That was me. For about thirty seconds. Then the food landed and the guilt melted faster than the pork belly in my starter.

Bottega di Michele, sitting directly opposite Brutal on Carrer de la Fàbrica, isn’t flashy — but it knows exactly what it’s doing. The menu reads like a love letter to rustic Italian cooking, but everything is dialled up a notch — from the portions (huge) to the flavour (even huger).

I started with the pork belly salad — wafer-thin slices of warm, melt-in-the-mouth meat on a peppery rocket bed, dotted with olives and slicked in a sharp vinaigrette that cut through the richness like a dream. Then came the beef ragù pasta, and honestly? I didn’t want it to end. Deep, slow-cooked flavour, tender strands of beef, the kind of sauce that clings lovingly to every swirl of pasta.

The vibe? Relaxed. The service? Properly lovely. No rushing, no hard sell. Just great food, great people, and the kind of meal that makes you question everything you thought you knew about holiday eating rules.

One of the reasons I love exploring where to eat in Palma is that you’ll find a mix of bold, unpretentious food in places that really care.

There are meals that satisfy, and then there are meals that leave a mark. La Bodega, tucked into a narrow side street on Carrer dels Apuntadors, served up the kind of tapas that had me coming back for more. Literally. I ate here twice in four days — and I’d go back again tomorrow if I could.

Tiny and unassuming, with no more than ten tables and zero need for pomp, this is a place that quietly knows it’s that good. The sort of old-town gem you stumble upon, fall in love with, and immediately feel slightly smug about discovering.

The menu? A masterclass in how to do tapas properly. Not fussy. Not trying to reinvent the wheel. Just small plates that sing with flavour and depth. It started with whitebait — hot, crisp, and addictive. Then came the chopped squid, slow-cooked until meltingly tender in a deep, savoury sauce that coated every bite like velvet.

We had house croquettes, golden on the outside and soft as clouds within — properly oozy, no stingy fillings here. The braised octopus? A thing of beauty: delicate, perfectly tender, and served with just enough sauce to drag each piece lovingly through. But the surprise standout was the curry meatballs with shrimp — rich, warming, with a gentle spice and unexpected brightness from the seafood. An unlikely pairing on paper, but on the plate? Magic.

And to finish? A textbook Crème Catalana — wobbly, creamy, citrus-tinged, with a top that cracked just so.

Tapas, when done like this, is a kind of edible storytelling. Each dish has its own moment, but together they form a little journey. They encourage you to slow down, share, try something new, and then reach for just one more thing.

Every now and then you eat something that makes you go quiet — not out of politeness, but because your mouth is too busy having a religious experience. That was me at Rikito, a super-stylish spot back on Carrer de la Fàbrica, where the pizza is pure art and the energy is lively.

We shared what may just go down as the best pizza I’ve ever had — paper-thin courgettes, silky stracciatella, and salty ribbons of mortadella, all laid out on a perfectly blistered base with a whisper of lemon zest. If you’re wondering where to eat in Palma for a slice that’ll ruin all others, this is it. Alongside it, we had a tomato salad with burrata that was bursting with flavour — sweet, tangy, creamy, all at once. Not a single soggy tomato in sight.

Rikito has a slightly more premium vibe — prices are a touch steeper than the other spots we visited — but the quality absolutely justifies it. The crowd skews a little younger, the playlist’s always on point, and the place fills up fast. If you want in, book ahead — or be prepared to hover awkwardly until a table frees up. Worth it, either way.

Sometimes all you want is a pit stop that turns into a whole moment. Lili’s in Palma delivered exactly that. Nestled on a tucked-away square just a little off the beaten path, it was the kind of place you stumble into for a quick drink — and end up staying long enough to feel like a regular.

I ordered the Lili’s Fiero Spritz — and let me tell you, Aperol who? Made with Martini Fiero, white peach, cava and elderflower syrup, it was everything a summer spritz should be: fresh, floral, lightly bitter, and served in a glass that sparkled like it knew it was about to be posted on Instagram. The dried orange slice and mint were a nice touch too — 10/10 for vibe.

What made it even better? The charming staff, who brought over a little tray of warm flatbread, olives, and whipped herby dip — simple, satisfying, and (shockingly) very reasonably priced. It was the perfect pre-dinner pause: light, joyful, and totally unpretentious.

Nestled behind a discreet doorway at Carrer de la Boteria 8, in Palma’s historic La Lonja district, Neo Cultural feels like your coolest friend’s best-kept secret. It’s sleek, understated, and sophisticated — no neon signs, just a door you might easily walk past if you weren’t paying attention.

Inside, expect marble counters, plush leather seating, and moody lighting that whispers “luxury” rather than shouts it. It’s a designer cocktail den where every detail — from the curated playlist to the ice cubes — is effortlessly stylish.

Perhaps the best part? There’s no outdoor seating — but that air-conditioned interior is a blessing if you’ve spent your day sweating around southern Spain. It’s calm, cool, and a chic antidote to the heat.

The bartender is a proper cocktail craftsman. No menus shoved under your nose. Instead, he asks “What do you fancy?” and then whips up something bespoke — balanced, refined, and infused with expertise. The service was impeccable: polished, welcoming, and refreshingly genuine.

We popped in before dinner, and walked out feeling like we’d been let into a privilege, not just a bar. It’s not just a place to drink — it’s a quiet confidence, and Palma’s cocktail scene feels all the better for it.