Where the cool crowd escape after dark in the Pyrenees
When you say “après-ski,” I immediately picture sunburnt Brits in gaudy neon onesies, downing lukewarm beer while someone’s uncle Dave attempts to lead a slurred singalong of “Sweet Caroline.” Not at L’Abarset though. Not even close.
Nestled in Andorra’s Grandvalira resort, L’Abarset has declared itself “The Peak of Après-Ski,” and for once, the marketing hyperbole actually undersells it. For the uninitiated, Andorra is that tiny tax-haven principality wedged between Spain and France that somehow packs over 300km of skiable terrain into a country you could drive across in under an hour.
If you’re still labouring under the delusion that Andorra is just for beginners or budget-conscious skiers with a penchant for duty-free cigarettes, it’s time for a reality check. The country has poured millions into transforming itself from a cheap-and-cheerful destination into a genuine alpine contender. Grandvalira alone offers 210km of pristinely maintained pistes, reaching up to 2,640 meters and backed by enough snow cannons to start a small ice age if needed. The season reliably runs December through April, and the English-speaking ski schools are so good they’ve won awards — perfect for when you inevitably realise your “natural athletic ability” doesn’t extend to sliding down mountains.
But enough about skiing — you’re here for what happens after. And that’s where L’Abarset comes in. This place is where the mountains meet meringue pie served on skewers, where wine glasses never reach empty, and where the transition from refined daytime dining to late-night revelry happens so seamlessly you’ll wonder if you’ve been drugged. You haven’t – it’s just exceptionally well-executed hospitality.
The first thing that hits you is the architecture — a dreamlike wooden sanctuary that feels like where a particularly sophisticated cult might gather if they were really into both gastronomy and techno (and dodgy stuff). Designed by David Alayeto, the 2,000-square-metre space spans two floors with a 700m² terrace. Organic shapes, sculptural log walls, and branch latticework create an atmosphere that’s equal parts “I’m one with nature” and “I could definitely spend €300 on dinner here without blinking.”
Inside, the restaurant portion feels almost reverential — until the wine starts flowing. And boy, does it flow. The staff seem to operate under some sacred oath that no glass shall ever be less than half-full, topping up your Spanish red (or Provence rosé, or a fancy white from their cellar) with the stealth of ninjas. Before you know it, you’re three glasses deep and enthusiastically nodding as the server explains the concept behind “tomato caviar” like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever heard.
The food, I must admit, is genuinely spectacular. Stracciatella with tomato tartare (what I mistakenly called “tomato caviar” earlier, but sounds fancier regardless) opens a parade of dishes that includes Diavola pizza elevated with red tuna and nori seaweed (because regular pizza is too pedestrian for the mountains). The Scorpionfish is a whole fried masterpiece that somehow manages to be both rustic and elegant, while the T-bone steak “cider-house style” arrives with fries that make you remember what potatoes are actually supposed to taste like. For dessert, there’s the theatrical flambé lemon pie and something they call “Kinder by Abarset” — essentially a gigantic Kinder bar that makes you feel both posh and about eight years old. It’s the kind of food that makes you post Instagram stories that nobody actually wants to see.
But L’Abarset’s true magic trick is its day-to-night transformation. What begins as a refined culinary experience morphs into something altogether more primal as the sun sets behind the Pyrenees. Last season they introduced the “After Party” — a limited-capacity club format that keeps the mountain revelers going until 2am on select Saturdays. It’s here that L’Abarset pulls off its most impressive feat – creating a space that feels both exclusive and communal, where the well-heeled and the merely enthusiastic can coexist in bass-driven harmony.
For this season, they’ve doubled down on their winning formula — expanding their DJ lineup with genuinely impressive names and adding an afternoon menu of tapas and cocktails for those who find the concept of skiing after lunch both baffling and unnecessary. They’ve also brought back the Goiko food truck for when your alcohol-addled brain demands a gourmet burger at an inadvisable hour.
The crowd is an eclectic mix — wealthy Catalans, French snow enthusiasts, the occasional confused British family who wandered in expecting pub grub and got an education in Pyrenean gastronomy instead, and a healthy smattering of beautiful people whose primary sport seems to be looking effortlessly attractive in après-ski attire.
What makes L’Abarset special is how it balances these seemingly contradictory elements. It’s refined without being pretentious, lively without descending into chaos (at least until much later), and authentic despite being meticulously designed. In a mountain landscape dotted with soulless chain restaurants and tacky bars, it stands as proof that après-ski can actually have taste.
So next time you find yourself in Andorra, skip the sad pints and soggy chips. L’Abarset is waiting to show you that coming down from the mountain doesn’t mean lowering your standards. Just remember to pace yourself with that wine — those glasses refill like magic, and the mountains are significantly less enchanting when you’re nursing a hangover on the slopes the next day.
