A first glance inside César Rodríguez's sparsely decorated space of only 16 seats hints little at the fact that he is one of Madrid's culinary heartthrobs. Rodríguez has created what feels like a small neighborhood restaurant (his wife, Cristina de Pedro, runs the house with effortless grace), but in contrast to the minimalist interior, the kitchen tends toward more sensory stimulation rather than less, preparing culinary creations that are artfully plated. Tender, expertly grilled sardines are stuffed with crumbs of pan tomaca, ham, and aromatic herbs, while cataplana de secreto de cerdo ibérico y berberechos, an ode to a classic Portuguese country dish, replaces humble cubes of pork with the choicest cut of Spain's choicest pig and substitutes delicate Spanish cockles for clams.

This cozy restaurant serving evolved tapas (expect lots of fish and game dishes) has walls the color of egg yolk covered with eclectic framed prints and matching eggy tablecloths. Chef Iñaki Gamba changes the lineup according to the season, the market, his mood…and yours. The website (in Spanish only) has a form on which you can list your likes and dislikes in detail so Gamba can design your ideal menu ahead of any planned celebration (www.restaurantearce.com).

You'll think you're in the wrong place for a few minutes after you ring the unmarked doorbell of a deserted antique store—until a stylish server emerges from somewhere, opens the door, and ushers you into a romantic urban netherworld. There, you'll dine amid pan-Oriental antiques strewn around the basement of a Brookyln-esque warehouse. The only menu is a set meal priced under $100, but it would be a bargain for twice that: As many as 20 of young chef Jaime Renedo's small courses await, and they are exercises for the intellect just as they are for the palate. A dark olive biscuit sandwiching Parmesan foam masquerades as an Oreo cookie. A postmodern Rice Krispies treat is prepared with saffron, like a retro-pop paella. Ever had a foie gras Cuba Libre? Renedo's aspic jelly atop a smooth terrine is made with rum and Coca-Cola. Asiana stands head and shoulders above the many inept Adrià wannabes.

For a while, this pricey, prestigious restaurant seemed lost, as people lamented the departure of noted chef Andrés Madrigal (now at Alboroque in the Atocha district). But then along came César Martín in April 2006, who renewed Balzac's mission with verve. As ever, to dine here you'll have to have a certain tolerance for pomposities like extra silverware, unnecessary decanting, and service that sacrifices attentiveness for formality, but on the plate, you'll find this 30-something chef working wonders, as in a meltingly tender breast and leg of pigeon lying on a sticky bed of stewed fruit compote. There are some missteps, like Martín's nouvelle version of the classic ajo blanco (a northern soup made from garlic and whitened with crushed almonds). Here, marinated rape (hake) is added, which has too much acidity and is the wrong texture for the dish. But desserts like poached pear in port wine sauce shine on. In the balance, this is once again one of the city's most reliable tables.

When you want to eat nothing that's been deconstructed or otherwise engineered, when you yearn for honest Castilian food in a simple setting, there's nowhere better than Lucio Blásquez's restaurant near Plaza Mayor. On two floors, with jamones dangling from beams, brick and white walls, and terra-cotta tiles, Casa Lucio has a homey goodness that routinely attracts the famous—actors, writers, Laura Bush—as well as regulars and tourists. Here's where to try the Madrid special, el cocido (various components—chickpea, cabbage, chorizo, black pudding, maybe chicken or beef—in a broth), or any number of traditional dishes: suckling pig, hake in green sauce, judías con perdiz (green beans with partridge), oxtail, tripe, all fresh from the kitchen's coal ovens. It's very satisfying and not very pricey.

Darío Barrio is another school-of-Adrià alum, and that's what the Madrileños are hungry for, if the instant success of this place after its 2004 opening is anything to go by. Here, though beets may turn up in dessert and chocolate in a braise, Barrio's experimentation is grounded in reality. Oxtail with chocolate and wine, and his version of huevos estrellados, truffled eggs with potato foam, are two of his better-known dishes. The room is comely, but not so flashy that it competes with the plates—a staircase lit from within leads down to a whitewashed brick basement. Always full, despite fiendish prices.

When a delicate fillet of sole ennobled by an aristocratic reduction of fish stock and cava is priced at such an inexplicably low level, you might come to suspect that the restaurant is a front for some illicit seafood-trafficking operation. Happily, the business is their business; yours is choosing from among the array of fresh shellfish that sits over ice in a gleaming glass case. Whether you select navajas (razor clams), berberechos (cockles), or a rather intimidating buey de mar (ox crab), you're best off leaving the good-naturedly brusque staff to decide how each is best prepared. The kitchen also dabbles in elaborate marine preparations like smoked tuna belly stuffed with seaweed and sea urchin. In a rich riff on a Spanish classic, piquillo peppers are stuffed with whipped bacalao (codfish) and drowned in a creamy, well-developed shrimp sauce—yet another gift to the city.

Don't expect to see the world's most famous chef dashing around the kitchen of this avant-garde spin on the fast-food restaurant. Ferran Adrià's conceptual presence, though, seeps out in the juice of a world-class hamburger and crackles through the nut sauce in a dish of roasted vegetables romesco. His attitude also colors Fast Good's cartoonish, Jetsons-in-polka-dots, semi-self-service interior. Sometimes Adrià's haute-fast concept works, as in the burger italiano, whose gentle bite of arugula, mushy tomato confit, and unusually restrained melted gorgonzola all display appropriate deference to the burger's luscious ground veal, forming one of the best-balanced sandwiches in the city. At other times the concept takes a tragic misstep, as when french fries are cooked in olive oil, rendering them, amazingly, both soggy and tough at the same time—and virtually inedible. No reservations required.

Read our exclusive Barcelona itinerary with Adrià and his brother Albert.

Maybe you didn't think you'd be eating in Asian restaurants of any kind on this trip, let alone a Japanese-Chinese-Peruvian restaurant—fusion yet! But you'll be glad you followed the chic hordes to this (it's fair to say) unique place. The restaurant is no relation to the London hot spot of the same name, though the owners know its owner, Alan Yau, and named this as a kind of insider tribute. The space ingeniously envelops each table in its own elegant Zen mini-environment, preparing you to tackle the unfamiliar menu—not that this is too onerous a task. In the kitchen, a Peruvian, a Japanese, and a Chinese chef work side by side, making sense of this wild idea with such dishes as grouper ceviche with fried yuca, crunchy duck pouch, or beef with oyster sauce and wok-fried vegetables. The distance from ceviche to sushi to dim sum isn't so vast, after all.

This nouvelle Japanese restaurant in a residential neighborhood has made chef Ricardo Sanz into one of Madrid's newest culinary darlings. Kabuki's interior is understated, with all the bustle of a Tokyo sushi bar, while outdoor tables exude effortless class, like a sidewalk version of a Great Gatsby lawn party. Both spaces are lorded over by a suave waitstaff that's intimately familiar with Sanz's tricked-out Ibero-sashimi. Lemonfish might meet with papa arrugá (Canarian potato) and mojo verde, or urta (a rockfish from the Cõdiz bay) with adobo. In the showstopping usuzukuri trufa, a minuscule scoop of black-truffle pâté brings each ethereal pat of pez mantequilla (butterfish) back into the earth's orbit. Although Sanz can sometimes get too truffle-happy, he wisely lets toro sashimi go solo, letting the fish shine with pale, oily simplicity. Few tourists show up at Kabuki, and the casually glam regulars would probably be happy to keep it that way—reservations are hard enough to book as it is, even on weeknights. But you're well-advised to crash this party.

Botin dates back to 1725, and little appears to have changed since it opened, including some of the waiters. The dining rooms, on the second and third floors of a building near Plaza Mayor, are a study in old Madrid, with dark wood–beamed ceilings, black-and-white checkerboard tile floors, and lots of bullfighter pictures on the walls. It's not just 18th-century charm that keeps this place popular with Madrileños; Botin also serves some of the finest suckling pig and roast lamb (cooked in an ancient wood-burning oven) in the city. Be warned: This is a meat eater's paradise, and you'll be greeted at the door by shelves of piglets in clay dishes awaiting their fate in the oven.

Open Mondays through Sundays 1:30 pm to midnight.

The Casino is known in the city as the "El Bulli of Madrid." Head chef Paco Roncero trained under Ferran Adrià, who continues to play a role as a consultant. Roncero's tasting menu begins with a mojito frozen tableside using liquid nitrogen. The science continues through the tasting menu, which changes each week. "Snacks" are eight bite-size morsels, ranging from a miniature tube of toothpaste with olive-oil butter to a liquid croquette. "Tapiplatos" feature nine dishes that could include Milk Skin Cannelloni followed by the more traditional flavors of veal cheek with vegetables. Dessert could include a crunchy sweet-and-sour Lemon and Eucalyptus Igloo, while "morphings" are funky petits fours such as pistachios and artisanal chocolates. In summer months, request a table on the outdoor terrace, which has unbeatable views of the city, and remember that a suit and tie are required.

Open Mondays through Fridays 1:30 to 3:30 pm and 9 to 11 pm, Saturdays 9 to 11 pm.

Santi Santamaría i Puig is a Catalonia booster, a previous three-Michelin-star winner (at Can Fabes, his restaurant in his hometown of, you guessed it, Sant Celoni), and now one of Madrid's best chefs, with two new Michelin stars just to underline it. His menus read plain but are as precise as calligraphy: grouper marinated with mashed smoked apples; turbot roasted with lentils; cod with snails in saffron soup; duck roasted in brioche. A choreographed team carves tableside and dotes on diners, generally subtly. The setting, the dining room of Hotel Hesperia (Madrileños love hotel restaurants), is a skylit cellar, elegantly appointed with warm, rich wood and stone, checkerboard tiles, and ample fresh bouquets.