Building a brand and its product together. Identity, voice and app, from the first idea to the first poster.

The city is full of people and of conversations that go nowhere: matches, followers, muted groups and "we should catch up". In Spain, one in five adults lives with unwanted loneliness. Among 18 to 24 year olds, more than one in three.*
Nobody wants to be called lonely. And the problem isn't being alone either: it's knowing a lot of people without getting to know anyone. Another app for adding contacts won't fix that. A small table will.
Paladar is a platform where people in your city open their home and cook for a small table of people who haven't met yet. Dinner is the excuse: what you book is a seat in the conversation.
* Barómetro de la soledad no deseada en España 2024. Fundación ONCE and Fundación AXA.





The host proposes a dinner: date, menu, price and between six and eight chairs.
Paladar selects each host before publishing their dinner, backs it and covers it with insurance.
Guests come alone or, at most, with one other person. Nobody arrives as a group and everyone starts level.
When the door opens, the app disappears. It doesn't come back until the next day.
Everyone says who they'd have seconds with. If it's mutual, Paladar seats them together again.
Paladar doesn't count how many people you know. It counts how many you see again.
In Spanish, the paladar is the palate: the roof of the mouth we eat, talk and share with. In Cuba, a paladar is also a family-run restaurant, traditionally set up in someone's home. The name already said the two things the brand had to bring together: a home and a conversation.
A table to stay at. Not another list of people.
Warm, direct and a little ironic about all things digital. Paladar behaves like a good host: it welcomes you, introduces you, serves and steps back. It doesn't cheer, it doesn't push and it doesn't suggest games to break the ice.
Three rules for everything the brand writes, from a poster to a button.
"Come in. We saved you a seat."
"Thursday, 9 pm. Saffron rice. Two chairs left."
"Nothing to swipe here."
Paladar had to look like what it promises: something real, a little untidy and hard to fake. The system tells a dinner in two moments, and each has its own language.
The logo is a ring mark: the stain a glass of wine leaves on the tablecloth, drawn by hand. It sits next to the name, Paladar, set in the same typeface the app is read in.
A wine ring, drawn by hand.
Nothing closer than half the mark.
Never smaller than this.
The logo is one. These are the rest: the marks that glasses, plates and cups leave on the tablecloth once everyone has gone. Drawn by hand, never a perfect circle, never lined up. On a background they are stains; in the app they slim down to a single line. You can no longer see the people, but you can tell they were there.
Drawn by hand. Background only.
One line, one gap, round ends.
Gradient on cream. Cream on the gradient.
The tablecloth after dinner: cut by the edges, turned, never tidy.

Filled means taken. It's the only line mark that is ever filled.
The gradient, from pink to coral, is Paladar's colour and goes on everything that invites you to sit down: covers, backgrounds, the button to book a chair, the pills and the mark. Cream and ink are for reading. Grey is for everything Paladar is not.
One gradient, one direction: pink to coral, top left to bottom right.
A darker gradient for buttons, so white text stays readable.
White on the brand gradient is for headlines only.
One with character for what the brand says out loud, and a clean one for what has to be read quickly on a screen.
Claim, headlines, what the brand says out loud.
Screens, details, anything read quickly.
Real people, in real homes, in whatever light there is. Faces, hands, half-finished plates. Nobody poses and nothing is arranged for the camera.

















Buttons, pills, cards and the tab bar: every piece of the app is built from the five rules above. With them, a new piece isn't designed from scratch: you set the table.
52 px high, radius 26, 20 px inside, 1.5 px border in #B9B2AC. DM Sans 16.
Thu, 9 pm
Tortilla, with onion. Not up for debate.
Host selected. Dinner insured.
Text only. No icons, no badges, no counters.


Photo is for the night. Ring marks are for what's left. Colour is for what invites.
Paladar's app was designed the opposite way to almost every other: to be used very little. It helps you find a table, book a chair and, the day after, say who you'd like to see again. During dinner it does nothing.




Four decisions come straight from what the brand stands against.
No feed, no likes, no followers. The list of this week's tables comes to an end, and the app says so.
Three questions instead of a bio: what you cook, what you talk about and what you bring to the table.
It opens to organise the dinner and closes when dinner starts.
The chairs that are left and the faces you see again. No others.
This is a working prototype of the Paladar app. Book a seat at any table and see what happens the morning after.
Seconds. The day after, each guest says who they'd have seconds with. If it's mutual, Paladar seats them together again.
Word of mouth. Instead of stars, anyone can introduce someone else in a sentence, the way you'd introduce a friend.
Paladar happens in a home, not on a phone. During dinner the app steps aside, so the brand had to stay in the room another way: on paper, and written by hand. Paladar brings the paper; the host brings the hand.

On the street, the poster. Pasted on walls, the way gigs are announced.

At the door, the invitation. Left in the neighbours' letterboxes by the host.


On the table, the place card and the menu. Both in the host's handwriting.
Poster · Invitation · Place card · Menu
Paladar began with an enemy, small talk, and with a question: how do you design a digital brand whose best moment happens without screens? The answer is a system in two moments, the night and what's left, that works just as well for an app, a feed and a poster.
What holds it together isn't the gradient or the ring, but one decision: take away everything that can be collected and leave only a small table and a big conversation.
Small table. Big talk.
A feed that sends you out to dinner.
A brand that is fed up with feeds still needs one. The carousel does what the app does: it shows this week's table, who is cooking and what guests say about them. Then it tells you to stop scrolling.
Stories do one job each: fill tonight's last chairs, win new downloads, find the next hosts and bring last night's guests back.
swipe here.
Chamberí.
Two chairs left.
your feed?
A small table.
People you haven't met yet.
We fill the chairs.