The name is a small manifesto: chef Jang Jin-a took what she ate growing up in Jeju, then in Tokyo and New York, as her “base”, and set out to make something “nice” with it. At Base Is Nice, vegetables run the show, served the Korean way with seasonal rice, a soup and a few side dishes, and a menu that reinvents itself every four weeks. The star is grilled tofu under a purée of slow-cooked red peppers instead of the usual chilli paste. Lunch only, so set an alarm.

The name is a small manifesto: chef Jang Jin-a took what she ate growing up in Jeju, then in Tokyo and New York, as her “base”, and set out to make something “nice” with it. At Base Is Nice, vegetables run the show, served the Korean way with seasonal rice, a soup and a few side dishes, and a menu that reinvents itself every four weeks. The star is grilled tofu under a purée of slow-cooked red peppers instead of the usual chilli paste. Lunch only, so set an alarm.

A monkey and a turtle share the sign at Sarukame, which is what the name means in Japanese, but the real star swims rather than climbs: the clam. It flavours a soy-seasoned broth deep enough to earn a Michelin Bib Gourmand, held since 2024. Chef Hiroto Honma kept the original recipes intact, then added his own bowl crowned with fried crab. The room is tiny and the queue is part of the ritual, so sign up on Catchtable and wander Yeonnam while you wait.

The bowls at Oreno Ramen arrive with a layer of foam you’d expect on a cappuccino. That’s the tori paitan, a chicken broth simmered until milky, then blended right before it leaves the kitchen, velvety and faintly nutty over noodles made in-house. Order it plain or spicy, the only real choice on a very short menu, and don’t be shy about seconds: extra noodles, rice and broth come free.

The bowls at Oreno Ramen arrive with a layer of foam you’d expect on a cappuccino. That’s the tori paitan, a chicken broth simmered until milky, then blended right before it leaves the kitchen, velvety and faintly nutty over noodles made in-house. Order it plain or spicy, the only real choice on a very short menu, and don’t be shy about seconds: extra noodles, rice and broth come free.

Salt is the least forgiving way to season a ramen: no soy or miso to hide behind, just the broth. Damtaek built its reputation on exactly that, a clear shio ramen of chicken and neungi, a fragrant Korean wild mushroom, topped with both pork and chicken chashu. Chef Jo Won-hyeon then plays with the same base, a drop of yuzu, a slick of wasabi oil, a version with shrimp. The setting matches the bowl, a quiet alley, a counter and a room filled with vintage finds.

Euljiro’s printing alleys have another reason to queue: black pork from Sancheong, at the foot of Jirisan, grilled over charcoal at Sancheong Charcoal Garden. Start with the salt-only platter to taste the meat itself, and let the staff take care of the grill. The sides make the case too, spring onions charred in the pork fat, marinated soybean leaves and a highball made with Damsol, a Korean spirit, instead of the usual soju. Loud, packed and worth the wait.

Euljiro’s printing alleys have another reason to queue: black pork from Sancheong, at the foot of Jirisan, grilled over charcoal at Sancheong Charcoal Garden. Start with the salt-only platter to taste the meat itself, and let the staff take care of the grill. The sides make the case too, spring onions charred in the pork fat, marinated soybean leaves and a highball made with Damsol, a Korean spirit, instead of the usual soju. Loud, packed and worth the wait.

Sit at the counter of Ichi Ryu and the show starts right in front of you: a domed iron plate from Sapporo set over binchotan charcoal, young lamb sizzling on top and staff who won’t let you touch a thing. This is jingisukan, Hokkaido’s take on barbecue, and Ichi Ryu is one of the places that made Seoul fall for it. The only thing left for you to do is dip each slice in the house yuzukosho, made, fittingly, with fiery Korean chilli.

Before it smoked beef, the basement under Imok Smoke Dining was a sauna, so the place has always known a thing or two about heat. Chef Yoo Yong-wook, who learned to grill for friends on a small farm in Imok,now runs a tasting menu that follows the life of a tree, from roots to embers and ash. Expect maple-glazed bacon and an oak-smoked beef rib worth the whole journey. A serious splurge, and La Liste approved: it named Yoo Korea’s Master of Fire for 2026.

Before it smoked beef, the basement under Imok Smoke Dining was a sauna, so the place has always known a thing or two about heat. Chef Yoo Yong-wook, who learned to grill for friends on a small farm in Imok,now runs a tasting menu that follows the life of a tree, from roots to embers and ash. Expect maple-glazed bacon and an oak-smoked beef rib worth the whole journey. A serious splurge, and La Liste approved: it named Yoo Korea’s Master of Fire for 2026.

Kitchens on both sides of the strait love to borrow, and Akua borrows from everyone. The base is Japanese, aged sashimi, sake and a counter to lean on, but miso ends up folded into hummus and Jeju fish arrives under a white mala sauce, a nod to Sichuan. It all happens in a small, softly lit basement down a Hannam alley, open until midnight. Book the counter and let the menu take you somewhere new.

Kitchens on both sides of the strait love to borrow, and Akua borrows from everyone. The base is Japanese, aged sashimi, sake and a counter to lean on, but miso ends up folded into hummus and Jeju fish arrives under a white mala sauce, a nod to Sichuan. It all happens in a small, softly lit basement down a Hannam alley, open until midnight. Book the counter and let the menu take you somewhere new.

In Korean, this kind of menu is called matgim charim, roughly “leave it to us”, and at Eomuljeon Chung that’s the only sensible thing to do. Upstairs in Hannam, behind a door you ring to open, chef Nam Sung-ryul turns the catch from Korea’s coasts into a run of small courses: a savoury mini cone to start, seasonal raw fish, cold capellini with sweet shrimp, cabbage with a punchy fermented anchovy paste. The menu shifts with the seasons, so trust it.

In Seoul, a night out rarely ends at the first table. Koreans call the next stop 2-cha, the second round, and Robata Kami is built for it. Step inside and Euljiro gives way to a back alley of old Tokyo: every shelf crammed with trinkets, tables pushed elbow to elbow, a room that looks lived in for decades. Order chicken grilled with nothing but salt, Osaka-style yakisoba and a Korean yukhoe for good measure, then a draft beer, a sake or a highball to keep the round going.

In Seoul, a night out rarely ends at the first table. Koreans call the next stop 2-cha, the second round, and Robata Kami is built for it. Step inside and Euljiro gives way to a back alley of old Tokyo: every shelf crammed with trinkets, tables pushed elbow to elbow, a room that looks lived in for decades. Order chicken grilled with nothing but salt, Osaka-style yakisoba and a Korean yukhoe for good measure, then a draft beer, a sake or a highball to keep the round going.