Every good speakeasy needs a decoy, and this one chose cheese. The Storage Room hides beneath a Seongsu cheese shop: walk past the counters, find the door, and the room below plays Prohibition-era bar, dim light, bottles stacked high and classics made with care. Start with a Gin Rickey or a Last Word, then try the Granny’s Nightcap, gin infused with roasted sunflower seeds, Lillet and orange butter. Book ahead, the secret is out.

Every good speakeasy needs a decoy, and this one chose cheese. The Storage Room hides beneath a Seongsu cheese shop: walk past the counters, find the door, and the room below plays Prohibition-era bar, dim light, bottles stacked high and classics made with care. Start with a Gin Rickey or a Last Word, then try the Granny’s Nightcap, gin infused with roasted sunflower seeds, Lillet and orange butter. Book ahead, the secret is out.

Duck through the low wooden door of Champloo and you join a circle: guests sit around a single rounded counter, the bar in the middle and nobody at the head of the table. That’s the whole point for owner Byeon Ik-su, who wanted a place where everyone drinks as equals, upstairs from an Euljiro print shop that hums along by day. Order a highball and something to share from the playful menu, kimbap pan-fried like a jeon is a good start, then turn to whoever’s sitting next to you.

Upstairs in Chungmuro, Tent lines its shelves with whiskies from Scotland, America, Japan, Ireland and beyond, plus a section devoted to independent bottlers for anyone looking past the usual labels. The bartenders are happy to steer beginners, so a vague “something smooth” counts as a perfectly good order. Warm lighting, a counter and a few tables keep the mood easy. Go neat, on the rocks or in a highball. Just don’t ask for soju.

Upstairs in Chungmuro, Tent lines its shelves with whiskies from Scotland, America, Japan, Ireland and beyond, plus a section devoted to independent bottlers for anyone looking past the usual labels. The bartenders are happy to steer beginners, so a vague “something smooth” counts as a perfectly good order. Warm lighting, a counter and a few tables keep the mood easy. Go neat, on the rocks or in a highball. Just don’t ask for soju.

Japan’s jazz kissa follow one simple rule: you come to listen. Kataomoi brings that ritual to the fourth floor of a Seongsu building, with walls of vinyl, a wooden counter, plants catching the light from big windows and a pair of Tannoy speakers giving Bill Evans and Stan Getz the room they deserve. Requests aren’t taken, so don’t bother asking. Order the house cocktail, matcha under a cloud of milk foam, and let someone else pick the soundtrack.

Japan’s jazz kissa follow one simple rule: you come to listen. Kataomoi brings that ritual to the fourth floor of a Seongsu building, with walls of vinyl, a wooden counter, plants catching the light from big windows and a pair of Tannoy speakers giving Bill Evans and Stan Getz the room they deserve. Requests aren’t taken, so don’t bother asking. Order the house cocktail, matcha under a cloud of milk foam, and let someone else pick the soundtrack.

Dumb Seoul has the feel of a friend’s flat, if that friend had a far better drinks cabinet: mismatched furniture, soft lighting, records on the turntable and a few regulars pretending they only came for one. The cocktails are made in-house, with whisky and natural wine for anyone straying off the menu. Order the Dumbstachio, built on matcha and almond yet somehow tasting of pistachio, and save room for the tiramisu, a family recipe.

"Minimal space, maximal sound” is the house motto at Sound Provider, and it’s no exaggeration: the room is small and dark, the speakers are anything but. It opens at lunchtime as a café, then slides into cocktails, whisky and wine as the evening settles over Seongsu, the soundtrack swinging from jazz to pop. Order an espresso martini topped with toasted marshmallow, and if a cat strolls past, that’s Pudding, the resident regular, who shares a name with half the dessert menu.

"Minimal space, maximal sound” is the house motto at Sound Provider, and it’s no exaggeration: the room is small and dark, the speakers are anything but. It opens at lunchtime as a café, then slides into cocktails, whisky and wine as the evening settles over Seongsu, the soundtrack swinging from jazz to pop. Order an espresso martini topped with toasted marshmallow, and if a cat strolls past, that’s Pudding, the resident regular, who shares a name with half the dessert menu.

Koreans have a word for drinking alone, honsul, and Bar Dig Deeper seems made for it. On a third floor in Hapjeong, the counter is built for one, the walls are lined with records and the lighting stays low, with flashes of red. Staff ask whether you’d like your water hot or cold, find a place for your bag and keep the jazz turning on the decks all evening. Order a Manhattan or a Guinness, add the meat pie, and you’ll forget you came on your own.

The best seats at Digger is Digging face the railway: a long counter runs along the windows, trains glide past below and the records keep spinning, mostly jazz, with detours into 1970s and ’80s blues and soul. The signature cocktail is called Soul Train, which under the circumstances feels like the only possible order, bright and sharp with a hint of lime. There are no bookings and the window seats go fast, so come early, claim your spot and stay put.

The best seats at Digger is Digging face the railway: a long counter runs along the windows, trains glide past below and the records keep spinning, mostly jazz, with detours into 1970s and ’80s blues and soul. The signature cocktail is called Soul Train, which under the circumstances feels like the only possible order, bright and sharp with a hint of lime. There are no bookings and the window seats go fast, so come early, claim your spot and stay put.