The Best Places to Eat and Drink in South Korea

A Korean fried chicken spot in Itaewon where the skin shatters like a chip and the meat stays juicy, none of the thick batter that modern chains lean on. It feels like old Seoul in the best unreconstructed sense, and the mandatory drink order keeps the room honest. Office workers still in their work clothes fill the tables by early evening, which tells you everything about the pace and the price point.

Haap is a Korean dessert shop in a quiet Jongno-gu neighborhood where the draw is traditional sweets done with serious restraint. Soft tteok dusted with roasted bean powder, small jujube and white-bean bites, hangwa confections, and drinks like nutty burdock or bright yuja round out a menu that never leans sugary. The baesuk, a warm simmered Asian pear with honey, ginger, and cinnamon, is what people come back for.

Near Dongmyo, John & Mark is a Korean drinking den where the food is built specifically to keep you going. The mozzarella-stuffed potato chip jeon and brisket-reinforced tteokbokki are less snacks than a strategy. Order the house makgeolli in its aluminum kettle and swirl it with your pinky before drinking, as instructed. The room mixes old-school pojangmacha atmosphere with vintage American bar energy, minhwa paintings and hanji panels glowing warmly through the amber light.

A paper ticket system runs the room at this old-school Korean neighborhood grill in Yongsan, and the locals filling the tables clearly have it memorized. Staff move with the efficiency of people who stopped explaining things years ago. The pork belly comes sliced thin enough to sear in seconds, all crisp edges and chewy center, and the scallion salad, shredded into long sharp ribbons, is exactly what you want dragged through the fat pooling on your plate.

Peer Coffee Roasters is a specialty café in Jung District where the pour-over is the point, with single-origin beans rotated by season and brewed to order at a quiet, unhurried pace. The space leans minimalist in the way Seoul coffee shops do it well: clean lines, natural light, nowhere to be. The kind of place you go in for one cup and stay for two.

Down in the underground arcade of Jangmi Sangga, this old-school Korean snack spot has been run by a team of halmoni making the same tteokbokki, kimbap, and fritters for decades. The fried rice, dressed in tteokbokki sauce and perilla seeds with an egg you mix in yourself, is the kind of thing regulars call "the taste of grandma's hands." Fluorescent lights, metal trays, no pretension whatsoever.

A brewpub in the Seochon neighborhood where the pizza dough ferments alongside the beer, using house yeast strains developed in the brewery itself. The pies come out with a tangy, blistered crust that holds up on its own. Sit at the bar and the same lager arrives six different ways, each pour calibrated for a different head and carbonation level, which turns out to matter more than it sounds.

Shoes off at the door, floor seating, cash only, and a set meal that comes in well under ₩10,000. Seungune, tucked into a narrow alley beside Gwangjang Market, runs baekban style: rice, a boiling jjigae, and rotating banchan served the way someone's grandmother would. The fermented cheonggukjang is serious business, and the rolled egg gets its own reputation. A breakfast spot, truly, and the kind you only stumble into because a friend told you exactly where to go.

An indoor cluster of stalls where the aunties running each one treat the fish market next door as a walk-in pantry. This is Seoul's pojangmacha tradition under a single roof: raw clams hit the grill in their shells, whelk gets buried in noodles, and if you ask for something not on the menu they'll jog out to source it and come back cooking. Arrive hungry, drink freely, and maybe stop at the convenience store on the way out.

An eight-seat counter where one chef presses pasta to order and runs a ten-course tasting through the meal in front of you, this is a solo operation that moved from a quiet alley into a bigger room without losing the intimacy. The squid ink with caviar and the mint pistachio pesto have their own followings. Reservations through Catchtable disappear fast, but the Gangnam location inside Shinsegae accepts walk-ins.

Euljiro Boseok helped kick off the "newtro" wave that turned this old industrial neighborhood's narrow alleys into something worth getting lost in. It's a bar running a seasonal tasting menu, which is a combination that sounds like a thesis statement but actually works. The kitchen leans on fresh, familiar ingredients shaped into creative plates, and the drinks skip soju entirely for Japanese sake and natural wine instead.

A pork-belly spot in an Euljiro alley that became famous for its kimchi jjigae instead. Raw pork and bracingly sour kimchi arrive at your table uncooked, a pot waiting for you to manage the heat yourself. Keep it going longer than feels necessary and the broth gets properly funky. Ssam wraps let you bundle the chunky meat from the stew, and a vending machine sells noodles to finish the broth when the solids are gone.

A wood-fire rotisserie spot in Hannam where the whole chickens spend 30 days marinated in a medicinal herb broth before they ever meet the flame. The skin comes out crackling and sweet, the meat seasoned all the way through, and the cavity is packed with glutinous rice, garlic, jujube, and ginkgo. Order one per person, lay a piece of kimchi on top to cut the richness, and pull a draft beer to wash it down.

The kalguksu here is a study in restraint, clean beef broth, hand-cut noodles, a little zucchini, nothing extra. But most of the regulars who pack this old-school Gangnam spot are here to drink, which tells you everything. Boiled hanwoo beef, pork, assorted fritters, dumplings, cold glasses of whatever you like: it's the kind of Korean dining room that treats noodles as the warm-up act.

The potato salad arrives spangled with bacon, cold beer follows, and suddenly the lengthy menu feels less overwhelming. This is a casual Japanese izakaya in Sinsa-dong, run by a chef who earned a Michelin star elsewhere and seems perfectly happy here making traditional bar food in a relaxed room. The sashimi plate rotates with the season and each piece is aged and prepared individually. Walk-ins are welcome, though calling ahead saves the guesswork.

Despite the name, there is no museum and London is not involved, but the bagels are fresh and the cream cheese menu runs to more than a dozen spreads. This Seoul bagel shop went from a single spot to four locations on the strength of flavors like truffle and potato with cheese, plus sandwiches worth the detour. The Union Jack garlands and royal portraits lean hard into the bit. Expect a line; this place draws them reliably.

A charcoal barbecue restaurant tucked down a back alley off Eulji-ro, modeled on the rural grill culture around Jirisan Mountain in the south. Black pork sourced from that region is the draw, salt-cured and aged before hitting the fire, with gochujang pork belly following close behind. The siksa menu of noodles and soups is there for when the table needs something to soak up the smoke. Seoul office workers and out-of-towners crowd in for a meal that feels genuinely countryside.

The wheat beer here is brewed with indigenous rice, coriander, and orange peel, which tells you something about Seoul Gypsy's approach before you've even looked around. It's a craft brewery and taproom tucked into Itaewon, pouring year-round house beers alongside seasonal releases and barrel-aged bottles that turn up on natural wine bar menus across the city. The kitchen leans Southeast Asian, which is an unexpected pairing that turns out to make complete sense.

Seongsu-dong went from factory district to the kind of neighborhood that gets written about in trend pieces, but this old-school gamjatang spot never adjusted its personality to match. The stew is the whole point: pork bones and potatoes in a deep, fiery red broth, with sujebi, hand-torn dough, dropped straight into the pot at the table. Soju arrives as a matter of course. It's loud enough that a quiet dinner here is genuinely not on offer.

The broth smell hits you at the door, which is as good a promise as any restaurant can make. Yeongdong Seolleongtang has been around forever and runs 24 hours, so the crowd skews from lunch regulars to people who need soup at 3 a.m. for reasons they'd rather not explain. The menu has two items: seolleongtang with silky noodles, and suyuk, the boiled beef plate. That's it. The broth is deeply beefy, not pale or timid.