Between Two Kitchens: Korean Taste, New York Appetite
Like a language I never wanted to forget, food is one of the ways I keep my heritage close. No matter how long I’ve been in NYC, there are days when all I want is broth that feels like a hug, the fermented funk that tastes like my grandmother’s kitchen, and the unassuming dishes that don’t need to explain themselves. And lately, this city has been giving me some unforgettable Korean dining moments.
Dining at Korean restaurants in NYC isn’t just about eating out; it’s my way of staying tethered to where I come from while living fully in where I am now.
Starting with Joo Ok in K-Town, my newest obsession and the closest thing I’ve found to Korean fine dining without jetting off. Everything there was styled by a perfectionist Virgo—symmetrical, delicate, quietly flexing its beauty. The flavors? Layered in that way only Korean cooking can be: sweet, salty, fermented, and earthy. The soy-marinated fish lingers in my memory like a past lover, and the short rib literally fell apart under the weight of its own tenderness. One sip of the broth course and my finals stress dissolved. It was the kind of meal that made me feel close to home and grateful I didn’t have to go to Incheon Airport to find it.
Then came my birthday dinner at JUA; only in Manhattan can a tiny charcoal grill in the middle of the room create a cinematic moment. The abalone jook was a spiritual awakening—creamy, warm, subtly nutty from the perilla oil. It tasted like the porridge your mom makes when she’s trying to silently comfort you. The pacing was intentional, never rushed, and the service was gentle in that Korean way: thoughtful but not overbearing, attentive without needing attention. JUA is where you take someone who understands that silence can be part of the meal.
Of course, not every experience hits the same.
Atoboy? Beautiful interior, flawless service, but flavor-wise felt a bit mid. But one dish—the sea urchin egg jjim—was out of this world. Silky, custardy, buttery, and warm. The kind of bite that makes you pause mid-sentence and look at your friend like, Wait… did you taste that? I would go back just to order that jjim.
Meanwhile, Atomix (Bar Tasting) delivered Korean-forward elegance. Every dish, drink pairing, and detail felt intentional. Starting with a chilled Korean plum drink was genius. But the torched hamachi with maesaengi soup? That one hit home in a way only someone a native Korean would understand.
Maesaengi—ocean-green winter seaweed — tastes like quiet Korean mornings, and pairing it with torched fish was nostalgic and elevated. I could’ve had three bowls.
Lastly, there’s Oijimi, where the night started great and ended in the ER. My sister got food poisoning from the spotted prawn (the chaos…), but before that, I had one glorious bite of their lobster ramyun. Chewy noodles, creamy sauce, a tiny kick of heat—one of the best noodle textures in the city. Would I return? Maybe. But only with emotional support crackers.
It’s my way of carrying home with me, one bite at a time.
Eating Korean food in New York will never replace eating it back home—but it’s my way of carrying home with me, one bite at a time.