Dinner in Gangnam-gu

After eight years of tasting the world’s finest dishes, I found the best restaurant not abroad, but in my own Korea. In Seoul’s Gangnam District, on the seventh floor of the JW Marriott Hotel. The district and hotel names alone suggest a steep price tag. Still, this story isn’t just for the affluent. If you’re not yet among them, read on—it might offer a glimpse, or a guide, for dining here should fortune find you.

You’d sit in chairs once warmed by business magnates, celebrities whose faces dominate billboards in New York, Paris, London, Berlin, Jakarta, or beyond. Diplomats who’ve addressed the United Nations, athletes laden with medals, authors whose awards outweigh their books. Your name and signature would join theirs in a velvet-bound guestbook, a quiet archive of eminence.

Don’t hesitate to ask for a photo with these luminaries. I do it often. Sometimes they approach me. If you’re bold, you might pose with the internationally acclaimed chef, whose exclusive recipes grace only this kitchen. Your picture could end up framed on the restaurant’s feature wall.

Naturally, you must dress the part—dignified, poised. Men in sharp suits, women in elegant dresses. No sneakers, no mini skirts, no overpowering perfumes, however costly; a single whiff can spoil a diner’s appetite. I suggest L’Air de Panache for its subtle grace.

These are standard for fine dining, as are the rules of etiquette: no clinking cutlery, no lip-smacking, no phone chimes. Your phone or watch—iPhone, Samsung, Rolex, or G-Shock, costly or modest—doesn’t matter. This restaurant, though, is a bit different.

Its cuisine surpasses even the finest. If you swear by a New York steak, trust me—this is better. Not just the beef or wagyu’s tenderness, but a flavor that lingers on your tongue, clinging to the roof of your mouth. On your tongue, not in your mind. A taste that lives only in memory breeds addiction, drawing you back—that’s how most restaurants profit.

Here, nothing fosters craving. Portions are generous; unless you’re famished, you’ll leave some behind. Regrettably, leftovers can’t go home.

The drinks follow suit. Name any wine—red, white, or Korea’s own soju-based spirits—no matter how rare, and this restaurant stands above them all. The owner, Mr. Park Ji-sung, boasts of a vineyard somewhere in the south. He won’t say where but swears his grapes are unmatched. It’s no empty claim. In a blind tasting with the world’s finest wines, certified sommeliers—names you’d know—picked his most often.

On Friday nights, I linger here, soaking in soft jazz, eyeing elegantly dressed passersby, sipping wine, or savoring a guest’s leftover steak—after, of course, I’ve cleared tables, scrubbed dishes, polished silverware, cleaned the grill, mopped the kitchen floor, and vacuumed the dining room’s plush carpet.✦