Korean food will change your life. Get on the frickin’ 7 train and get off at Main St., or head over to 32nd St in Midtown. Either way, bring an expandable belt.


To have a full understanding of what you are ordering is. . .not exactly paramount in my view. Your best bet is to find a menu with as little English on it as possible, then find a waiter or waitress you trust and let them figure it out for you.


And then you wind up with a table that looks like this.


Too bad there aren’t, like, a lot of little things to taste.


This is the best soup ever made. We don’t know what it is called, we don’t know what’s in it (Ann thinks fermented bean curd is involved. I say “sure.”) Alas, we’ll probably never find it again. I’m sure we’ll even come back to this restaurant in a little while and it will just be an abandoned lot and a picture of a Korean Rod Serling announcing the closure of a restaurant that once stood there. . .TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO.


Ann is wisely scared of the pepper looming in the soup.


But she is not scared of the noodles.


I like that the spoons came in a hat.


Worth every penny.