In 1968, a man heading into the blocks around Jongno 3-ga after dark had a good chance of walking into a wall of floodlights. Plainclothes police and reporters waited in the shadows at every entrance to what was then the biggest red light district in Seoul. Anyone who crossed the light got a polite question about his plans for the evening, followed by a camera flash in the face. The city called it Operation Butterfly. It was supposed to run for a month. Within a week, every adult business in the area had packed up and moved out toward the American military bases.
Fifty-odd years later, Time Out named the same neighborhood the coolest in the world. I’ve known Jongno 3-ga since I first came to Korea over 20 years ago, and I still walk through it three nights a week. I’m glad it got the recognition. I’m less glad about the parachute influencers who now copy each other’s videos and send everyone to the same four spots. So this first episode of the ZenKimchi Korea Food & Travel Podcast is my version of the neighborhood: how it got this way, how I break it into sections, and where I actually go.
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How Jongno 3-ga got this way
Table of Contents
During the Joseon Dynasty, this stretch sat between two markets and formed part of Pimatgol, roughly “the alley for avoiding horses.” Neo-Confucian rules said commoners had to stop and get down on the ground whenever someone of higher rank rode by, which made running errands on the main road a miserable experience. Pimatgol gave merchants and laborers a back route around the aristocrats on horseback. Wedged between two markets, it filled up with jumak (old taverns), a fair amount of red light business, and young noblemen dressed down as commoners, sneaking in for a night off.
Seoul has torn down most of Pimatgol in the name of progress (my quotes, not theirs). Its rowdy streak leaked into Jongno 3-ga, which became the city’s largest red light district after the Korean War and stayed that way until Operation Butterfly.
Cinemas moved in through the 1960s. Then came the subway. Line 1 opened in 1974 and tied the neighborhood to Gwanghwamun and City Hall, Line 3 brought in Gangnam money, and Line 5 linked it to the Yeouido financial district. With all those commutes crossing in one place, Jongno 3-ga became the default spot to go out after work. In the 1970s it also became a sanctuary for Seoul’s queer community. People met outside Exits 4 and 5 and decided together which underground bar or movie theater to head to. You can still find traces of that history today.
The hanok streets have their own story. While Korea was a Japanese colony, Japanese buyers were snapping up land, pushing Korean families out, and putting up Japanese and Western houses. A developer named Jeong Se-gwon, Korea’s first modern real estate developer, fought back with his checkbook. He bought as much land as he could and built small urban hanok for working and middle-class Korean families, packing them into tight alleys on purpose so more Koreans could hold the ground. Bukchon came out of the same effort. Historians call it anti-colonial spatial defense. I call it one of the best revenge stories in Seoul real estate.
Ikseon-dong almost disappeared anyway. Around 2004 the whole area was slated for demolition and bland apartment towers. The plans stalled for a decade, partly because building big concrete blocks next to Jongmyo Shrine and Unhyeongung is a terrible idea, and the 2008 financial crisis scared off the speculators for good. While all this dragged on, owners weren’t allowed to improve their own properties. I remember it well. The place was a dump.
Cheap rent did what cheap rent always does. Artists and bohemians moved in, opened cafes, and figured out that a hanok frame makes a far better cafe than another concrete box. In 2018, Seoul designated Ikseon-dong an official hanok preservation area. (Some preservationists worry the cafe renovations weaken the old structures, so the story isn’t finished.)
The cafes closed around 9 or 10 pm, and young people wanted somewhere to keep the night going. Enter the pojangmacha. Soju tents used to be everywhere in Seoul, from Insa-dong to City Hall to Euljiro. City crackdowns cleared most of them out, partly because officials considered them an embarrassment in front of foreign tourists. Those same foreign tourists now fly halfway around the world to sit in one, because they saw it in a K-drama. Jongno 3-ga kept its strip.
How I divide the neighborhood
I split Jongno 3-ga into sections. In the southwest corner sits Tapgol Park. South of the main road is what’s left of Pimatgol. North of the road is what I call the Songhae section, running up to Pojangmacha Street outside Exits 4 and 5. That street is the dividing line. North of it is Ikseon-dong and the young crowd, south of it are the older regulars, and the two mix like an estuary where saltwater meets freshwater. Nagwon Arcade, the big brutalist concrete block, holds down the western edge.
Tapgol Park
Time to nerd out. (Skip ahead if history bores you.) This was originally a Buddhist temple complex until Yeonsan-gun, Korea’s most notorious king, turned it into his personal pleasure palace. In the 1890s it became the first modern park in Seoul, designed by an Irish architect. In 1919 it was the birthplace of the March 1st Independence Movement.
For generations, the park has belonged to the elderly. Some practice calligraphy. Some used to play baduk. Some just sit around and get drunk. The city recently cracked down on the drinking by removing the baduk boards, which tells you how well officials understood the problem. The drinkers weren’t the ones playing. The drunks still show up at night, and the game players got moved into a basement somewhere.
During the day the park is free, and in spring and fall it’s lovely. The stone pagoda inside dates to King Sejo, a genuinely nasty piece of work. Squid Game fans will recognize the spot from Season 2, Episode 1, in what I call the bread stomping scene.
South Pimatgol
Nobody calls this the hot part of Jongno 3-ga. I think it’s the coolest. The alleys south of Exits 14 and 15 are full of oyster bossam, boiled pork wrapped with kimchi fixings and fresh raw oysters, plus grilled mackerel. Bossam goes back to village kimjang days, when the local aristocrat would slaughter a hog and boil it to feed everyone making kimchi. These alleys are the last gasp of the original Pimatgol, and they’re the closest you’ll get to how old Seoul used to feel.
The Songhae section
This stretch is named after Song Hae, the TV host who was tied to the area for decades and died in 2022. You’ll see statues of him and plenty of businesses using his name. It runs from Jongno, the main road, north to Exits 4 and 5, and it’s the older, rougher side of the neighborhood. I love it. It feels like Seoul did 25 years ago. Behind the Moxy hotel there’s a whole street of love motels, a leftover from the red light days.
Come here for fried chicken. I’ve said this for years as a food writer: if a chicken place is full of beautiful young women taking Instagram photos, the chicken probably isn’t good. If it’s full of middle-aged men who look like life has kicked them in the teeth, sit down. This area has plenty of the second kind, and the prices are good.
My pick is Chicken Baengi on the eastern side, an old 1990s chain that’s slowly dying out everywhere else. Order the Sejong Set, a three-piece pun on King Sejong. You get plain fried, yangnyeom (Korean sauced chicken), and garlic, so you’re basically eating three eras of Korean fried chicken with a beer.
If it’s late and everything else has closed, go to Big Bar. It’s a whiskey bar and a gay bar on the third floor, and the staff are welcoming. Don’t be rowdy. Sit down and have a good whiskey or two. I’ve brought friends there, and they keep going back.
Pojangmacha Street
I don’t have favorites among the tents. They’re all about the same, much like the stalls at Gwangjang Market. The tents aren’t always open, most have English menus, most take cards, and prices run high. You’re paying for the atmosphere more than the food.
If you don’t know what to order, get the chicken gizzards. The texture puts people off, but Koreans cook them with plenty of black pepper, onions, chili peppers, and sesame oil, and they pair perfectly with beer or soju. Feeling brave? Add boneless spicy chicken feet.
The Galmaegisal Alleys
The Donui-dong barbecue alleys popped up in the 1990s. Galmaegisal translates as “seagull meat,” a name that confuses everyone, since the cut is pork diaphragm, a skirt steak that’s tender, lean, and very red, and nearly every place here specializes in it.
Plenty of food and barbecue outfits bring groups here. I skip it. It’s too touristy for my taste, a lot of the history has worn away, and they cook on pans over gas. I grew up in the American South, where no fire and no smoke means no barbecue. Pan-cooked meat has its place, especially with kimchi sizzling in the fat, but if you came to Korea for charcoal glowing in the middle of the table, you won’t find it here. You’ll find lines, though, if crowds are your thing.
I go to Gongdeok, which has its own galmaegisal street cooked over real charcoal. Our Korean barbecue night out goes there, to the same restaurant we chose for Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown.
Ikseon-dong
A lot of us hated Ikseon-dong when it took off. I’ve made my peace with it. My problem was that it took a neighborhood of Korean buildings and filled it with bakeries, cafes, more bakeries, Italian restaurants, and Thai restaurants. Walk around and count the actual Korean restaurants and pubs. It won’t take long. Right before we recorded, my favorite makgeolli pub in the neighborhood closed, and the neighborhood gained yet another spaghetti joint.
Some of it is very good, though. Ikseon-dong is where salt bread blew up. Two salt bread bakeries share the same alley. Everyone lines up at the one on the north end. I go to Salt Pond, further south, because they play around with it: seaweed, fish roe, sweet versions, savory versions.
Sikmul (it means “plant”) is a cafe full of little hidden rooms and corners. The coffee and bread are excellent, they serve cocktails, and it’s my favorite place in the area to hide from the sun or the rain.
For craft beer, I half-recommend Craft Roo. The beer and atmosphere are good, and the Thai sausage pizza holds up. The staff are classic “alba” (part-timers counting down to the end of their shift), so expect to be ignored more than served. There’s a small floor-seating alcove upstairs that fits two people if it’s open. I usually sit at the window when it’s open and people-watch.
Then there’s Jang and Paste. Anyone who knows me knows I hate fusion food. I call it confusion cuisine. This place is the exception. They do Italian and Korean together properly, with gochujang pasta sauces and a sujebi (hand-torn dumplings) in creamy truffle sauce that I still think about. They take reservations on CatchTable, or we can book it for you through ZenKimchi Concierge.
Nagwon Arcade
The big ugly concrete building on the west side is my favorite part of the neighborhood. Nagwon Arcade (Nagwon Sangga) went up in the late 1960s and early ’70s on top of one of those two old markets, when the government wanted to widen the road. The market survived in the basement. BTS used to eat tteokbokki down there before they were famous.
Above ground, it’s the largest musical instrument market in the world. I’ve checked that claim many times. During the day it’s Disneyland for musicians, floor after floor of music shops. Jongno 3-ga used to be known for live music, and that scene is starting to come back. The original Cheon Nyeon Jazz Club (1000 Year Jazz Club) sits right outside the arcade, with a video monitor out front showing the band.
Inside the arcade is EDLS, one of my favorite nightlife spots in Seoul. People get scared off by the entrance, a climb up some stairs and through a red curtain like a David Lynch dream sequence. Inside it’s dark, with tables facing a stage, and it feels like a 1940s nightclub. Cover runs 10,000 to 15,000 won for jazz, rock, or whoever’s playing that night. You order from screens at the table, so there’s no squinting at a menu in the dark. The food is good, the cocktails are drinkable, and the beer brewed behind the bar is excellent. I order some food, get a few beers, and zone out.
Nostalgia Alley
Just south of Nagwon Arcade is a narrow lane I call Nostalgia Alley. It feels like Korea in the 1980s, right down to the classic movie posters. Former mayor Park Won-soon set it up as a nostalgia street, and the current administration has been dismantling his projects one by one. The alley is still worth the trip. It’s lined with beef and pork soup joints serving gukbap (rice soup), rustic and cheap, with short menus. I almost never see foreigners in here. I think they’re scared to go in.
There’s a famous photo of Metallica walking through in the ’90s, with James Hetfield kissing a pig on the lips. Most people assume it was taken at Gwangjang Market. It was here. One of my favorite places on the alley is Hadong Jip, run by a wonderful lady I say hi to every time I pass. Make a special stop. To me, this alley is the heart of Jongno 3-ga.
Your turn
I’m sure I’ve forgotten places. The minute I stopped recording, three more came to mind. Tell me in the comments what you’ve loved in Jongno 3-ga, what let you down, or what you want to ask.
Subscribe to the ZenKimchi Korea Food & Travel Podcast wherever you’re listening. It helps more than you’d think. If you want to eat and drink your way through Seoul with us, our experiences are at zenkimchi.com. If you need help with restaurant bookings, tickets, or an airport pickup, ZenKimchi Concierge handles that at concierge.zenkimchi.com. For what’s happening around Korea this week, check the events calendar. And if you like your Seoul history darker, my other show is the Dark Side of Seoul Podcast.
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