Seoul's civic heart — palaces, a great square, City Hall
The nation's front lawn: Gwanghwamun Square running up to Gyeongbokgung's gate, Seoul City Hall and its plaza, Deoksugung and the stone-wall road beside it, the head of the Cheonggyecheon stream. This is Seoul at its most monumental and most civic — where the country gathers to celebrate and to protest, palaces stand under glass towers, and the old downtown keeps its grand hotels and great bookstores. Less a neighborhood than the center of gravity. One catch: it's an office district, so much of the good eating shuts on Sunday — and the palace and the museums shut on Monday. A weekday, if you can.
No photos, no star ratings — just what I'd tell a friend. I live in Seoul and these are the places I actually go, 34 of them here.
Open it in the appThe clam kalguksu I keep going back to; the pajeon and kimchi are just as good.
I line up in the summer heat for this kongguksu, and plenty of people rank it Seoul's top three.
Order the five-spice jokbal without a second thought. It earned its Michelin Bib Gourmand.
The Seongsu coffee people's City Hall branch: where I'd send you for a proper filter around here.
Order the Sniffer latte, blended from three milks. The office crowd swears by this place.
Hanwoo gomtang from 1++ beef only, brisket cut thicker than anywhere else; I've never had a bad bowl.
Clean Naju-style gomtang and galbitang, where the locals eat lunch near Namdaemun.
The city's contemporary-art museum on Jeong-dong-gil, built behind the old Supreme Court facade, with strong shows now.
The one Seoul palace mixing Joseon halls with imperial Western stone — you read modern history in the buildings.
Korean modern art shown inside the palace's Seokjojeon: traditional halls, Western stone, paintings in one visit.
Vintage and handcraft objects, chosen with a real eye, inside a 1930s red-brick hall.
Ceramic tableware you'd actually set a table with; it's the showroom of a brand a trained chef started.
A linen-clothing label's showroom, up on the third floor. A rotating craft show usually shares the room.
Haven't been. The draw is a second floor over the Deoksugung stone-wall path, with brunch, and you order downstairs.
Tove's second room, an old-dabang mood done minimal — the reason to go is the bingsu of the month.
Felt's flagship at Cheonggye Plaza — the big room with the deep-red opera curtains.
Three floors of patisserie in Mugyo-dong. The jewel-box madeleines are what made the name.
Mugyo-dong bossam, carried by the daily house kimchi, and the spicy charcoal jokbal is the one to get.
The Yeonnam French-toast name, in Gran Seoul; they make it on a counter in the middle, in full view.
Leesar again, in Jongno and open into the evening — get the Oneroso, standing.
Oats makes one of Seoul's top-three einspänners, up on a second floor with windows over Gwanghwamun Square.
Haejang-guk since 1937, heavy on tripe and blood cake, and it gets you once it takes.
Haven't been. It's a sundubu-jjigae house five floors up, and the order to get is the beef-brisket one.
Haven't been. It's all-you-can-eat shabu on D-Tower's fifth floor, and your broth pick sets the noodle-or-risotto finish.
Felt again, two floors under D-Tower and wired to the subway — better-designed than a basement needs to be.
Samgyetang the office crowd gets to dodge the Tosokchon tourist lines; the broth's clear, not gluey.
A backstreet old-timer, and its kimchi-jjigae runs on six-month kimchi and real pork. Some rank it Seoul's top three.
Haven't been, but the draw is the chef's Masan-coast memory: pine-fire fish, aged crab-jang, a hanwoo room.
Haven't been. A dark whisky-and-cocktail bar in the Sejong Arcade basement, film posters on the walls.
Haven't been. A counter ramen shop in the Sinmunno basement, known for a clean chicken-broth shio, not tonkotsu.
Gamjatang in Gwanghwamun — and the samgyeopsal the regulars grill at the next table is impossible to ignore.
Hand-drip only in a quiet basement, no Americano in sight; the owner's taste runs the list.
Korean-filled onigiri in the Japanese style, made to order at a nine-seat counter.
A dozen kinds of chapssaltteok with coffee to match; they give you a silk thread to slice the mochi.
What to order and how to get in — the queue windows, the door moves, the booking that needs a Korean phone number — is in the app.
Bukchon is free, in full, so you can see whether you trust me before paying.