Clockwise from
above: the
Sangmi course of
the Righteous
Wish tasting
menu at Balwoo
Gongyang,
including wheat
crêpes with water
parsley, Chinese
cabbage and
mushroom
(centre), spring
green salad with
vinegar and soy
sauce (right) and
seasoned mung
bean jelly with
laver (left); Yu
Yuan Cantonese
restaurant at the
Four Seasons
Hotel Seoul.
Opposite: a
Gwanghwamun
royal guard
outside
Gyeongbokgung
Palace.A short jaunt from the palace is the Bukchon Hanok
Village, a particularly pretty sight in a city not known
for them. Bukchon was once the domain of military
and civil officials, and 900 traditional wooden houses
remain, with windows covered in mulberry paper
screens and courtyards shaded by apricot trees. Many
have been converted into galleries, boutiques, and tea
houses, but some still function as private residences.
One morning, I notice a little truck gamely navigating
the steep incline to the top of the village to deliver nashi
pears and cabbages to residents. Locals believe the area
has a powerful energy, and in a hillside café overlooking
the skyscrapers, sipping a ssanghwa tea made murky
with medicinal herbs, it’s easy to see what they mean.
I begin to think that Seoul’s greatest achievement
is balance: between the soju and the sauna, the very old
and the radically new. It’s a place where ajumma –
married, middle-aged, and often working women –
are increasingly being seen as driving society forward
with their aggressive and competitive spirit, but also
a place creating – and exporting – an exuberant youth
culture. As I walk through Hongdae, an area that houses
five universities, countless street performers and at least
one very persistent Korean rapper, I wonder if I’ll ever
experience peace again. But then I have lunch at Balwoo
Gongyang, a nearby Michelin-starred, vegan temple
restaurant run by the Jogye Order of Korean Buddhism,
and eat as monks did in the 7th century. There’s no
garlic at Balwoo Gongyang, nor spring onion, nor meat;
instead, seasonal vegetables and fermented seasonings
are a meditation in themselves, served in exquisite
earthenware and accompanied by the gentle peal
of prayer bells on serving trolleys.In the kind of juxtaposition that perfectly
illustrates Seoul’s high-wire act, one of the city’s
oldest structures sits next to its boldest architectural
experiment. Heunginjimun Gate, or Great East
Gate, was built by the Joseon kings to prevent wild
animals and thieves descending from the hills. The
Dongdaemun Design Plaza (DDP) was designed
by the late architect Zaha Hadid, and completed in- Like much of what happens in Seoul, it’s not
always clear what’s going on at the DDP – just that
there’s a lot of activity centred on food and fashion
- but the building is spectacular, a truly audacious
structure free of right angles and straight lines.
It’s a popular hangout for young people, who flock
to the area for its cluster of malls that stay open
until 5am every day.
On this occasion, a nocturnal shopping spree
doesn’t appeal. Instead, I check into the Signiel,
a new hotel situated between the 76th and 101st floors
of the 555-metre Lotte World Tower, the world’s
fifth-tallest building. (The lift takes a minute to
reach the top.) Everything at the Signiel is high
tech, including the toilet. Grey marble and silently
sliding glass doors make the place seem a little
like a Bond lair, yet the hotel’s Korean restaurant,
Bicena, features the most traditional of Korean dining
experiences: black chicken ginseng soup. I’m told
this dish is usually reserved for grooms returned
from their honeymoon, served by mother-in-laws
to promote swift procreation. The broth is lemony
and light, and comes with an abalone in its shell.
On the side is half a small chicken with jet-black
skin. Suspended above the clouds, I eat it all.●
142 GOURMET TRAVELLER