Down a road, past a long row of kimchi pots, past western style burger joints, and pubs filled with so many foreigners we had to momentarily question whether we were in Boston or Seoul, finally: a corner- a non-descript black door devoid of any conspicuous signage. Roman numerals I- XII glowing gently in the night. We enter. Soft lighting, wood panelling, jazz… Twelve round backed leather chairs lined up along the bar. The feeling that we had stepped through the door and back in time was difficult to shake- and we did nothing to try. We were enveloped, wrapped up in visions of some kind of golden era of cocktail bars. Shelves of liquor rose up to the ceiling of the small space- like a page out of a scotch lover’s dream: ……I ordered a Moscow Mule.
The vodka based drink was served in a shiny handled copper cup- the flavour was citrusy with a cinnamon stick that had been heated just enough on one end to warm the essential oils and release that sweet-spicy scent into the air and cocktail. The beautiful copper cup glistened with moisture in the candle light. I think pretty much anything would have tasted amazing served in that vessel. We let the bartender decide our next round. We watched the theatre of the drink unfold in front of us- like a magician or alchemist he created elaborate concoctions. Orange peels were lightly flamed, a thin stream of absinthe poured over a perfectly transparent square of ice, a lemon slice spritzed in the air and waved back and forth over the lip of a glass with a delicate flourish of the arm and wrist. Large spheres of ice were being hand-carved one one side of the bar while the cocktail shaker added a bit of percussion to the smooth vocals of Nina Simone playing in the background. We were transfixed. We munched on sliced grapes nestled on ice, served in glass stemware (I now believe that there is no other way to eat grapes…) We lingered. We sipped. We got lost in reverie. Lost in conversation…It almost seemed criminal to leave. Stepping out of that subtly perfect ambiance back onto the dark streets of a bustling city was like awaking from a sweet dream.
How to get there: Take line 6 to Noksapyeong station and leave through exit 2. Continue down the hill and veer left at the light at the bottom of he hill and continue past the stacked rows of kimchi pots. Continue until the end of the street where the road takes a marked left. XII is on the right side of the street. There is no doorknob, no entry handle, and no easy way to get in.
*special note: the lit Roman numerals above the entrance signify how many/which seats are available inside
(Is it selfish of me that I kind of wanted to keep my discovery of this place to myself?)