Yongsan Korean BBQ with fire-grilled pork: Bogumjip

Why I headed into a Samgakji Station alley after overtime

The exact time I escaped the office after stuffing a hellish overtime schedule into my inbox was 7:30 p.m. To save my eyeballs soaked in monitor-blue light and my completely paralyzed brain cells, I desperately needed the powerful combination of fat and carbs.

In my wallet was exactly one ₩50,000 bill—the last line drawn from a salary I had ground my soul into—and a few coins. My feet naturally, heavily, headed toward a narrow alley near Samgakji Station. The place I absolutely sought out to put down the weight of the day was Bogumjip Yongsan Main Branch (보금집 용산본점), already gaining word-of-mouth among office workers.

I came out of Samgakji Station Exit 2 and turned into the left alley; within 10 seconds, a yellow sign pierced my field of vision. The address is 18 Hangang-daero 62-gil, Yongsan-gu, Seoul. The front of the restaurant was already packed with groups of office workers on their way home.

Five parties ahead, seated 18 minutes later

My first attempt naturally ran into the cold reality of a full house. I put my name on the waiting list: five parties were ahead of me, with an estimated wait of 18 minutes.

Like a starving beast, I had to endure those 18 minutes pacing at the mouth of the alley.

To soothe the boredom of waiting, I stared through the window. Inside the kitchen, I spotted the owner expertly commanding huge flames and continuously grilling meat. Unlike the usual Korean barbecue scene, where you build a fire at the table, breathe smoke, and grill the meat yourself, this kitchen felt like a quiet, solemn temple ruled by an alchemist at a griddle.

I decided to mythologize him as the ruler of fire in this neighborhood and a meat master. Exactly 18 minutes later, my name was finally called, and I successfully took my seat.

A 50,000-won after-work spread

Without hesitation, I picked up the ordering tablet and chose the star of the place: two 180g portions of aged garlic pork belly for ₩30,000; one 180g portion of spicy, boneless jokbal galbi (braised pig's trotter-style ribs) for ₩15,000; and Sichuan-style Jjapagetti for ₩5,000, ordered mild to protect the pride of this spice wimp.

The total came to exactly ₩50,000. Normally, at a work dinner, I would be gripping the tongs and watching my boss so closely that I would not even notice the meat burning. But here, everything comes out perfectly grilled from the kitchen—a devastatingly good advantage, since I did not even have to worry about smoke or meat smell clinging to my clothes.

That tiny liberation of not having to grill the meat myself instantly made an exhausted office worker's shoulders feel lighter on the way home.

The crisp fire-grilled marks on aged garlic pork belly

Not long after ordering, the meats appeared side by side on a stone platter. First up: two portions of aged garlic pork belly. I picked up the first piece and put it in my mouth without any sauce at all.

The moment I pressed my jaw down for the first bite, the crisp fire-grilled marks on the outside and the subtle garlic aroma struck the tip of my tongue. On the second bite, hot juices trapped inside burst out and assaulted my taste buds.

On the third bite, the savory richness of the aged meat's fat mingled with saliva and melted softly away. By the fourth, it slid down my throat with not a single tough spot to be found.

Had I always been someone who devoured two portions of meat at dinner and discovered life's truths? No—had I ever been this impressed by the aging of pork belly in the first place? Another self inside me was asking forcefully.

Spicy boneless jokbal galbi and mild Jjapagetti

Next, I turned my attention to one portion of jokbal galbi. This spicy, boneless dish was a strange but captivating creation where the chewy texture of jokbal and the sweetness of galbi coexist. I picked up a piece, put it in my mouth, and started chewing.

On the first bite, the uniquely springy chew of the skin tickled my gums; on the second, the spicy seasoning stimulated every corner of my tongue. On the third, the smoky fire-grilled aroma traveled backward through my nose. On the fourth, the deepening savory flavor exploded with every chew.

Then it was time to bring in the mild Sichuan-style Jjapagetti that I, a spice wimp, had stubbornly ordered.

It cost just ₩5,000. I roughly lifted the noodles with my chopsticks and attempted to slurp them in four rounds.

On the first bite, the bounce of the chewy noodles pushed against my teeth. On the second, thanks to the mild option, the deep flavor of black-bean sauce wrapped around my tongue without being overwhelming.

On the third, a gentle smoky aroma brushed past my nose. On the fourth, it put a perfect final period on the meal, cleansing the richness of the pork belly and jokbal galbi I had eaten before.

A dinner that cleared away smoke and stray thoughts

No smoke, no meat smell, and no stray thoughts remained on the table. Only the perfect harmony of two portions of pork belly, one portion of jokbal galbi, and Jjapagetti—all within the strict ₩50,000 budget—filled my hungry soul.

After paying and leaving the restaurant, I looked at the clock. The total time spent was satisfyingly reasonable, and my steps were lighter than anyone else's in the world.

In the end, tonight's answer was this ₩50,000 happiness, full of fire-grilled flavor.