Born in Seoul, Kim's family, like thousands of other Koreans, ended up in New York City, at a time when the now-famous Korea Town—a strip of turf in Midtown Manhattan, birthed from the late mid-century immigration, that has everything from Korean karaoke to Korean fast food piled into a couple blocks—was not the safest place to be on a Friday night. Years later, Kim said, the only major change in K-Town has been the plummeting crime rate, which has since opened the area up to a more mainstream audience, thus cementing the neighborhood as a destination food hub like Flushing or Jackson Heights.
It was in these tiny K-Town restaurants, at around 2 or 3 a.m., where many of New York's food industry first tried the then-hidden cuisine of Korea. "Imagine it's the end of your shift, you're cleaning up, and you and the other cooks want to go out," said Rodbard. "Your options are limited; you want something affordable where alcohol is available. K-Town is an all-night event, where the food translates into a late night meal."
Soon enough, K-Town became this past-midnight escape, filled with flavors most chefs were not regularly tasting at the time. "When you're trying 28 paellas all day, you want something else," Rodbard added. "It becomes this natural progression from the kitchen to K-Town."