January needn’t mean culinary hibernation. At Soom, as Larry discovers, London’s Korean barbecue scene finds a new point of arrival — a place to gather, feast and remember why going out still matters…
You’d think we know enough about Korean barbecue — self-serve, flame-grilled slivers of meat cooked over a table’s centrepiece — not to be impressed by another offering. But Soom is different. No, ignore that: different suggests deviation. This isn’t a departure so much as a recalibration. A new benchmark, quietly but confidently set.
The first thing you notice is the interior design, and it is striking. Sculpture might be a better word. Dark woods and gunmetal tones, strip lighting tracing the edges of the room creating intimate booths, everything organised around the circle — the organising principle of Korean dining, where guests gather around a shared grill. This philosophy is made literal the moment you walk in. Lydia and I pause instinctively, taking it in, before being drawn further inside.
Visible through the expansive front window is a vast stone ‘feature’ table, designed for communal feasting, family gatherings and long evenings. It’s an eye-catching introduction, and it’s fully occupied by a garrulous group as we enter. On a nearby wall hangs an imposing, specially commissioned artwork by a friend of the owner, symbolising the jing — a Korean gong traditionally struck to invite guests to dine. Even the name is considered: Soom translates as ‘breath’, an invitation to step inside, exhale, and settle into the rhythms of a proper meal.
And settle in we did. So, clearly, did everyone else. I’m there just four weeks after opening, and Soom is already humming, particularly with Korean diners — always a reassuring sign. Downstairs, we’re told, an embassy delegation was in residence, lending the evening a faintly diplomatic air, as if treaties might be signed over short rib and soju.
We begin gently. A small bowl of pumpkin porridge arrives, comforting and lightly sweet, while cocktails set the tone. The menu leans into Korean drinking culture with confidence: yuja and maesil highballs sit alongside crowd-pleasing cocktails popular back home. We choose a Soom Mule, served in a copper jug, and cinnamon-infused Old Fashioned. Both are balanced, grown-up, and, complements Lydia, dangerously drinkable.
The menu is a tome and a half, an encyclopaedia to Korean cuisine. A double-page spread is devoted entirely to kimchi — I guess everything can be fermented in some capacity — needless to say it makes ordering a challenge, if only by virtue of not wishing to miss anything out. We opt for a platter of cabbage, radish and cucumber, each offering its own fermentative personality.
Spicy rice cakes follow, smothered in gochujang and glowing like embers, packing a heat to match their appearance. Then, fried chicken, gloriously crisp, accompanied by moo — pickled radish cubes designed, mercifully, to reset the palate between bites. Dumplings promptly steal the show: plump, delicately wrapped and deeply savoury. There are curiosities too, like the beef pancakes — which turn out to be slivers of beef sandwiched in pancake batter, somehow both familiar and entirely new.
Bibimbap – we can’t not order it – arrives in a heavy stone bowl, its component parts arranged with almost ceremonial precision before being mixed tableside. At this point, Lydia and I exchange a look — the sort shared by dining companions who know they’ve been overambitious. The main event hasn’t even begun, and the table is already full. But everything is far too good to abandon. We press on.
At the appointed hour, accumulated plates are cleared and the barbecue ritual begins. We’ve chosen the beef platter, and three cuts arrive on a wooden board: premium ribeye, fillet tenderloin, and boneless short rib. Alongside them comes a panoply of pickles, sauces, smoked salt. The waiter takes command of the grill, dressing it with rosemary and garlic and expertly cooking each cut, scissoring the ribeye into neat stacks, and guiding us through the assembly of lettuce wraps.
Each mouthful becomes a new configuration — a chequerboard of flavours and textures depending on the chosen combination. It’s a kind of personalised buffet, endlessly customisable and dangerously addictive. I keep going back. To accompany it all, we’re introduced to so-mek: a Korean classic combining soju and beer (Max, in this case), mixed with the flourish of an Asian depth charge. It is immediately declared my new favourite drink.
I’ve eaten Korean barbecue many times, usually in modest, self-directed circumstances. This is something else entirely. It’s Korean barbecue with butler service — elevated, choreographed, and deeply considered. Beyond the setting and the service, it’s the flourishes that linger: the cultural cues, the quiet rituals, the sense that this is not a gimmick but a genuine expression of Seoul dining culture.
Amid the steam rising from neighbouring tables, the low, flattering light, and the presence of embassy diners below, it’s easy to forget you’re in London’s West End at all. For a few hours, at least, you could be downtown Seoul — and for a January evening, that feels like exactly the kind of escape worth booking.
Soom, 99 St. Martin’s Lane, London, WC2N 4AZ. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.soomkorean.com.
