Kojima

Eight seats. ₩420,000 for dinner. One chef working a bleached hinoki counter in Apgujeong. Kojima is the only Japanese restaurant in Korea to hold two Michelin stars, and Kim Woo-tae earned them by treating Korean waters with Edomae discipline — firefly squid, lightly seared bonito and a run of roughly sixteen nigiri pressed over Niigata rice seasoned with red vinegar and a touch of salt. It opened in 2014 and has sat at the top of Seoul’s sushi conversation ever since.

The Kitchen

Kim Woo-tae trained in the Edomae tradition — the Tokyo style that ages and cures fish rather than serving it straight from the ice — and brought it home to Seoul. The meal opens with a sashimi and small-plate flight that leans on Korean wild seafood: plump firefly squid, lightly grilled bonito, seasonal catch from the peninsula’s waters. Then the counter shifts to nigiri.

Around sixteen pieces follow, the rice warm and loosely packed, dressed with the red vinegar (akazu) and a pinch of salt that mark the Edomae school, the tuna and shellfish handled to bring out texture rather than mask it. The counter seats eight around a central chef’s station, which is why a seat is hard to win. Lunch runs ₩220,000; dinner at the counter is ₩420,000, with a private room available. Two Michelin stars in the Seoul guide make Kojima the reference point for the city’s sushi, and chef Kim’s evident pride in the craft is part of why diners rebook before they leave.

The Room

The room is a faithful rendering of a Tokyo sushi-ya: pale, almost bleached wood, clean lines, and a single hinoki counter for eight under low, even light. There is no music to speak of and no clatter — the volume is a quiet hum, close enough that the chef talks to the whole counter at once. Tables are not the format; this is counter dining, shoulder to shoulder. Dress smart — most diners arrive in jackets or polished casual. With eight seats and a single chef, the pace is deliberate and the room never feels rushed.

Best for an Anniversary

Book Kojima for an anniversary because the format does the work a celebration needs: a fixed, unhurried sequence so neither of you is managing a menu, a chef narrating each piece so there is always something to talk about, and a counter intimate enough that the evening feels private even with six strangers beside you. The eight-seat scale means the night is paced for you, not turned over twice. Take the dinner counter rather than lunch for the full sixteen-piece run, and ask about the private room if you want the table to yourselves.