Executives have been coming here for a long time, and they always tell me to give the staff an extra piece of sashimi when they visit. (laughs) Whether it’s Amorepacific employees or any other customers, I try my best to do everything I can for them. Honestly, I see myself as just someone who makes food, so I usually decline interviews. But when I heard it would be featured in Amorepacific Stories, I thought about it and eventually said yes. It’s Amorepacific, after all.

Absolutely. I’ve spent my entire culinary career alongside people from Amorepacific. Even the name ‘Umami (うまみ)’ came from a hint by a former president of Amorepacific Group. Back when I was briefly working at a Japanese restaurant in Gangnam, he’d go out of his way to visit me. When I told him I was opening a new place on Hangang-daero, President Bae suggested I avoid generic neighborhood names and go with something meaningful and sophisticated instead. That’s how I landed on this name.

In Japanese, umami (うまみ) means that savory, deeply satisfying flavor. It’s a word that expresses how delicious something tastes. Wild-caught sashimi develops more umami the more you chew it. The depth is completely different from farm-raised fish. Because I understand that difference, our restaurant insists on using only wild-caught seafood. The name ‘Umami (うまみ)’ reflects my commitment to using wild-caught ingredients as long as nature allows. I also liked how it sounds when you say it, and I loved how it looks in Korean. I’m someone who even picks out perfectly square pieces of kkakdugi (diced radish kimchi) to eat—I appreciate neat, orderly things. The way the two ‘mieum’ (うまみ) characters anchor the center felt really balanced and pleasing to me.

No particular reason, really. Life is always a series of coincidences. I came to Seoul from the countryside to study, and to pay for school, I started working at the Namdaemun early-morning market. That’s how I accidentally ended up in this field. I never planned to study cooking, but I’d been really good with food since I was young. It was a God-given talent, I suppose. I’ve been cooking rice over a traditional stove since second grade. Whenever my mother, father, grandmother, and grandfather all went out to work in the fields, I’d wash the rice, stoke the fire, cook the meal, and wait for them to come home.

You can’t really do this work without talent. But it’s not like I ever thought ‘This is my calling.’ I just kept at it, and here I am. That’s how life works. Things don’t always go the way you want them to or plan them to. Even with food, I’ve developed more dishes through conversations with customers than through my own research. I’d hear their stories about ‘the foods they remember,’ get inspired, create something new, refine it—that’s how I’ve grown.

If I had to choose, it would be the mineotang (croaker stew). I simmer the croaker until even the bones fall apart, then season it with doenjang (fermented bean paste). I’m probably the only person in Korea who makes it this way. Every customer who tries it loves it.

There’s no secret, really. It’s about using quality ingredients, so if there’s a secret, it’s just that—quality ingredients, fresh croaker. Food starts with the ingredients, and it’s complete when you pour your heart into them. The restaurant business isn’t about making money. You spend decades becoming a craftsman—it’s not a path to wealth. Even in Japan, most century-old family restaurants haven’t built great fortunes. You’re just making a living for your family, earning respect as a craftsman, and giving people food that becomes part of their memories. Running a restaurant means serving honestly and sincerely, always with the best ingredients and the best intentions. Do you know what the most delicious food in the world is?

(laughs) It’s the food your mother makes for you. The food you’ve been eating since you were in the womb—that’s the best. No matter how well I cook, I’ll always come in second. I’m the second chef, but I approach my work with the first chef’s heart, as if I’m feeding my own family. I see myself as part of a community connected by warm meals, which is why I initially declined this interview. I didn’t think I had much to say, but now I’m glad to have this chance to share my memories with Amorepacific.

Over thirty years now. It goes back to the Pacific days. Even after people retire, many still make a point to visit. When the presidents and executives from back then come in, I’m as happy to see them as family. I want to serve them even better ingredients, and I feel such warmth toward them. During the Pacific Chemicals days, they’d give me lotion and Ketotop patch to take home to my parents in the countryside. I have so many memories like that. On tough days, we’d sit at the bar, share a drink, and talk about life. We’d exchange advice, share our stories, and lean on each other through worries and concerns. Those moments are still so vivid. When you’ve shared an entire era with people like that, of course, the bond runs deep. Chairman Sungwhan Suh and Chairman Kyungbae Suh have both visited, and the presidents would always bring their important guests here. That gratitude is why I work even harder and stay committed to this place. I’m sure everyone works hard, but I don’t think many people maintain the same consistent quality with premium ingredients. When they recognize that, it pushes me to work even harder.

Until five years ago, we were open every single day. Office workers come during the week, and families come on weekends. When people make the effort to bring their families for good sashimi, I’d feel terrible turning them away. But then I got older (laughs), and I realized that if I want to keep doing this for a long time, I need to pace myself. That’s why I started closing on Sundays. We get so many families on Saturdays, though, that I do feel a bit guilty about closing on Sundays.

Tuesday through Saturday, I wake up at 5:30 to get ready. On Mondays, I wake up an hour earlier to go to the Namdaemun flower market.

After buying flowers directly for so long, I’ve developed an eye for picking fresh, quality blooms. So I always do it myself. I love flowers, but more importantly, I want my customers to enjoy their meal in a beautiful space. I actually think of flowers as part of the meal. Food isn’t just what goes in your mouth—it includes the atmosphere and even the conversation. Dining while looking at seasonal flowers makes people happier. The people who come here are true food lovers who appreciate a good meal, so I want to make their time here joyful.

Rather than a large space, I wanted something cozy like home—a place that feels welcoming, warm, and pristine the moment you walk in. As I mentioned, I’m the second chef, but I designed the space to be as comfortable as possible so people can experience the essence of that first chef, a mother’s touch.

Yes, every single day without fail. I see my attire as a sign of respect for my customers. People ask if it’s uncomfortable when I’m working, but I’ve worn a tie my entire career—I’d actually feel incomplete without it. No matter how hot it gets, I never loosen it. While I’m the one preparing meals for my customers, they’re also the ones who allow me to make a living. I need to show proper respect and look presentable for them.

We’ve been fortunate—no major ups and downs. We have customers who visit consistently and others who trust us enough to recommend us to their friends. Our sales actually increased during COVID. Back then, people gravitated toward places they could really trust, so we stayed busy.

I take pride in my profession because I’m doing something that nourishes people’s health before they need to see a doctor. My insistence on wild-caught seafood isn’t just about taste—farmed fish inevitably undergoes artificial interventions. My principle is that we should serve healthy food even if it costs a bit more, and I feel fulfilled when people appreciate that. I also feel rewarded when I hear that our food has become meaningful or turned into a cherished memory for someone.

There’s a Won Buddhist nursing home near the restaurant. One day, around 3 p.m. during our break, a mother and son came in. His mother was staying at the hospital and had been craving sushi, so he brought her over. Even though it was our break time, I made her sushi and served it with daegu-jiri (a delicate cod soup). She really enjoyed it. Then recently, just the son came back after a long time. With tears in his eyes, he held my hand and told me how grateful he was, saying his mother hadn’t been able to eat properly after that meal at our restaurant and had passed away. When I hear stories like that, I think to myself, “Ah, I’m living a good life.”

Yes, many. There was a couple who always came together, but the wife passed away. When their children return to Korea after studying abroad, they come here to eat, saying, “This was Mom’s favorite food,” thinking of her while they dine. Sometimes someone sits at the bar with sashimi and a drink, and they’ll start crying, saying, “If my parents were still alive, I’d bring them here. Eating this delicious food makes me think of them.” A young man who has been eating here with his family since childhood went abroad to study and still contacts me, saying he misses my food. Those moments make me feel fulfilled and happy.

Japanese cuisine is sometimes called “hwasik” using the character for harmony (和), but I like to think of it with the character for conversation (話)—food you eat while talking. Our restaurant has that kind of atmosphere where people share their lives, comfort one another, encourage each other, and celebrate together.

I’m not sure. I’ll do my best in my generation, but who knows? Authentic Japanese cuisine is incredibly challenging compared to other industries. We’re especially vulnerable to climate change since we only source wild-caught seafood. The quality of our ingredients depends entirely on the weather. Still, if you ask the brokers at Noryangjin, “Who gets the best ingredients in Seoul?” they’ll tell you ‘Umami.’ Ingredients are everything. No matter how skilled you are, it’s pointless if the ingredients don’t measure up. I approach it with the mindset that we get the very best. I can confidently invest in premium ingredients because our customers trust us and keep coming back. I know we can use what we buy.

We don’t live in this world alone—we live together. The people at Amorepacific show our restaurant so much affection, and I repay that by using fresher ingredients and serving delicious food. When retired colleagues visit, I feel such joy serving them an extra drink and an extra piece of sashimi. These are people I’ve built memories with, so my heart naturally goes out to them. Moving forward, I’ll continue serving good food with the spirit that we’re all living this life together.