Jokbal buchu muchim. [Photographs: Chris Hansen]

If you were to give cursory notice to Hansol Nutrition Center's epithet, you might dismiss this Flushing restaurant as a health food restaurant, serving something leafy, something boiled, and something bland. However by most rights, the Korean attitude towards nutrition gives leeway to plenty of flavor, relying on the punch of herbs, the bracing heat of chilies, and even oil, fat, and animal protein in the right amounts, all with the goal of promoting a feeling of well being and balance.

This unassuming restaurant is one of the many Korean restaurants on Northern Boulevard, a must visit stretch of pavement for any culinary globetrotter. Inside, the dining room is agreeable and clean, with long comfortable wooden booths for groups. On my visits, the hospitality has been genuine, the menus are translated to English, the complimentary banchan (side dishes) were varied and generous, and the soju was ice cold.

Take the size of your group into consideration when ordering. Solo diners can look forward to your standard Korean staples, such as bibimbap ($9.99) or soondubu jigae ($9.99). There are also entire menu sections devoted to sharing—a tremendous platter of Andong jjimdak (soy sauce braised chicken, $23.99), jungol (large format stews, $26.99-$29.99), and entire fried chickens. Indeed for the best experience, one should come here with several dining companions, or better yet, a small army.

Online consensus may lead you to ordering the jungi gui tong dak ($13.99), a whole chicken that has been roasted in an electric oven. The skin of the chicken gets the slightest coating of batter and oil, resulting in a light fry effect, outwardly much healthier than a true fried method. The dark meat portions of the bird reap the most benefit from this cooking method, yielding juicy meat, ever-so-crisp skin, and the absence of excess oil or heaviness. However the lovely dark meat isn't enough of an apology for the breast meat, which was woefully tough and dry.

If your heart is set on a healthy variation of chicken, you would do much better with Hansol's version of samgyetang ($14.99), a stew of a young chicken which has been stuffed with glutinous rice and slowly simmered, giving the meat a gentle poached texture. The rice fortifies and thickens the chicken broth. Garlic, ginger, and ginseng give the soup its signature subtle fragrance, although the final, necessary seasoning of salt must be applied by the diner at the table.

Other noteworthy poultry dishes include the aforementioned andong jjimdak, in which nubs of bone-in chicken are braised in ganjang, the sweet, salty, umami-laden sauce, redolent of soy sauce, but uniquely Korean in that it's a by-product of the manufacturing of doenjang (fermented bean paste). Onions and bell peppers are added for flavor and texture, and dangmyeon (sweet potato noodles) and dduk (rice cakes) are added for filler.

Dak maeuntang ($26.99), is exactly the sort of dish that you should share with a group of friends on a cold winter night. Roughly chopped dark meat chicken and an assortment of vegetables—onions, scallions, potato, to name a few—are bathed in a fiery, gochugaru (chili powder) driven broth and set to boil over a gas burner at your table. The broth embodies the sort of embracing spice and savory heat that you tirelessly return to, slurp after slurp, despite your smoldering tongue.

I found that the single most revelatory dish at Hansol Nutrition Center is their take on jok bal (pig's feet). I'd long been somewhat disdainful of the traditional Korean preparation of pig feet, which are normally braised whole, boned, sliced into thick slabs, and served with lettuce and other sauces. I'd always thought that this technique was heavy handed and cloyingly profuse from the rich fat and gelatin found in pig feet.

At Hansol, similarly braised pig feet are sliced into manageably delicate slices for their take on jokbal buchu muchim ($21.99). They're scattered onto a salad of raw buchu (garlic chive), kkaennip (sesame leaf), sliced chili peppers, onions, and peanuts, and dressed with sesame oil and vinegar. The subtle onion tang of buchu play up the chilies as well as the refreshing mint and anise notes of the kkaennip, cutting cleanly through the brawny, fatty pork. The result is a pig feet salad that is simultaneously exhilarating and refreshing as well as a stick-to-your-ribs sort of dish—perhaps one of the best things I've eaten in Flushing.

Hansol is another unexpectedly great find in a neighborhood full of culinary surprises. It's a delight to eat nutritious food that doesn't compromise flavor or allure, and it's no small feat to elevate the humble pig trotter into such a healthy and gratifying dish.

Hansol Nutrition Center

160-26 Northern Boulevard, Flushing, NY 11358 (map)
718-888-0200

VIEW SLIDESHOW: A Tour of Flushing with Jason Wang of Xi'an Famous Foods and Biang!

[Photographs: Robyn Lee]

If you've been following SE:NY for the past few years, you've likely seen our coverage of Xi'an Famous Foods, the Chinese noodle-slinging food court stall turned mini restaurant empire, powered by an engine of chili oil, cumin lamb, and our collective hand-pulled noodle lust.

Xi'an's famous noodles, some of the best pasta in the city regardless of genre, come by way of David 'Liang Pi' Shi, the Chinese-trained immigrant chef dedicated to cooking the homespun food of his native Xi'an in Shaanxi province. The marketing, Westerner-friendly restaurant design, and voracious business savvy are the work of his son, Jason Wang, a 25 year-old who perfectly looks the product of Flushing's youth culture. Except that as a teenager he wasn't sipping bubble tea and playing DDR in the neighborhood's malls; he was at home studying.

The liang pi "cold skin" noodles at Biang!.

Their business couldn't be a better immigrant success story, or a better father-son story, or a more inspiring account of the power of good food to break down cultural boundaries and let outsiders in to a foreign cuisine and culture. The XFF empire jumped the Queens-Manhattan barrier years ago, and is now looking out to conquer other cities around the country. But with the opening of Biang!, their first truly sit-down restaurant with an expansive, excellent menu that tops at $10, Shi and Wang have returned home to Flushing.

It's there that the segregation-busting Xi'an effect is most strongly felt. Shi's food and Wang's meticulous efforts have created a space where the Flushing old guard, local young eaters, and the city's most pampered gastrohipsters can eat together in harmony. And they've built that space without compromising the quality or spirit of the cuisine that's won them so much praise.

So that's where Robyn and I met up with Jason for an afternoon tour of his neighborhood, and a taste of where he goes to eat during the precious minutes he can steal away from his overclocked business. We expected some solid dumplings and roast duck over rice, and we weren't disappointed. But we also heard a local's story of a neighborhood in cultural and culinary flux, and got a look into the cutthroat, paranoid food industry where every third storefront seems to be a restaurant.

Enough of that for now though—on to the food.

The Tour

View Flushing Food Tour with Jason Wang in a larger map

As the manager who's ultimately responsible for the company's stalls and restaurant ("stores," he calls them), Jason's rarely not working. "My personal life is basically on hold for right now." So when he does eat out, it tends to be at the quick, cheap spots Flushing is known for. That means dumplings on styrofoam, noodles in plastic tubs, and lots of roast duck over rice.

"I like the places with a homestyle vibe. There are places that have spent tons of money on decor, but to me they aren't personal; they feel cookie cutter-made." So when he wants bubble tea he often seeks out Ten Ren, the tea and ginseng parlor "that really focuses on the tea." And for dumplings he visits three nice Northern Chinese ladies with technicolor aprons, who cook purses of dough on a GE home stove in a corner of the Flushing Mall.

All the stops on our tour:

• Bubble Tea at Ten Ren
• Dumplings and Noodle Soup from Chinese-Korean Noodles & Dumpling at the Flushing Mall
• Pastries at Iris Tea & Bakery
• Lamb Noodle Soup from M. S. Hon Song Ting at the New World Mall
• Banh Mi and Roast Duck over Rice at Pho Hoang Vietnamese Cuisine

Hit up the slideshow for bites from each stop. Total cost if you ate a rational human amount of food—unlike us, as you'll see—at each stop? Under 50 bucks.

The Changing Face of Flushing's Food Industry

As we passed from stall to bakery, Jason talked with us about the local food industry he's found himself at the center of. We visited food establishments where the owners are proud of their homemade products, but less savory businesses can be nothing short of pirates. As XFF gained popularity, local stalls tried to steal their sauce recipe, while another went after replicating their liang pi noodles. Restaurant owners poach from each other all the time in Flushing, even going so far as to purchase components of their competitors' food retail and sell it dressed up with new packaging.

It's a hyper-competitive environment that he thinks has gotten worse over time. "Five years ago you had more interesting things like the Golden Shopping Mall; now a lot of places are more focused on the packaging. The media blew up the food industry, and everyone saw the potential to make money and got more into it."

The result is a new wave of food court stalls, bakeries, and tea houses that just don't keep the same focus on food above all else. They cater to trends, not lost tastes of an immigrant past. The clearest example, the bulk of the stalls that make up the New World Mall food court, are most visited by young American-born Flushing kids, who don't need to rely on food to bring them back home half a world away.

There's a funky appeal to shops like these, but they aren't the neighborhood's food culture at its most delicious, and ironically, not the best food to pull in visitors that the media has attracted in the first place. Flushing will probably always be a home to new immigrants, and we've seen plenty of restaurants that cater to new eaters and don't compromise their flavors. But as the children of the last few decades' transplants grow up as true locals, the scene definitely seems to be changing.

Perhaps we're overthinking it. "Maybe I'm just jaded. There's still a lot of good food here." And we'll agree in a heartbeat. Flushing may be changing, but that's just business as usual in the city's most bustling Chinatown. This neighborhood is still nothing if not the city's most frenetic, exciting, and endearing place to eat.

Hungry? Follow along on our tour.

About the author: Max Falkowitz is the editor of Serious Eats: New York. You can follow him on Twitter at @maxfalkowitz.

VIEW SLIDESHOW: Savor Fusion Food Court in Flushing: China Under One Small Roof

[Photographs: Max Falkowitz]

Note: The Savor Fusion food court is now closed, with not much hope of reopening.

The Savor Fusion food court* has been open since last September or so, but it first hit my must-go list when SE'er James Boo tipped me off about some remarkable dumplings. Compared to the year-old New World Mall, Savor Fusion is tiny. Eight independent vendors serve food from all over China and Taiwan—Sichuan, Fujian, Heibei, Henan—in a tight space with only a few tables.

* Though signs also read Savoy Fusion, Savory Fusion, and Maple Snacks.

If you don't speak Chinese, you'll need to approach this place with your adventure hat on. While it's nothing like the subterranean madness of the Golden Shopping Mall across the street, there's little English to be found, both on the menus and from the vendors. But pointing and asking with a smile served me reasonably well, and most of the vendors do their best to explain what they're selling. Look for teenagers in baseball caps—several are children of the vendors and speak perfect English.

I only sampled a few dishes on this first visit (forgive me; this was the last stop on a Flushing marathon), so consider this a peek and a photo guide to help you get oriented for your trip. The stalls are numbered 1 to 8, from back to front. Stall 1 sells the dumplings I mentioned above, and they're just as miraculous as people say. Start there, then walk towards to the front for a mix of hand-pulled noodles, Taiwanese street snacks, pancakes and buns, Sichuan-spiced everything, and lots more. My tenuous advice from this visit: stick to the dumplings, pancakes, and fried chicken. I can't say I loved everything I sampled, but those stood out apart from the pack—and the rest of Flushing. I'll definitely be back to sample more soon.

Take a look around the food court in the slideshow. For more photos and commentary, check out these links:

• The Eaten Path
• I Want More Food
• World's Fare
• Chowhound

Savor Fusion Food Court

42-01 Main Street, Flushing, NY 11355 (map)
718-886-6966

About the author: Max Falkowitz is the editor of Serious Eats: New York. You can follow him on Twitter at @maxfalkowitz.

[Photographs: Chris Hansen]

Our visit to Sura Chung in the Murray Hill neighborhood of Flushing was initially intended as an investigation of their ojinguh bokkeum (stir fried squid, $16.99), which was recommended by a friend with a keen palate. Squid can often be discouragingly rubbery, however at Sura Chung, it was cooked to an agreeable, gentle texture that retained some spring and feistiness. It swam in a sauce of gochujang (red pepper paste) that embodied the technique often employed by Asian cuisines: combining sweet, sour, and heat in balance. It was one of the better preparations of the dish that I've tasted in a New York Korean restaurant, and it made great friends with makgeolli, a slightly sweet, slightly effervescent rice-based alcoholic drink. But this dish isn't the only reason why I will make many repeat visits to Sura Chung in the future.

The owner at Sura Chung took notice of my camera, and was quick to intervene and interrogate. Why was I taking pictures of the menu and the restaurant exterior? Was I sent by a competing restaurant? We explained: we were here to write about the food. "Korea Herald or Yonhap (Korean newspapers)?" she asked hopefully. "A local website," we replied, and we wrote the URL on a napkin. She shrugged, satisfied that we weren't from a competitor or from a major news outlet (in her opinion), and then guided us to the last page of the massive six page menu, and stated matter-of-fact that their version of hoonjae ori gui (smoked whole duck) and dak galbi (spicy stir fried chicken) were the best in the neighborhood, and that was what we should eat. She was right on both accounts.

The hoonjae ori gui ($36) was nothing short of a revelation—a Korean duck preparation that I've not encountered in my travels to Korea or Flushing. The wet smoking process—the owner wouldn't give all of the details but hinted that it was cooked with a hybrid steam and smoke technique—bolstered the rich flavor of the moist duck with several more layers of meatiness. For better or worse, the technique also left a smattering of unrendered fat as well. Such opulence needs a sturdy foil, so the duck is served with the perfect sidekick of potently spicy mustard. It's meant to be wrapped in sheets of moo, thinly sliced daikon radish that's been tenderized by vinegar. For the cynic, it's worth ordering for its novelty. For the food lover, it's a dynamite preparation of duck.

Whether it was blatant up-sell or a well meaning attempt at hospitality, the owner was right about the dak galbi ($16) as well. It's cooked tableside and doled out into individual bowls. A long marinade ensures the flecks of boneless thigh and leg meat stay wonderfully tender, and the green onions and cabbage have enough crunch to provide some textural contrast. The first few bites of this dish is straightforward chicken bliss. After that it's a losing battle with spice, which will leave you red in the face, sweating, and begging the wait staff for a refill of makgeolli to put out the fire. For spice lovers, it's a battle well fought.

If dak galbi was a battle for spice hunters, then it's best to simply succumb to Sura Chung's version of dakdori tang ($38.99), an enormous shareable hot pot of bone-in chicken, potatoes, and liquid pain. Sure, there's a depth of savory flavors from the aromatic onions and carrots, and demonstrable care in the rich, chicken-y broth that's slick with dissolved collagen. But then there's a nearly overwhelming barrage of Korean hot peppers that dominates the dish. Typically, this dish is meant to be enjoyed with plenty of alcohol, and in a way it's the perfect drinking food—one must be very brave or very foolish to order it, and alcohol does wonders at bolstering both traits.

Despite a rocky start, Sura Chung's owner proved to be trustworthy with her recommendations. An old bird matched by the fire and intensity of her food.

Sura Chung

149-09 41 Ave, Flushing NY 11355 (map)
718-661-9292

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

My friends and neighbors raise eyebrows when I, as a resident of Manhattan, tell them about the glories of food in Flushing. "It's so far away!", they insist. I can't disagree, but the LIRR gets you there in a whir, and I try to get the most bang for my buck during each journey. I seldom re-board the LIRR without a sack-full of cheap treats and authentic eats. And well before I started writing this column, Song's Family Food has been my pit stop before heading back to the city.

There are plenty of boonshik jips, or take-out restaurants that specialize in cheap comfort food, scattered throughout Flushing. I can't claim that Song's is the best at what it does (I'd certainly set off a firestorm of debate if I did), but I like them just fine. Their kimbap is good and filling and pairs well with the zippy bowl of kongnamul guk (bean sprout soup) which they include in every order. Sometimes the kitchen will throw in a hard boiled egg, gratis. It's certainly enough for a full meal, and an absolute steal compared to Manhattan prices.

I would recommend the bulgogi kimbap ($5) for beginners. It's packed with the slightly sweet, slightly salty crumbles of beef, and a full serving of vegetables, spinach, pickled daikon and carrots for textural contrast. And if you want something more exciting, the spicy tuna kimbap ($5.50) steals the spotlight with its surprising amount heat, balanced with the cool crunch of radish and the anise notes of kkaennip (sesame leaf). There's no seating here, but kimbap is the stuff of road trips, picnics, and school lunches. It's meant to travel well and it's at its best at room temperature.

Daheen Wang Mandoo is a relative newcomer to the area, but it's quite the upstart. They close early, sometimes run out of product earlier, and the lines can be fierce. Founded in Namdaemoon Market near Myungdong, the take-out joint, which specializes in jjin (steamed) mandoo has expanded to multiple locations in Seoul, and finally stateside in Flushing. Wang translates to King, although it can also be used to describe something that's big (there's a joke in here somewhere), and the moniker fits. One dumpling is a snack, two is a meal and three is a feast. And choosing your meal is easy—they only serve two dumplings, one savory and one sweet, $2 apiece.

The savory version is stuffed with oh-so-moist minced pork, finely minced onions, scallions, and tender sweet potato noodles (dangmyeon). Amongst the meaty notes, an invigorating wallop of black pepper and onion assert themselves. The dumplings come with a vinegar, soy sauce and gochugaru (crushed Korean red peppers) dipping sauce, but it stands up well enough on its own. For dessert, the enormous hoppang, a pillowy bun filled with tamely sweet red beans, is utterly filling, and satisfying, although an ardent sweet tooth may wish for a bit more sugar. Both dumplings are best fresh, but still quite good after a quick zap in the microwave, or even better, a steam bath in your kitchen (a friend swears by reheating them in his rice cooker).

Sure, there's destination food aplenty in Flushing, but at Daheen Wang Mandoo and Song's Family Food on Northern Boulevard, it's all about the journey.

Song's Family Food

16220 Northern Blvd, Ste B., Flushing NY 11358 (map)
718-445-4717

Daheen Wang Mandoo

153-24 Northern Blvd, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-321-2007

"The pork is worth a try and the cod is worth several."

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

Tong Tong Tonkatsu,a Korean ode to the classic Japanese dish, resides in a small one story building on Northern and 147th St. Years ago this space was occupied by a cozy little pojangmacha (Korean drinking hall) that featured ridiculously cheap booze, grubby menus, terrible food and a divey atmosphere suitable for boisterous drinking followed by a nasty hangover.

The bar closed a few years back, and ownership changed hands, but the space lay unused for a several years until it was re-purposed as Tong Tong Tonkatsu. The new restaurant is clean, brightly lit, the menu is alcohol free, and the food is good—a welcome reincarnation for sure (although it wouldn't hurt if they could serve beer).

It's easy to be taken in by the pork tonkatsu. After all, ton or tong is one of the Japanese terms for pork, and restaurant's façade is decorated with a grinning cartoon pig sporting a toque—not-so-subtle hints at the house specialty. And if you try the pork katsu, you'll likely leave satisfied, although slightly perplexed as to why you came to Flushing for a fried pork cutlet that's on par with what you might find at Katsu-Hama or Curry-Ya in Manhattan. Sure the cutlet is succulent and fine, and the ultra-light and crispy panko crust makes it even finer. But ultimately, the pork gets center stage and merely delivers a straight forward performance.

On the other hand, if you're here for the Korean style curry chicken katsu ($11.99), you might leave disappointed. The pounded out chicken breast was a touch over-cooked, and the wan and sickly sweet curry sauce dissolved the satisfying crunch that the fryer worked so hard to achieve.

For a first timer, I'd suggest sampling the jungsik (combination) katsu ($13.99), a half portion of pork cutlet, a half portion of cod and a tidy pile of shrimp. All meals come with miso soup, shredded cabbage salad, and sides of pickled daikon and kimchi. Refills of each are complimentary. If it's your second time here, I would recommend sticking to the impeccably fried cod ($13.99), which is everything that a Filet O'Fish or a basket of fish and chips aspires to be. They work magic with fish, a few breadcrumbs, and hot oil. The sweet white flesh nearly melts on your tongue and the impossibly delicate panko crust holds its shape just long enough to be briefly dipped into the side of tartar sauce. Not that it even needs the sauce.

It's understandable if you've had a less than stellar meal at Tong Tong Tonkatsu in the past. Aside from the dry chicken, the fried shrimp can be unremarkable. But the pork is worth a try and the cod is worth several. After all, it's about second chances here.

Tong Tong Tonkatsu

146-17A Northern Blvd., Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-321-1599

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

In sickness we find solace in familiar comfort foods which generally follow themes of soup and starch. For some, that food might be a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and for some, it may be a steaming bowl of rice porridge—risotto, congee, cháo, or for Koreans, juk. Whatever the provenance of your dish may be, the recipe involves a slow simmer of rice followed by plenty of patience, a good measure of skill and a dash of magic.

At Bonjuk in Flushing, the menu is devoted to juk, and although wonderful meat versions are available, the luscious vegetarian yachae juk ($9.95) is no less satisfying for omnivores and vegetarians alike. The dish is built around a fine mince of carrots, onions, and chives and topped with a crumble of toasted sesame seeds and slightly bitter crushed deulkkae garu (perilla seed) to lift the flavors. To interrupt any monotony, it's served with kimchi and a refreshing bowl of vinegary mul kimchi (kimchi water). If you're OK with cheating on your diet, they include a side of jangojorim (salted, boiled beef) for a welcome blast of salt. I'll also note that a single order is comically large—I managed to eat half in one sitting, the other half in a take-away container served as a splendid hand warmer during my wintery trudge back to the LIRR.

Whether your burden is microbial, a new year's goal, or simply a continuation of vegetarianism, here's a dish that accommodates all. To your health!

Bon Juk

152-26 Northern Blvd, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-939-5868

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

As a I child, I struggled with my weight. What doting mother wouldn't feed her child a second or third helping of dinner; how could she refuse those chubby cheeks and beseeching requests for more food? But when she tired of punching extra holes in my belt and fielding subtle nudges from my baseball coach who thought I'd find a bit more success in Little League if I trimmed down a bit, I was put on a diet.

But it wasn't really a diet, per se. It wasn't salads or a sad heaps of steamed vegetables. It was back-to-the-roots Korean food. It was vibrant bowls of bibimbap and low-fat and inexpensive kettles of tang, or soups. Bin dae duk (mung bean pancakes), rich in dietary fiber, replaced the sometimes starchy and overly refined pajeon (scallion pancakes). The Korean diet, at its core, is essentially health food. It's seldom the luscious strips of samgyeopsal (pork belly) or velvety slabs of galbi (short rib), which seep opulence and fat (although both are meant to be eaten with plenty of raw veggies). The everyday meal speaks in vegetables, seasonal and fresh. It demands dietary fiber and it sparingly utilizes economy cuts of animal protein. And it would be unforgivable if it were ever bland or boring. Mediterranean diet be damned, we're on to something here.

I was first introduced to Gahwa by friends who raved about their seolleongtang ($8.99), a startlingly milky soup that achieves its color and viscosity from laboriously boiling ox bones for several days. At Gahwa, the broth is fortified by a bit a few slices of beef, a handful of rice, and wisps of wheat noodles. But the star of the show here is that gorgeous bone broth, which diners coddle at the table with an augmentation of salt and chopped scallions.

Friends also spoke dreamily of Gahwa's excellent preparation of dolsot bibimbap ($13.95), a beautifully arranged package of fresh namul, or seasoned vegetables, and a bit of crumbled beef on a bed of rice in an ultra hot stone bowl. The mixture is meant to be cut with a dollop of sweet and spicy gochujang, and topped with an over-easy egg, and then energetically mixed amid a sizzle and pop.

The hot stone bowl achieves serious carmelization, or nurungji, and the diner gets the satisfaction of executing the final stage of cooking. After all, one is always more affectionate towards their dinner if they've cooked it themselves. If slaving over a hot stone bowl isn't your thing, Gahwa also serves a commendable cold version ($12.95), no less vibrant or satisfying.

If you're dining here, the bin dae duk ($8.95) is not to be missed. This pancake prominently features egg to bind the ground mung beans and finely chopped scallion, bean sprouts and pork. In fact, it was so wonderfully eggy that I was immediately reminded of a tortilla, the Spanish omelette that rounds out many a great tapas menu. And while you're at it, share a bottle of soju ($6) or two, or three. They're a steal here, compared to Gahwa's peers along Northern Boulevard or in Manhattan's K-Town.

My physique has since come to terms with what is an outwardly acceptable body type for your average on-the-go New Yorker. But that doesn't mean the diet of my youth has been discounted. I'm grateful to my mother for nudging me towards a healthier lifestyle, and I'm grateful for a restaurant like Gahwa to act as her surrogate.

Gahwa

2932 Union St, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-886-3223

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

You may wonder why we write in such effusive praise of Korean restaurants in the neighborhood of Flushing. After all, there are perfectly fine Korean dining options within Manhattan's Koreatown, and I certainly have my favorites on 32nd Street. But the devil is in the details and the yearning for something special. It's what lures us into Flushing in search of something inspiring to eat. And for years, I've returned to Geum Sung Chik Naengmyun in the Murray Hill neighborhood of Flushing, which specializes in their namesake dish, chik naengmyun, cold arrowroot noodles. But what makes this preparation of chik naengmyun truly special is the base of irresistible home brewed beef broth, yook soo, which they expertly ply into a variety of classic Korean dishes.

The restaurant's spotlight may be on the noodles, but one's attention is held rapt by the yook soo. It's not a particularly fatty or unctuous broth, nor is it salty or overly redolent of aromatics and herbs. Instead, this moo juice conveys clean beefy flavors which elevate anything it touches. It even comes in a teapot, meant to be consumed during the meal, complimentary along with your standard assortment of banchan. Yes, hot beef tea—simultaneously low-brow and brilliant, and you'll want to drink teapot after teapot of this stuff.

To fully appreciate Geun Sung's yook soo, try an order of halabuhji kimchi bulgogi ($18.99). The same broth is condensed and poured into the outer ring of a copper dome, and set over a gas flame. Then they pile on thinly sliced ribeye, lightly marinated and beautifully rife with marbled fat. That comes right after a bed of well aged kimchi, crunchy scallions and fat white mushrooms has been set in place. When heated, the meat simultaneously sizzles on its loft, while receiving a beefy steam bath from the moat of yook soo. Unlike a traditional bulgogi, which is easily overcooked to grainy disappointment, this technique produces a velvety tender and moist bite of beef.

Yook soo also makes an appearance as the soup base in bowl of chik naengmyun ($12.99). It's difficult to pinpoint what exactly makes this preparation stand out from its peers. The yook soo certainly has a great deal to do with it, but some credit is due to the perfectly pliant and toothsome arrowroot noodles. And the well orchestrated balance of textures and flavors of crispy bae (Asian pear) and sliced cucumbers, as well as an appreciable spike of vinegar and a sucker punch of sinus clearing hot mustard, certainly play a role.

The thought may be fleeting, but if you've had the oft wan and gummy bowls of naengmyun found in the kitchens in Manhattan's Koreatown, you'll think you may have found New York's best preparation of this dish at Geum Sung. Indeed, it isn't that these dishes are unique to Flushing, but the commitment to authenticity and craftsmanship found at restaurants up and down Northern Boulevard is compelling cause to eschew Manhattan's K-town. The Flushing restaurateur needn't be self conscious in appealing to the masses, nor does their menu need to look like an un-abridged encyclopedia of Korean dishes. They have carte blanche to do one or two dishes, and to do them exceedingly well. And that is certainly something to take stock in.

Geum Sung Chik Naengmyun

40-07 149th Pl, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-539-4596

"It would take an essay in excess of my 750 word allotment to describe the full glory of the buffet."

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

Amid mild protest, I impressed upon my dining companions another serving of all-you-can-eat meat, to be grilled at the table. We were at Picnic Garden in Flushing, and to their dismay, I'd gone to the self-serve buffet table and fetched a fatty swath of samgyeopsal (pork belly), a healthy mound of bulgogi (marinated and sliced sirloin), grainy and livery tangles of gopchang (spicy small intestine) and fiery dak galbi (marinated chicken thighs). It was all thoughtful filler, really. I'd dutifully stopped by the banchan station and picked up a bowl of sliced green chili peppers, a pepper with subdued but lingering heat, which are meant to be coated with dwenjang (salty fermented bean paste) and serve as an appetite stimulant. But as it turned out, the only stimulant that one needs at Picnic Garden, is their excellent galbi (marinated short rib), which is served by the tub-full.

The entry fee for Picnic Garden is now $27.99 for dinner and $17.99 for lunch—a number which has steadily gone up in increments over the years, reflecting the rising cost of ingredients and the listing supply / demand curve. Indeed, Picnic Garden is hardly a secret at this point. It's not only a neighborhood staple, but a much loved and discussed subject of food blogs and pundits devoted to the pursuit of Korean food, or at the very least, the mutual love of gluttony.

Service is pleasant but impersonal, and a bit rushed at times. A harried waitress will pause at your table long enough to snip your meat into bite-sized morsels, perhaps take a drink order, and deliver another bowl of fresh lettuce. She won't linger to chat or up-sell you another bottle of soju, but she'll survey the table long enough to make sure you're still actively eating and drinking and not just taking up space. The rest is in the diner's hands—the grilling of the meat, the condiments, and even napkins, utensils and plates.

As for ambiance, Picnic Gardens' dining room isn't much of a looker; instead it oozes practicality. It's utilitarian chic, with deep wooden benches and long ventilation pipes centered over the table top grills, and lined with bare wooden walls (except for a smattering of ironic no-smoking signs). The soundtrack is a steady roar of meat- and soju-driven chatter and jubilation, and the seemingly endless buffet table takes center stage.

And bless me, that buffet table. Part of me thinks that they supply a variety of raw meat, banchan, condiments, and other side dishes in such quantity as to distract the eater from the high ticket items, such as the galbi. (Part of me thinks that the owner is laying down their bargaining chips for sainthood.) Regardless of the restaurant's motives, it would take an essay in excess of my 750 word allotment to describe the full glory of the buffet, which is dutifully re-stocked and wiped down throughout service.

My dining companion's quibbles were well intentioned. One should focus on that thoroughly luscious, show-stealing galbi, with a resilient smokiness that'll not only permeate each luscious bite, but your clothes and even your skin for the rest of the day. Wisdom would dictate that they would serve lesser quality stuff, and that could be the case, but one can't be discerning when you're on your 4th or 5th helping. In our experience, the galbi always goes down a treat, with the right amount of sweet, salty, fatty, tender, and meaty notes. And plucked sizzling straight off the grill, boy, is it good. As such at Picnic Garden, distractions run rampant, but stick to your guns and stay with that stick-to-your-ribs galbi.

Picnic Garden

14742 Northern Blvd, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-358-5959

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

New Yorkers are slaves to dining trends, and I've stumbled upon unintentional consonants in the Korean restaurants that make up some of the Flushing dining scene. For example, Joo Mak Gol unconsciously embraces the whole local, seasonal, and artisanal thing. And as cool as that might be, Joo Mak Gol is painfully square. They're located in a near derelict stretch of sleepy shops and divey bars in Flushing instead of the hip West Village. Their regulars are gin blossomed livery cab drivers downing bottles upon bottles of soju, whole families with rowdy kids in tow, and teenagers looking for a cheap fill-up. The only models in sight are printed on weathered alcohol advertisements, and the only bottles are of soju that cost $10. Being un-cool has never tasted so good.

There's an English menu available, but the waitstaff may not be fully conversational. Despite the language barrier, I often find that grunting and pointing as a means of ordering one's food is indicative of a good meal to come.

It's impossible not to smile as a spread of banchan, soups, rice, and other dishes are plunked before you. Like any good Korean restaurant, Joo Mak Gol is generous with the portions, though in this case, they're generous to a fault. At some point, the wooden table disappeared under a sea of dishes, and they began to stack one upon the other to create space—or perhaps we weren't eating fast enough.

The restaurant carries the familiar line-up of Korean stews, grilled proteins and stir fries, but they excel at what is ostensibly "rabbit food"—their lofty respect for seasonal green vegetables and their amazing homemade dwenjang (salty fermented bean paste), which they integrate into their food as well as sell by the container. I suspect that they would make a killing with this artisanal product if they peddled it at the Brooklyn Flea instead of the clapped out back counter of this modest little restaurant.

They start off your meal with a steaming hot bowl of dwenjang jjigae (bean paste stew), which is astonishingly spicy despite its demure murkiness. You'll want to slurp the bowl of the fine homemade soybean based broth, which is deeply earthy, faintly sweet, and studded with vegetables and tofu. You'll then want to cool off with a few mouthfuls of ogokbap (5 grain rice), or a slug of that restorative soju, and then beckon for another bowl, which comes on-the-house.

You shouldn't miss their expertly roasted mackerel ($13.95) with astoundingly sweet and tender flesh. However, I'm told with good authority that during the summer months, the owner will catch and serve fish caught in local waters. I don't know the legality of such practice, but Dan Barber, eat your heart out.

The flakes of mackerel are meant to be eaten with the crunchy fresh greens, which are supplied in a variety and quality I've never encountered before in a New York-area Korean restaurant. I counted crisp leaves of cabbage, tender red leaf lettuce, slices of boiled seaweed, pointy bitter spikes of dandelion, and various herbs—cilantro, thick stalks of garlic chives, and herbaceous chrysanthemum.

Another must try is the bossam ($14.95), a no-nonsense row of thick cut pork belly, which is steamed to moist perfection and accompanied by a pile of briny raw oysters. Nestled in crisp lettuce and anointed with a bit of spicy sweet ssamjang, it's an ideal one-two punch of pork and shellfish. However, diners seeking a more familiar pork dish should sway towards the crowd-pleasing daeji bulgogi ($13.95), which is stir fried slices of pork loin, with a slight nod of heat and sweet.

On the opposite end of the spectrum of familiarity, there's daegu murijim ($25.95), an enormous deep fried cod head, with all of the nasty bits still intact—eyeballs, tongue, and gorgeous cheek meat. Underneath the pile of bean sprouts and gochujjang (hot pepper) fueled sauce, there's a fish face that only a Mother, or a non-squeamish eater, could love.

As other New York restaurants struggle to keep up with the times by offering artisanal this, and seasonal that, the old school restaurants in Flushing, such as Joo Mak Gol, have always kept it real. It's often the case that they're just too cool to realize it.

Joo Mak Gol

3526 Farrington St, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-460-0042

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

I've often wondered why the food-obsessed do what they do. Why do we visit our favorite food blogs on a daily basis, gossip about restaurants, or view hours of cooking shows on television? I like to think that it's more philosophical than honest gluttony—perhaps it's part of the natural human curiosity instinct. Food is indeed a topic with no rules and limitless possibilities, and there's always something new to hold rapt our attention. In Flushing, we'd previously explored a curiously brilliant way to cook a feast of samgyeopsal (pork belly) at Tong Samgyeop Gui, and at Han Joo restaurant, we find a cooking technique we'd never seen or heard of previously—samgyeopsal cooked on a crystal grill.

Han Joo specializes in multiple preparations and flavors of samgyeopsal. Order the dae pae samgyeopsal ($17.95) and they'll shave the pork belly into ethereally thin curls. This preparation supposedly is favorable for diners on a diet, since the fat renders out more completely when cooked. You can also play with the flavors, and try belly that's been marinated in either dwenjang (salty fermented bean paste), garlic, or green tea ($18.95 each). The purist may opt for saeng samgyeopsal ($18.95), which is simply the fresh, un-treated, thick cut pork belly.

On the center stage, they position a translucent crystal slab over a roaring gas flame and tilt it at a slight angle to allow rendered fat to escape. Such a curious cooking vessel necessitated probing. "Soojung" our waitress shrugged; "Crystal". She went on to explain that this method of cooking would produce a more tender bite of pork, and hold in the juices.

This sales pitch raised more questions than it answered. Was it perhaps composed of quartz, or was it some sort of synthetic? Why would a crystal grill provide better results than a traditional metal grill? Before we delved into a full on discussion on the thermal conductive properties of various crystalline structures, the food arrived and commanded our attention.

The waitress proudly trotted over with the luscious pink slabs of belly and layered them with a practiced hand upon the crystal grill, which responded with a fierce hiss and pop. Then she nestled a mound of kimchi downstream, which was perfumed by the resultant pork fat. And while I can't verify the scientific accuracy of our waitress's assertion, the cooked pork belly was indeed blessedly succulent with the ideal level of crispiness on the exterior.

Like any good Korean restaurant, Han Joo masquerades their generosity through an assortment of banchan, or complimentary side dishes. They did well by following the standard issue of various flavors of kimchi, as well as comforting gyeran jjim (steamed egg), and hearty doenjang jjigae (fermented bean paste soup). But there was also a treat of yang nyum ge jang —pungent raw blue crab that's been cured in soy sauce and chili peppers. Most Korean restaurants either forgo this luxury item, or charge for it on the menu. Here at Han Joo, it was an unexpected and welcome endearment.

Depending on your mood and the coming summer weather, chik naeng myun, arrowroot noodles in a slushy beef broth, may be a more suitable dining option, and at Han Joo, the noodles shine. The restaurant seems to take particular delight in specializing in this dish, as they carry multiple versions—plain with beef broth (mul chik naeng myun, $8.95), with a spicy dose of gochujang, sans broth (bibim chik naeng myun, $9.95), or topped with pungent raw skate and gochujang (hwe chik naeng myun, $10.95).

After a meal of samgyeopsal, an order of mul chik naeng myun is the perfect night cap. A giggle broke out at the tables as we slurped the pliant noodles swimming in the refreshing slushy, briny, broth alongside crunchy slices of radish, Korean pear and cucumber. The jubilation may have came from an over-ambitious dose of sinus-clearing mustard, or the feeling that this simple dish of noodles tastes like summertime in a bowl.

After dinner, I spent hours researching the merits of cooking samgyeopsal on crystal without a conclusive explanation. I could only conclude that despite the unconventional method of cooking, the end product was no less familiar or delicious. Indeed, whether it's culinary curiosity or outright hunger that compels you, both needs can be thoroughly satisfied at Han Joo restaurant in Flushing, Queens.

Han Joo Chik Naeng Myun & BBQ

41-06 149 Place, Flushing NY 11355 (map)
718-359-6888

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

I love food fights (as in, debates, though the physical act certainly has its time and place). Few things give me greater joy than to overhear strangers squabbling over which restaurant has the best pizza, the best burger, the best falafel, or the best french fries. The debate over the best Korean fried chicken comes up less frequently, but is discussed with no less ferocity and affection. In the case of Korean fried chicken in New York, the same names tend to be brought up. However, Debasaki in Flushing is a contender that is unfairly omitted from most "Best Korean Fried Chicken in NYC" lists. This dark horse not only has a full package of food and drinks, but beckons with an interesting riff on Korean Fried Chicken—intriguing enough to warrant a visit to Flushing.

The interior is easy on the eyes, despite its location in a relatively sketchy stretch of Flushing. There are large, comfortable, romantic booths usually occupied by younger and hipper residents of the neighborhood. There are clean bathrooms, slick adornments, pretty young waitresses and a soft soundtrack of K-Pop in the background. Tables are equipped with a button to call for service, but an emphatic bleat of "Jeogiyo!" (I'm here!) is enough to summon your waitress, who may ignore you unless beckoned.

Among the eclectic menu of anju, or Korean drinking food, with everything from Japanese style curry to nakji bokkeum (spicy sautéed octopus) and odeng guk (fish cake soup), the restaurant's focus is on fried chicken, which they serve in several creative variations. There's your standard chicken wing ($17.95 - 20 pcs), of course, blissfully meaty with the double-fried exterior for a crunch that is adept, though not quite as crispy as their competition's. And the spicy gloss is enough to snap you to attention, but not enough to overwhelm the interior. Additionally, there's a smattering of toasted sesame seeds to provide additional richness.

But the regular wings are no competition for their 'gyoza' wings ($17.95 - 15 pcs), a polyglot fried chicken which is de-boned and stuffed with either hot peppers, shrimp, corn, or a vegetable medley. These flavors can be ordered individually, but it's much more thrilling to roll the dice and order a combination, provided that no one in your group has shellfish allergies or is particularly squeamish about spice. Will that bite through the shatteringly crisp skin yield a sweet mouthful of corn or a jolt of jalapeño? Half the fun lies in the anticipation. (The other half is the playful tastiness of these gyoza wings.)

There's also life beyond the fried chicken, and one shouldn't play it safe. Spice hunters will want to try the kimchi bokkeumbap ($9.95 + $1 for cheese), a fiercely red (they must surely use red dye #40 to achieve color of this ferocity) and hearty dish of spicy rice meant to be shared. An egg over-easy is applied, the runny yolk providing a welcome accomplice to the vibrant rice.

They'll also want to try the bul dak ($18.95 + $1 for cheese), or 'fire chicken', which can be ordered either mild or spicy. An order of the mild denotes that a hillock of blissfully tender bits of thigh meat, slathered in a red glaze and bound by a creamy tangle of gooey cheese, will have a manageable kindling of heat. The spicy version was strong enough to drive the brawniest and bravest among us to squeal for mercy and plow through piles of napkins as we desperately mopped our glowing brows.

I'll not opine on the argument of which Korean fried chicken is "the best." However, one could see this as an opportunity to order a pitcher of soju cocktail and a plate of those weird and wonderful gyoza stuffed wings and happily bicker away all night.

Debasaki

53367 Farrington St, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-886-6878
debasaki.com

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

Let's say that you're in Flushing for the evening; perhaps you've finished a meal of samgyeopsal or galbi. And say you're feeling a mite thirsty, but are thoroughly confused by local watering holes around the Murray Hill neighborhood of Flushing. There are sketchy venues that proclaim to be "lounges," although the front windows have been blacked out with a spookily opaque layer of film. Or there's 153 Fusion Pocha (Flushing residents simply call it "Il-Oh-Sam" or "1-5-3" in case you're asking for directions), with its cheerful neon Mets signs, large comfortable booths, and boisterous atmosphere. Although 153 is unapologetically authentically Korean—the waiters are fluent in English, the menus however, are not—it's a fun and a fine place for drinks and a late night snack.

When trying to describe an indoor Korean pojang macha, or pocha for short, to a Western audience, you could draw likeness to that of a German beer hall. The atmosphere is festive and there's simple yet hearty food available that is meant to cushion the blow of alcohol rather than for heightened gustatory pleasure. And to sit and have a single quiet beer in solitude is out of the question; you're out to get hammered with your friends.

However, unlike the long communal benches of a beer hall, 153's seating is mainly semi-enclosed booths with deep wooden benches which allow your party to be uproarious without disturbing your neighbor. And naturally K-Pop music replaces the German trinklieder.

It's time for a drink, and I suspect that the majority of Americans who have had a Korean meal or two would be familiar with soju ($12.99), a clear distilled spirit consumed by the shot-glass. 153 carries seven different brands, including Chum-Churum, Kumbokju, and Jinro's Chamisul and Chamisul Fresh. There's beer, of course, both domestic and Korean, but for a more interesting beverage try a bottle of the guh moon kong makgeolli ($12.99), a lightly alcoholic drink derived from rice. It's a good choice for the sensible drinker: subtle, lightly sweet, ever so effervescent (some people prefer to mix in a non-Cola for extra zing), and faintly nutty from the addition of guh moon kong (sweet black bean) flavoring.

Oship seju is a favorite of mine—it's assembled at the table by your waiter, who mixes a bottle of baekseju ($14.99) and soju at the table. Baekseju, a sweet rice-based alcohol which is brewed with ginseng and other herbs, is rounded out by the neutrality of the soju, creating oship seju, a drink with the delicate sweetness like a Riesling, complemented by pleasant herbaceous notes.

Although most customers are here with the singular goal of pickling their livers, it's customary in Korean drinking culture to order anju, or drinking food, which comes in generous share-able portions. Buddaejigae ($17.99), a spicy mish-mash of ramen noodles, spam, hotdogs, baked beans, enoki mushrooms, and tofu, gets appreciably finer in the presence of alcohol.

153 also serves an adept version of galbi ddeokbokki ($18.99), slices of tender marinated beef with chewy rice cake batons in a lightly sweet glaze. And if you order enough booze, they'll be happy to continuously replenish your complimentary bowl of gyeran jjim (steamed egg).

Braver souls should try the bul dak ($18.99), which translates to "fire chicken"—an appropriate moniker for this dish, which features plump nuggets of dark meat chicken and rice cakes slathered in an outrageously spicy sauce. There's a layer of gooey melted cheese to take the edge off, but a gulp of cold beer or a swig of makgeolli is the perfect foil for the vicious heat.

As it should be, drinking begets sustenance, and sustenance begets drinking. So let's say that you're in Flushing for the evening—let's make a night of it, shall we?

153 Fusion Pocha

40-11 149th Pl, Flushing NY 11354 (map)
718-353-3292

"Given the dining trends, we're apt to see additional in vogue restaurants, perhaps somewhere in the Village, introduce a large-format goat feast in the near future."

[Photos: Chris Hansen]

The New York dining scene follows a constant ebb and flow of trends. Consider the large format meal, arguably the most well known being David Chang's bo ssäm feast at Momofuku Ssäm Bar. Paying respect to the whole animal and primal cuts can now be seen as a feather in the fedora of a restaurant's coolness and credibility. Or consider goat—once a meat for squares, but now in vogue. You can probably see where I'm going with this. Should the adventurous epicure with an outsized appetite aspire for a large format feast addressed to goat meat, a sojourn to Bangane in Flushing, Queens, is a must.

The restaurant's curtailed menu includes Korean classics such as ori gui (duck), samgyeopsal (pork belly), or galbi (marinated short ribs), all grilled with flourish at the table. But the pride of Bangane is baebaji sooyuk —the restaurant's slang for the boiled belly and rib portion of goat meat. An order ($55.90) is meant for two diners (although it could easily satisfy three). $55.90 for a dinner for two may seem pricey for the area, but reflected in this price is actually a 3-course prix fixe dinner with all the indulgent accord but none of the daintiness and frivolity of Western degustation.

The first course arrives as an entire side of boiled on-the-bone goat, impressively large and gloriously primal. The serving vessel is nothing more than a massive cutting board, which they find room for on your table amongst a sea of colorful and generous banchan. The waitress disassembles the beast, flaking the meat into bite-sized morsels, while paring off the recalcitrant strands of unsavory connective tissue and fat. She then layers the meat into a buchu (chive) lined steamer basket with solemn efficiency, only cracking a faint smile when a diner audibly swoons with delight.

Patrons who are versed in goat will appreciate the assertively meaty and earthy flavors in this simple preparation. We huddled around the steamer basket, ravenously stabbing with our chopsticks at the cooked goat belly, which is subsequently tucked inside a sangchu ssam (lettuce wrap). Condiments can be applied—as much as the individual eater feels appropriate—including pa muchum (scallion salad) or a dab of ssamjang (spicy bean paste) which has been stippled with deulkkae garu (perilla seeds). This method of dining does much to tame the richness of the meat, creating a wondrous balance of flavors and textures. And look, Mom, we're eating our vegetables!

On to the second course. After two-thirds or so of the steamed goat belly has been picked through, the remaining meat and buchu is transferred to a vigorously boiling jungol, a hearty stew composed of a confidently spicy but not antagonizing broth, cooked strands of ssugkat (edible chrysanthemum), more deulkkae garu, and other vegetables. This time, our waitress takes a pair of spoons and deftly mixes the stew—the sharpness of the broth and the crunch of vegetables compliments the meatiness and gaminess of the goat, resulting in an outstanding bowl of soup.

A dining companion muses out-loud that, after tasting the jungol, she didn't believe it possible for the next course to trump the previous—this notion was tested by the final course. Table service is concluded with a course of bokkeumbap, fresh rice that's been lightly fried in the remaining jungol and dressed with strips of roasted seaweed and a squirt of sesame oil. The waitress ladles bowls of the steaming hot rice for each diner, and then excuses herself with a polite bow. At this point in the meal, we've stuffed ourselves to bursting—not only on the ssam and jungol, but also on the generous parade of banchan and excellently done gyeran jjim (steamed egg), of which we've ordered seconds and even thirds (complimentary). But the rice is too luscious and too fragrant to ignore, so push forward past the limit of sensibility in the ignoble pursuit of indulgence.

After the final self-congratulatory glass of soju was gulped, the bill settled, and the unenviable 20 minute return voyage on the LIRR underway, I noted with slight regret that such an exultant dining experience is so distant for most city-dwellers -- Resto seems to be the only Manhattan restaurant with a large format goat option. However, I maintain the prediction that given the dining trends, we're apt to see additional in vogue restaurants, perhaps somewhere in the Village, introduce a large-format goat feast in the near future. Until that happens, one can dine splendidly and fashionably at Bangane.

Bangane

16519 Northern Blvd, Flushing, NY 11358 (map)
718-762-2799