Where to eat Pyongyang-style naengmyeon in Seoul

It's been almost seven years since moving from Seoul, and since then, the city has only been visited three times. What's missed most are its cold, sunny winters, its vibrant cultural life, the artisanal makgeolli, and the river, but one dish stands out in the memory: Pyongyang's naengmyeon.

At first glance, naengmyeon is hardly remarkable: pale buckwheat noodles, a few slices of beef, maybe half an egg, and ice-cold broth. Without steam or sizzle, it's the kind of dish you might overlook, until it catches you. Its flavors are subtle, but the cold, the brine, and the starch of the noodles linger.

Although the dish originated in Pyongyang, in Seoul it has become the city's quintessential dish. It used to be a winter dish, served in warm, ondol-heated rooms, with a broth so cold it made your teeth ache. Today it's more of a summer ritual: a stainless steel bowl frosted with condensation, filled with ice-cold broth, vinegar, and a faint aroma of mustard.

It's not love at first sight for everyone. The broth is thin and scant, the noodles break rather than chew, it's low in sugar, and the spiciness is minimal. It's so understated it's almost stubborn. The dish doesn't dazzle; it invites you to savor it, and between the first and last bite, you're already thinking about the next.

Some of the best broths can be found in hidden corners of downtown Seoul. Pildong Myeonok, near Myeongdong, has a dining room with yellowed walls, clinking metal bowls, and old ceiling fans. Eulji Myeonok, in a neighborhood of print shops and design studios, serves a broth that evokes a bygone era. Wooraeok, in Jung-gu, is more elegant, with crisp white shirts, bulgogi smoke, and a richer broth. Gangnam Myeonok, across the river, embraces minimalism, with clear broth and springy noodles. Its mandu are so large they can't be eaten in one bite: they're served with a splash of ganjang and a bite of crispy kimchi yeolmu.

Eulmildae, in Mapo, is a favorite. It has beige linoleum floors, strong-willed older women running the place, and a line that stretches out onto the street before lunchtime. Its broth is lighter, with a slightly more intense beef flavor, and its noodles have a firmer texture. Its secret ingredient is suyuk, thin slices of slow-cooked beef, served with salt and soy sauce with spring onions.

These places don't look modern and don't try to attract attention. However, a new generation of young chefs has taken up the mantle with cleaner, colder, and more minimalist versions. In essence, the dish remains the same: broth, noodles, and silence.

Naengmyeon, at its best, is like a breeze through an open window. It's not dramatic, but it is essential. It connects generations, allows for reinterpretations, and proves that not all exquisite dishes need to be flashy. Some just need to be cold.