Dangerously Addictive Spicy Udon in Itaewon, Seoul

2025-03-13 · Original (Korean)

This article was translated from the original Korean post with AI assistance. Prices in parentheses are approximate conversions. Read the original Korean post →

Itaewon Maeun Udon (Spicy Udon)

I recently got an office in Itaewon (a popular international district in Seoul), so I've been going there a lot lately, and I can really feel a chilling difference from the past. Unlike before when it was bustling with foreigners, now I only see local-looking expats rather than tourists, and hardly any Koreans. The streets aren't just quiet; they feel almost desolate, and the shops are completely empty. Walking by, I couldn't help but think, 'It must be so hard just to stay afloat.' The local merchants must be deeply worried about how to revive Itaewon.

When you try to grab a bite in this area, it's rare to find places that serve single portions. So, I just walked wherever my feet took me and stumbled upon 'Itaewon Maeun Udon'.

Japanese vibes

Since the shop is small, I figured they would definitely sell single portions. I peeked inside and saw they were taking orders via a kiosk, which meant I could eat comfortably. They even have dedicated solo tables, making it a great spot for eating alone in Itaewon.

The menu only has udon and gimbap (seaweed rice rolls). A plain instant udon felt a bit lacking, so I ordered the odeng (fish cake) udon. The menu is so simple that using the kiosk isn't difficult at all. (Though my standard for difficulty is the Subway kiosk.)

Simple

Solo seating on the left

Odeng udon

When I first got my bowl, it didn't look like anything special. It didn't look very spicy, and there was only about half a spoonful of dadaegi (spicy seasoning paste), so I just mixed it in without a second thought and took a bite. But wow... it is insanely spicy. It's so spicy my stomach burned, and the broth must have chili oil in it because it packs a massive punch. I'm a total lightweight when it comes to spice, and I got absolutely wrecked. Sweat wasn't just beading on my forehead; it started pouring down like a waterfall. My nose was running non-stop—enough to clear the sinuses of anyone with a cold.

I thought about just eating half and leaving the rest, but surprisingly, it tastes incredibly good.

Are the noodles special? No. It seems like they just use machine-made instant noodles.

Is the broth special? No. This also tastes like an instant broth with a few extra ingredients, completely overpowered by the heat of the chili powder.

So is it bad? No. That's the fascinating part. It's undeniably too spicy, and I was sweating buckets, yet I couldn't stop eating. It would be tough without danmuji (pickled radish), but thankfully it's self-serve, so I kept bringing more to soothe my mouth and ended up finishing the whole bowl.

I can only describe it as a dangerously addictive flavor. It has zero unique traits and is just incredibly spicy, yet you keep eating it.

It's super spicy even if you take out almost all the dadaegi. Spice lightweights should remove as much as possible before eating.

Some foreigners came in to eat too, and sure enough, after a few bites, they focused entirely on their gimbap. But amazingly, they also finished their udon to the last drop. It wasn't a competitive eating contest, yet everyone was sweating profusely while eating.

The hangover from yesterday's soju? Gone. That lingering sniffle? Cured instantly. If you drink the broth, you don't need medicine. It feels like every ounce of mucus in your body is being flushed out.

If you love spicy food, I highly recommend this place. I'll say it again: there's nothing particularly gourmet about it. But it's an addictive bowl of udon that you will finish to the end. Even as I write this, just thinking about the udon I had yesterday brings back the heat—my face is sweating and my mouth is watering.