When it was finally our turn, we stepped inside to find red-tiled walls and tightly packed tables. It was much more crowded than it looked from the outside, with barely any room to step. Word has it that Nari's House is where Korea's frozen pork belly (naengsam) craze first began, which probably explains the incredibly long wait. The noisy, lively atmosphere makes it the quintessential old-school spot (nopo) for grabbing a glass of soju after work. Given its location in Itaewon (Seoul's international district), I expected to see quite a few foreign customers, but looking around, almost everyone was Korean. Still, since it perfectly showcases our frozen pork belly culture and has such deep history, it seems like a great place to bring international friends. Next time, I'll have to bring a foreign friend and teach them the art of grilling pork belly. As soon as we sat down, the staff efficiently lined the grill with aluminum foil and laid out the side dishes. The turnover rate is so high that the workers' hand movements are almost machine-like. Soon after, a tray piled high with frozen pork belly arrived, and I was quite surprised by the color of the meat. Even though it was frozen, the quality looked visibly fresh and excellent. Since the restaurant does such good business, the meat sells out immediately without sitting around, which seems to maintain its freshness. As soon as the grill heated up, we tossed the meat onto the foil. With a loud sizzle, the savory smell of pork fat hit my nose. Just like the premium cuts I previously had with my family at Bugakjeong, this rustic frozen pork belly has its own intense charm. Since it's thin and cooks in a flash, there's no better drinking snack for hungry people. While the meat cooked, I sampled the side dishes one by one, and they were all absolutely delicious. From the thick rolled omelet and sweet-and-spicy cucumber salad to the crisp bean sprouts and kimchi, there were no weak links. The green onion salad (pajeori) here is especially mind-blowing, perfectly cutting through the rich, greasy taste of the pork belly. I grabbed two crispy pieces of meat, dipped them in sesame oil and salt, piled on plenty of green onion salad, and popped it in my mouth—it was truly fantastic. How could I not order soju after tasting this? Tossing back a shot of soju with every piece of meat, it went down so smoothly I almost couldn't tell if I was drinking alcohol or water. Today's drinking session felt even sweeter than when I ate and drank heartily at Mr. Gukbap a while back. By the time we finished eating, the smell of roasted meat had permeated my entire body like a badge of honor, making it slightly embarrassing to ride the subway home. The deep, lingering smell is an unavoidable downside, so I highly recommend not wearing your favorite clothes here. It's a devilishly stubborn scent that won't easily fade, no matter how much fabric deodorizer you spray.
