It’s my second time in South Korea, and I still can’t quite believe I’m back within just a year. My first trip, back in February, left me stirred in more ways than one. Seoul can feel like a city wrapped in social media gloss, polished appearances, and an ever-present couple culture. As a solo traveler, it’s easy to feel like you’re always missing your other half. But then… there were the bars.

Tucked behind unmarked doors, hidden down narrow alleys or spiraling staircases, I found something deeper. Spaces where masks slipped. Where the music was low, the lights softer, and stories were poured one glass at a time. That part of Korea left me shaken—and thirsty for more. So here I am again. But this time, not alone. Joining me in spirit—and in spirits—is my booze buddy and sister in mind, Stéphanie, aka @attadrink. Together, we’re tracing not just the streets of Seoul, but the spirit of South Korea itself. One cocktail, one conversation, one quiet moment at a time. This is a love story on second sight. Let the K-Pour Chronicles begin.

A Quick Pour: An Introduction to Korea’s Cocktail Scene

South Korea’s cocktail scene has transformed—quietly, intentionally—over the past decade. What once revolved around hotel lounges and simple highballs has bloomed into one of Asia’s most creative and grounded bar cultures. Seoul is at its center, but its energy spreads outward—measured, confident, and deeply connected to place. This isn’t a loud or boastful scene. It draws on Japanese-influenced technique and overlays it with a uniquely Korean sense of seasonality, restraint, and hospitality. Cocktails here aren’t just drinks. They’re distilled expressions of landscape, craft, and care.

What’s Stirring the Scene

One of the most exciting shifts in Korea’s cocktail culture is the embrace of local ingredients. Bartenders are no longer leaning solely on Western spirits. Instead, they’re building drinks with soju—especially premium styles like Hwayo or traditional Andong soju—as well as with makgeolli, cheongju (refined rice wine), and fruit ferments like maesil (green plum) or omija (schisandra). Flavours like yuja, jujube, ssuk (mugwort), kkaennip (perilla), pine, ginseng, and local honeys bring complexity and identity to the glass. These aren’t exotic flourishes—they’re foundational.

Beyond the bar counter, fermentation is a pillar of Korean culinary heritage, and it shows up boldly in cocktails. Techniques using nuruk, koji, lacto-ferments, and house-brewed kombucha add texture and depth. Korean teas—green, black, fermented, or herbal—are often used as infusions, spritzers, or even carbonation bases, offering subtle layers without overpowering the drink.

There’s also a quiet revolution happening in sustainability. Low-waste here isn’t just buzz—it’s embedded in the process. Citrus peels become cordials. Fermentation lees are repurposed into syrups. Many bars run on lean prep lists and reimagined ingredients, paired with crystal-clear ice and beautifully minimal glassware. It’s meticulous, but not performative.

Menus, too, are evolving. While some bars stick with à la carte classics, others are adopting a tasting-menu or omakase-style format, where cocktails are paired with anju—Korean drinking snacks. These courses follow the rhythm of the seasons: yuja in winter, maesil in spring, toasted barley in late summer. It’s bartending with a chef’s sensitivity.

Perhaps most defining is the hospitality style. Step into a serious cocktail bar in Seoul and you’ll likely find counter seating, a soft atmosphere, and a sense of ritual: drinks poured with two hands, elders served first, bartenders who move quietly but intentionally. Many of the best spots require reservations—but behind the formality is warmth, humility, and welcome.

Names to Know

South Korea’s top bars now regularly appear on Asia’s 50 Best Bars and World’s 50 Best Bars lists—not as novelties, but as leaders. You’ll find Charles H., a speakeasy-style icon in the Four Seasons Seoul, known for its elegance and consistency. Le Chamber, hidden behind a bookshelf, offers theatricality with flawless execution. Alice Cheongdam brings whimsy and narrative to each drink, while Zest redefines sustainability with low-ABV innovation and house-fermented ingredients. Then there’s Bar Cham—deeply Korean, quietly excellent—where tradition and modernity meet with grace.

Why It Matters

This isn’t just a great place to drink. It’s a country reimagining its drinking culture. Traditional customs—rituals of pouring, of shared glasses, of showing respect—are still deeply rooted here. But now, they’re being reinterpreted through a modern, thoughtful lens. Korea brings playfulness where others bring formality, warmth where others bring technique. The result is a cocktail culture that feels alive, yet grounded. If Japan gave us ceremony, Korea gives us character.

I came back to South Korea for many reasons. But mostly, I came back to chase the quiet moments behind the bar—the clink of glass on wood, the scent of toasted rice or pine, the way a bartender leans in and says, “Try this.” Let’s see what the city’s pouring.

My journey through South Korea’s bars began last year with a collection of stories I shared. Now, the next chapter is complete. The new adventures, freshly written and waiting for you, unfold below. Dive in, sip by sip, and let the flavours and memories carry you through each moment.

✦ Episode 1: The First Sips

K-Pour Chronicles - Episode 1: The First Sips
The first night out couldn’t have been better. Golden autumn sun and Seoul feeling just right and familiar. Stéphanie and I were all smiles, happy to see each other again — this time, in another country. Our story began nine years ago, at the Edinburgh edition of Tales of the Cocktail. Since then, we’ve shared drinks and stories in our hometowns, Berlin and Geneva. We travelled to France to visit Chartreuse, drank our way through Madrid, reunited in the Philippines earlier this year… and now, we’re here. An alcoholiday in South Korea — twogether. Gong-Gan — Where Consistency Holds the...

✦ Episode 2: Three Ways a City Reveals Itself

K-Pour Chronicles - Episode 2: Three Ways a City Reveals Itself
The second day unfolded differently. Slower at first, then widening, then gently rising towards the night. Three bars again. Three distinct rooms. Three different ways Seoul speaks when approached without hurry.  Synapse — Neighbourhood Bar in a Small Room We began at Synapse, on the second floor of a quiet concrete building in Seongsu. A neighbourhood bar in the softest, most genuine sense — no neon, no theatrics, no invitation louder than a small doorway and a warm glow. The room holds perhaps ten seats, arranged with care rather than symmetry. The light is gentle. The music present but never...

✦ Episode 3: Jeju Moments

K-Pour Chronicles – Episode 3: Jeju Moments
We swapped the clinking glasses and skyline shimmer of Seoul for sea breeze, wide skies, and winding island roads — the kind that ask you to slow down, even when time is short. Only two weeks this time, and still so much to discover. Now, writing this in hindsight, I can still feel the warmth of the November sun, the salty air tangled with the scent of fresh tangerines, and that light island haze that makes everything feel slightly softer around the edges. This episode of the K-Pour Chronicles takes us to Jeju Island — not just far from the...

✦ Episode 4: Déjà Bu in Gyeongju

K-Pour Chronicles – Episode 4: Déjà Bu in Gyeongju
Some places you visit once. Others call you back. After the bright lights of Seoul and the salty air of Jeju, we returned to Gyeongju — the city that stayed with me most deeply from my first trip through South Korea. There’s a quiet magic here: the slow rhythm of daily life, the glow of the sun over temple roofs, the stillness between tombs and trees. It feels timeless. And then there are the bars. Especially the bars. Gyeongju’s cocktail scene isn’t loud. It doesn’t try to impress. But it is honest, personal, and quietly brilliant. Two of my favourite...

✦ Episode 5: Creating new Memories in Daegu

K-Pour Chronicles - Episode 5: Creating new memories at Daegu
Some bars you visit once. Others linger with you quietly, long after the last sip. After the cosmopolitan buzz of Seoul, the sea-salted rhythm of Jeju, and the slow grace of Gyeongju, it was time for something new. So we boarded a train and headed to Daegu. Only an hour from Gyeongju by rail, Daegu feels like a shift in tone. It’s Korea’s fourth-largest city — modern and industrious — yet it doesn’t force itself upon you. Maybe that’s why I liked it from the start.  Daegu is known for its traditional textile markets, its spicy cuisine, and the dry...

✦ Episode 6: Nature, Craft & Welcome in Busan

K-Pour Chronicles - Episode 6: Nature, Craft & Welcome
Some bars you discover. Others you return to. I first visited Make Zero Bar in early 2025. It was a quiet night, but something about the place stayed with me — the calm, the concept, the care behind every pour. So when my K-Pour trail brought me back to Busan, I didn’t think twice. One night in the city, and one place to go. The reward came instantly. The owner looked up, smiled, and said: “You’ve been here before, right?” A small gesture — but like everything at Make Zero, it meant more. That quiet recognition, the care, the genuine...

✦ Episode 7: The Final Pour

Love Letters from the Bar – Korea’s Spirits, My Memories

I didn’t just go to Korea to drink – I went to listen and learn. To find the soul behind the spirit. This journey was never about ticking off names or chasing the next big thing. It was about meaning—in the places we sip, the people we meet, and the small, intentional gestures that stay with us long after the last drop. The way soju carries rice and time. The way a bar menu becomes a map. The way someone remembers your face—and pours accordingly.

Each episode became its own little love letter. Written slowly, written with feeling. Because that’s how it works: I need time. I travel back through my notes, my senses, the vibe of each place. I close my eyes and sip again, quietly, through memory.

Turns out, I’m a bit of a romantic—something I never really claimed before. But writing this opened a softer side. I fell for the process. For the rhythm of storytelling. For the way a drink, a smile, or a late-night bar conversation can turn into something lasting.

There was golden autumn and streetlight nights. Rental car drives on Jeju Island and mornings waking up at Jay’s mother’s hanok. It was beautiful. All of it. And it’s not over. This is the last pour—for now. But I’ll be back. Again in autumn, with open ears and an eager tongue, learning the language, sipping more slowly, going even deeper. Seven episodes. Countless spirits. And a thousand stories still waiting. To the next pour, wherever it finds us.

With love and curiosity, Alexandra 알렉산드라