Our restaurant sits on the quiet fringes, away from the bustling center of the Bangi-dong food district.
Located on the second floor, guests often find themselves searching for the entrance.
By conventional standards, it is not an ideal location.
Yet, somehow, people find their way to us, leaving me both curious and deeply grateful.
The stories they bring are just as diverse as their reasons for visiting.
We host family gatherings, couples on quiet dates, business meetings, friends in deep conversation, and even nervous first dates or formal pre-wedding introductions.
The ages of our guests span generations.
Today, our youngest guest was a charming five-year-old girl, while a silver-haired grandfather in his seventies enjoyed our VIP special with his family. While we see many guests in their thirties, the restaurant is a crossroads for all walks of life.
A corner dedicated to the stories and gratitude shared by our guests.
I have always had a special affection for family guests. When I first opened this restaurant, my vision was to create a space where families felt truly welcome. The entire concept was built around this intention. I wanted a place where three generations could dine comfortably together—a home where unspoken warmth flows freely. I hoped our hospitality would mirror the joy of a mother greeting her child at the door after a long journey home. In that sincere welcome, one finds quiet dedication and heartfelt care.
Today, I feel compelled to write about a particular couple whose story touched me deeply. The image of a guest with eyes welling up with tears continues to linger in my mind.
They had reserved a private room for 7:00 PM. Due to current operating restrictions closing our doors at 9:00 PM, they were our final guests of the evening. We welcomed them and proceeded with our service, preparing and serving each dish with care. As I brought out the sashimi and shared the details of the cut, I asked how they had found us. They replied that this was their "last supper." The phrase was unusual, and my curiosity led me to ask further. They explained that they had married only a week ago, but the wife was scheduled to depart for a two-year assignment in Ivory Coast, Africa.
It was a bittersweet revelation.
They were a lovely couple, perfectly suited for one another. Anyone could see they were a match made in heaven.
As the husband spoke, his eyes were brimming with tears.
Because they would be apart for the next two years, they had chosen to call this meal their "last supper."
Moved by their situation, I offered a few words of comfort.
I knew my humble thoughts might not fully ease their hearts, but they were the small pieces of wisdom I have gathered while navigating the world.
To the bride who departs for Africa tomorrow.
I sincerely hope those two years become a profound source of nourishment for your life together.
I wish you health and strength while you are in that distant land.
As we promised, I look forward to seeing you both in good health two years from now. I will be here to welcome you back.