Surime: A Royal Silla Table in Gyeongju

Soy sauce is not treated as a seasoning, but as time itself. We use soy sauce aged for more than twelve years, never rushed and never adjusted to speed. It is allowed to settle slowly, so depth forms without sharpness, letting the food breathe rather than be overtaken by salt. The soy sauce jars are placed facing west, where sunlight remains steady and temperature changes are gentle. This direction supports natural air circulation and even fermentation, without forcing the process. The aim is not intensity, but balance—an aging that unfolds quietly over years. From long-aged soy sauce to broths simmered for more than thirty-six hours, our cooking follows the same principle. Flavor is not meant to fill the body, but to ease it. What remains after the meal should feel light, shaped by time rather than technique. This is how we continue the philosophy of Korean cuisine—through patience, restraint, and trust in fermentation.

The table begins long before the meal itself. Jang, Korea’s traditional fermented sauces, are slowly aged under sun and wind, forming the foundation of the food. More than seasoning, they are treated as living ingredients shaped by time, climate, and care, quietly guiding balance without explanation. From these aged jang, seasonal banchan are prepared. In-house pickles, simply dressed vegetables, and small dishes arranged with restraint come together as a single table. The focus is not on abundance, but on clarity—allowing each flavor to remain distinct while staying connected to the whole. When the banchan are set and steam rises from freshly cooked rice, the depth of Korean flavor is felt before words are needed. Ingredients shaped by time, food grounded in tradition, and a meal that speaks first through taste—these are the details meant to linger long after the table is cleared.

At Surime, many of our daily rituals begin with quiet gestures—sweeping the courtyard, preparing warm broth, or lighting the room with soft morning colors. These moments reflect the Korean way of welcoming guests: calm, intentional, and rooted in tradition. Recently, a small companion has joined these scenes.  Her name is Suri. She wanders between the jangdok jars and sunlit steps, becoming part of the gentle rhythm that surrounds our kitchen. In a place where craftsmanship and philosophy guide the day, Suri has already grown into a symbol of the warmth we hope visitors feel when they arrive. Suri’s presence also carries something we value deeply at Surime: the harmony between nature, everyday life, and Korean hospitality. She reminds us that a traditional Korean restaurant is not only defined by its recipes, but also by the atmosphere shaped by people, animals, and the landscape around us.  As we prepare for our opening in Gyeongju—a city known for its history, temples, and ...