Sokcho Mulhoe by a Local: Fisherman Friends Call Us First
Mulhoe · Sokcho Hangari Mulhoe
I was born and raised in Sokcho. When my friends and the older men I grew up with, now fishermen, finish their dawn run, they phone our kitchen before the catch goes to the wholesale market. That is how we get first sight of the good seafood that came in that day.
In a mulhoe restaurant (mulhoe is Korean cold raw-fish soup), the ingredients count for more than the knife work.
That’s the conclusion we’ve reached after many years of this. However fast your hands are, however good your broth is, if the fish that came in that morning is mediocre, the guest knows immediately. There is no hiding it.
And the best ingredients are not bought with money alone. Especially not in Sokcho.
The first phone call from the harbour
Here is what being a local means.
I went to primary and middle school here and still live in the same neighbourhood. The friends I played football with, the older lads from the neighbourhood, the younger kids who tagged along: a good number of them still go to sea. In Sokcho that is entirely ordinary.
A boat comes in from its dawn run, and our kitchen phone rings first. “Hey, the catch is good today. Come look.”
The best seafood the sea gave up that morning reaches us before it goes to the wholesale market. Fish that has passed through auction and several handlers is not the same as fish straight off the boat. Every hour in between costs freshness.
There’s something we often say:
“Getting first look at the good catch straight off the boats: that is what our mulhoe is built on.”
Can you get the best fish just by paying more?
People sometimes ask us that.
No. Fishermen don’t hand their best catch to just anyone. After a night of hard work, you want it going to someone who’ll treat it properly. So knowing each other for years, and trusting each other, counts for a lot.
Living in one town for a long time builds that kind of trust. It’s not that we’re anything special. We’ve just had the luck of growing up here.
A shop that says “not today”
The other side of a hometown network is the pressure to stay honest.
The sea does what it wants. High seas keep boats in port, and closed seasons stop fishing by law. If the shoals move, a species can stay scarce all year.
Squid is the clearest example. Sokcho used to be synonymous with squid; now catches swing dramatically. There are stretches when the price multiplies several times over.
That’s why we always list our fresh-squid dishes (Squid Mulhoe, Squid Hoedeopbap, Raw Squid) honestly as “market price.” And on days when the quality isn’t there, we simply don’t sell it.
We know that’s disappointing. We hear “why not today?” fairly often. We still think it beats serving something mediocre. We owe that much to the friends who caught it.
That’s the whole of what we do: take ingredients like that and serve them in an earthenware pot, cold to the final spoonful.
The season decides the menu
Because we buy straight from the boats, what goes into our mulhoe changes a little with each season.
Spring brings what’s best in spring, autumn what’s best in autumn. Species under closed-season protection drop out and others take their place.
So please treat our menu photos as examples. Either way, the bowl is filled with the good catch that came in that day. That much we can promise.
Giving back to the city
Twice a year, Sokcho Hangari Mulhoe invites around 300 displaced elders for a meal.
Sokcho is a city of people displaced from the North.
Families who fled south during the Korean War stopped here thinking they’d soon return home, and this became home instead. The neighbourhood where they settled is today’s Abai Village (“abai” is Hamgyeong-dialect Korean for a father or old man).
Those elders are our parents’ generation, and our fishermen friends’ parents too. People who spent their lives working the sea to raise their children.
There’s no grand reason. A restaurant that lives off the Sokcho sea doing something for Sokcho just seems obvious to us.
The days we host them are chaos. They’re also the best days of the year. One “that was good” from an elder is enough to carry you a long way.
In front of Sokcho Beach, 3 minutes’ walk from the terminal
We serve what the sea gave that day, straight into an earthenware pot.
We’re directly in front of Sokcho Beach and a 3-minute walk from Sokcho Express Bus Terminal. Coming without a car is easy, and if you do drive, we have a large car park of our own.
After eating, walk out to the beach right in front of us, or swim in summer. Our top-floor Sky Stairs viewpoint is a good spot for a photo with the sea behind you.
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