This New Hampshire Korean Lab Is So Good Jessica Saba Says You Have To Drive And Try It

When a respected food writer tells you to drive and try a restaurant, you pay attention. This New Hampshire Korean lab has earned that kind of praise, and the food is exceptional.

The flavors are bold and authentic. The dishes are creative and beautifully presented.

I ordered the bibimbap and it was a perfect mix of textures and flavors. The service was warm and the atmosphere was inviting.

That is the thing about this New Hampshire restaurant. It brings the taste of Korea to New England, and it does it with style.

The Drive Up The Seacoast Is Half The Fun

Gas money well spent, and I say that as someone who guards a weekend tank like treasure.

New Hampshire hands you a short, scenic ribbon of coastline, and the run into Portsmouth makes the miles slip past. Salt marshes flash by the window.

Steeples poke above the treeline.

Jessica Saba insists the journey is part of the deal, and after making it myself, I understand the logic. Anticipation seasons everything.

Driving in from Boston, Manchester, or southern Maine, you can build the trip around a late lunch and still have your afternoon free. Traffic thins once the bridges clear.

Parking gets friendlier the farther you sit from the downtown core.

Mr. Kim’s sits away from the tourist crush, so you swap postcard scenery for an easy pull-in and a quick walk to the door. Fair trade, honestly.

Pack a cooler if you tend to over-order. Korean food travels beautifully, and leftovers eaten on a bench near the water taste like a small personal victory.

Roll the windows down on the way home. Sea air, a full stomach, the quiet hum of Route One.

That combination explains why road trips were invented at all.

A Storefront That Keeps The Bragging To A Minimum

Blink and you might roll right past it.

Mr. Kim’s occupies a tidy unit in a roadside plaza, the kind of setup that never begs for attention. No neon spectacle.

No hype crew loitering out front.

Signage stays simple, which suits the operation perfectly. Whatever happens inside carries the entire marketing budget.

Parking sits directly outside the door, a small mercy in a city where downtown spaces vanish like snowflakes in April.

Arriving at addresses like this one always puts me in a good mood. Expectations stay low, surprise lands harder, and the meal feels earned instead of advertised.

Plaza dining has a long and proud tradition across New Hampshire, including clam shacks in cinder block huts and bakeries wedged beside hardware stores. Great cooking rarely worries about curb appeal.

Walk up, pull the handle, and the aroma greets you before anyone does. Sesame, garlic, gentle heat, all hanging in the air ahead of the menu board.

Snap a photo of the exterior if you want, though it will never win a design award. Save your memory card for the harbor and the ride home instead.

Inside The Lab Where Flavor Gets Tinkered With

Compact, bright, and busy in the best possible way.

The room inside Mr. Kim’s chases no trends. Seating stays straightforward, surfaces wipe clean, and the counter area moves with practiced speed.

Calling the place a lab makes sense once you watch the rhythm. Sauces get balanced, heat levels get dialed, batches come together in waves rather than lounging under warming lamps.

I always grab the seat with a sightline to the pass. Watching a kitchen work is free entertainment and beats any playlist.

Noise stays friendly rather than deafening. Conversation survives, your name gets heard when it is called, and the energy still feels alive.

Solo diners fit in here without any awkwardness. So do two people splitting everything, my preferred strategy at any restaurant in New Hampshire.

Nothing about the space feels precious, which lowers the stakes considerably. Spill a little sauce, roll your sleeves, lean over the bowl.

Comfort beats polish when the cooking runs this focused, and Mr. Kim’s clearly understands that trade. The room exists to serve the food, not the other way around.

Kimchi Quietly Sets The Tone

Fermentation is a slow art, and here it shows.

Kimchi anchors Korean cooking the way maple anchors a New Hampshire pantry, holding everything together without asking for credit. Sharp, funky, faintly sweet, endlessly useful.

One forkful cuts through richness better than any squeeze of lemon. Follow it with plain rice and the whole table resets.

Newcomers sometimes brace themselves for punishment. Relax.

Heat in this style of cooking reads as warm and rounded, fading quickly enough to keep you reaching for more.

Banchan culture, meaning those small side dishes that arrive alongside a meal, turns dinner into a series of tiny decisions. Nibble, compare, circle back to your favorite.

Side dishes work as a scouting report for me. They reveal how much attention a kitchen pays when nobody is watching closely.

Jessica Saba talks about exactly that kind of attention, and the observation tracks. Small plates rarely lie about a kitchen.

Alternate something pickled with something rich, over and over. That contrast forms the entire architecture of a Korean meal.

Eat slowly, too. Fermented flavors bloom the longer they linger, and rushing them wastes the best part.

Rice Bowls Deserve Their Own Fan Club

Some dishes earn devotion, and the rice bowl leads that pack.

Bibimbap lands as a neat mosaic, vegetables arranged in tidy sections, everything waiting for the moment you demolish the design with a spoon. Mixing is mandatory.

Politeness ruins it.

If a stone bowl version is available, order it without hesitation. Rice pressed against hot ceramic forms a toasted crust that crackles, and the last shards get claimed fast.

Chili paste steers the entire experience, so add it gradually and taste as you go.

Vegetable-forward builds hold up beautifully, since the produce was never a supporting character to begin with.

Portions run generous, a common courtesy across New Hampshire kitchens and always welcome after a drive.

My routine involves one bowl, one grilled dish, then a swap halfway through. Two textures beat one, every single time.

Rice bowls reheat unevenly, so finish this course fresh and let something saucier ride home in the container.

A single spoonful at Mr. Kim’s tells you plenty. Balance, seasoning, timing, all of it right there before you even reach the bottom.

Marinated Grilled Plates Convert The Skeptics

Smoke, sugar, soy, and garlic walk into a marinade.

Bulgogi style beef and its relatives win over doubters faster than anything else on a Korean menu. Thin slices, fast heat, caramelized edges tasting like the good part of a campfire.

Sweetness balances the salt, while char supplies a bitter edge that keeps each bite interesting.

Wrap a piece in lettuce when leaves are offered, add rice, tuck in something pickled, then fold the whole thing into a parcel and eat it in one go. Two bites means structural failure.

I order this style whenever I want a meal that photographs badly and tastes phenomenal. Priorities, people.

Chicken versions bring more sauce cling. Pork versions bring more heat.

Beef sits comfortably in the middle and pleases nearly everyone.

Mr. Kim’s leans into that balance, and seasoning never buries the meat under a blanket of sugar.

Share generously, because a table with three proteins beats a table with one, and nobody drives to Portsmouth to eat modestly.

Reserve a final spoonful of rice for the leftover sauce. Abandoning that puddle is the only real mistake available.

Noodles And Small Bites For The Indecisive

Noodles settle arguments before they start.

Japchae, built from sweet potato starch strands, delivers a springy chew closer to a texture ride than a simple side. Sesame perfume, sliced vegetables, restrained sweetness.

Dumplings handle any table where opinions split. Everyone eats dumplings.

That is simply the law of group dining.

Tteokbokki, meaning those chubby rice cakes swimming in chili sauce, hits like comfort food borrowed from somebody else’s childhood. Sticky, spicy, sneakily addictive.

Starting with small plates keeps momentum while larger dishes finish. Nobody ends up drumming fingers on the table.

My usual formula involves two shared starters and one bigger centerpiece. That ratio has never failed me anywhere in New Hampshire.

Ask about spice levels if heat concerns you. Kitchens adjust far more often than menus admit.

Chopsticks optional, dignity optional, napkins absolutely mandatory.

For a first run at Mr. Kim’s, pick one familiar item and one you cannot pronounce. Curiosity remains the cheapest upgrade at any restaurant.

Leftover noodles reheat shockingly well, so order like an optimist and thank yourself at lunch tomorrow.

Takeout Moves For A Seacoast Picnic

Container in hand, coastline waiting.

Takeout turns this outing into a two act play. Collect the order, drive a few minutes east, and the Atlantic supplies the dining room.

Odiorne Point State Park in Rye offers rocky shore, tide pools, and picnic tables tucked under scrubby pines. Great Island Common over in New Castle serves lighthouse views across open water.

Prescott Park sits closer to downtown Portsmouth with gardens, benches, and boats sliding by.

Wind deserves respect out here. Choose a spot with some shelter or your napkins will tour the state without you.

Carry a bag for trash, since these places stay lovely only when people haul their own mess out.

Sunset over a New Hampshire harbor with a warm container of Korean food balanced on your knees ranks high on my list of cheap luxuries.

Summer delivers crowds, autumn delivers light, and winter delivers an empty parking lot if you can handle the chill.

Choose dishes that hold heat well and request sauces packed separately when possible.

Mr. Kim’s cooks. The coast handles the view.

No patio competes with that arrangement.

What To Do In Portsmouth Before You Eat

Portsmouth rewards aimless wandering.

Market Square anchors downtown with brick storefronts, independent shops, and a steeple that appears in every photograph anyone has ever taken here.

Strawbery Banke Museum preserves an entire neighborhood of historic houses and gardens, with demonstrations that make old trades feel current again.

Albacore Park keeps a retired research submarine parked on dry land, which proves as odd and wonderful as it sounds.

Harbor cruises leave the waterfront and glide past forts, islands, and a working tugboat fleet painted an unmissable red.

Walk the Portsmouth Harbor Trail for the whole city in a single loop, with markers explaining who built what and why.

Sightseeing goes before eating in my playbook, never after. Nobody climbs a museum staircase happily on a full stomach.

Shops sell vintage records, local crafts, and New England made goods, while the bookstores threaten anyone short on shelf space.

Finish the afternoon with a drive over to New Castle, where narrow lanes and colonial houses look almost staged.

Then aim the car toward Lafayette Road for dinner at Mr. Kim’s, because a day of walking deserves a serious reward.

Planning Your Run To Mr. Kim’s

Practical notes now, minus the fuss.

Mr. Kim’s sits at 599 Lafayette Road, Portsmouth, New Hampshire, inside a roadside plaza with parking right at the door.

Lafayette Road doubles as Route One, so navigation apps handle it easily and the turn-in works from either direction.

Confirm current hours before setting out, particularly if you are crossing a state line or arriving late in the evening.

Weekend nights run busiest. An early lunch or the quiet stretch before dinner buys you a calmer room and faster service.

Takeout works beautifully, and phoning ahead spares you from hovering near a busy counter.

Bring an appetite, bring a friend, bring a cooler if food is heading back over the line into Maine or Massachusetts.

Jessica Saba frames this trip as worth every mile, and after my own run up the coast, I file that under confirmed.

New Hampshire hides plenty along this highway, though this address has stopped being quiet about it.

Set an alarm, fill the tank, and let a plain plaza kitchen ruin your loyalty to every other takeout order you have. Go hungry, and go soon.