A reporter from a travel magazine asked us last week what we thought was the biggest change to New Yorkers’ palates over the past ten years or so. “Easy,” we responded, “It’s that finally, Gothamites have realized how wonderful Korean food can be.” Nowhere can you see evidence of this more than right around Herald Square in Manhattan, where Koreatown thrived–all but invisible to non-Koreans–for decades, until very recently, when some magical key turned in Manhattan’s collective conscious, and suddenly, everyone has a favorite spot for japchae.

But the restaurants, especially those along ‘Korea Way,’ the stretch of 32nd Street between Sixth and Fifth Avenues, have taken their new-found popularity in stride, opening up larger dining rooms and making a real effort to educate patrons about the difference between a mandoo gui and a mandoo jjim (the former is a fried dumpling, the latter a steamed or braised dumpling). The downside to all of this is, of course, that it is harder than ever to find a seat in one of Koreatown’s more popular eateries. Even over the past two years, business seems to have spiked exponentially to the point where it is nearly impossible now to sit down at lunchtime carryout hotspot Woorijip, where as recently as 2004, I often told friends to meet me for a quiet, very casual lunch.

Another restaurant that has seen their customer base explode is Kunjip, or “The Big House” in Korean. Just like its kindred spirit Han Bat, three blocks to the north, Kunjip does mostly authentic Korean classics, eschewing experimentation for tradition. And just like many restaurants in the neighborhood, Kunjip is open for business 24 hours a day. Unlike Han Bat, it is also crowded during almost every one of those 24 hours (save at around 7:00 in the morning, when even the post-karaoke crowd has left for home). Some of this has to do with the fact that Kunjip is located at the epicenter of Koreatown–it is difficult not to walk past it if you are in the area, and when you do, Kunjip is ready for you with a little olfactory seduction.

But the gorgeous smells really don’t hit you until you walk in the door, as my friend Texasian and I found out on a recent visit, and they appear to work spectacularly well at eliminating any desire to do anything except stand and wait for a table…which we did obediently. Our wait was not without its hiccups–we were once offered (and rejected) a table positioned six inches from a parabolic heat lamp that made us feel as if we were orbiting the sun in a camp stove, and we were later passed over for a two-top when a stately-looking Korean couple arrived. But it’s hard to complain too much about these problems when our dinner was as good as it was.

Our banchan (pictured top) were all high-quality and included a delightfully light and subtly salty sprouted mung bean pickle that was one of the best sprout dishes I’ve tasted. Texasian and I also shared an order of the kimchi pajun (pictured above, $8.95), a spicy pan-fried pancake filled with hot kimchi and scallions. Both of us were really impressed that the pajun was crispy all across the diameter of the pancake, as one of the problems a kimchi pajun often has is that it gets soggy in the middle within minutes after it is removed from the stove. Not this one. Ours was firm throughout our meal. Small details like this are what really set Kunjip’s execution apart from that of most other traditional Korean restaurants.

Before our meal, I had read some criticism of Kunjip’s maewoon dduk boki, suggesting that in the past, the restaurant had been a little stingy with its rice cakes (the long, cylindrical noodle type). My entrée proved this wrong–there were generous portions of both rice cakes and glass noodles at the bottom of the serving dish, as well as several long, thinly-sliced pieces of fish cake marinating in the lurid red broth. I was also very pleased to discover that the kitchen had not skimped on the gochu jang (sugary red chili paste) in the dish. The result was a filling and very hearty dduk boki with exactly the right amount of spicy kick.

Texasian’s main, the gobdol bibimbob ($12.95), was also generously portioned and served at just the right searing temperature to allow the rice to develop a perfect crunchy crust around the inside surface of the stone bowl. Our server warned us that this particular dish came with “lots, lots of beef,” and while I wouldn’t say she was lying, she was perhaps exaggerating a bit. That said, there was plenty of meat–just not enough to warrant a heads-up. But overall, the bibimbob dishes at Kunjip that we have eaten have all been very solid.

In a departure from the traditional orange slices on the table, Kunjip finishes its meals by serving small bowls of a room-temperature spiced sweet brew intended to help digestion and to cool down the mouth after a peppery meal. Both Texasian and I enjoyed this ginger and cinnamon ‘tea,’ presented with a single pine nut floating languidly on its surface, although neither of us finished it. She is just like I am, in that we both like to leave a Korean restaurant with just barely inflamed lips and tongue–enough to remind us that we’ve just eaten Korean food, and enough to remind us to be grateful that we live in a city where we can.

Kunjip, 9 West 32nd Street (between Fifth and Sixth Avenues), 212-216-9487.