Julie, the maven of finding hidden coffee shops and secret alley-way restaurants, was not actually present when we finally made it into the coveted four-table top noodle restaurant; It was delicious, but I cannot take credit for the find.
We arrived at 10 ’til seven,
waited (only 10 minutes) in the obligatory line that runs out the front door.
It would not be the amazing Noodle House that it is, without the line.
Seated at the window counter, we watched as the line grew. And grew.
Texting, talking, staring, waiting-in-line habits.
Soon, all waiting eyes turned to us as we realized that one bulgogi rice and one samgyubsal noodle dish later, we were the “oldest” table there.
The texters were counting down our last bites.
The couples stood, side-by-side, waiting for the irking sound of moving stools on cement.
We ate, uncharacteristically quick, in order to allow the next few, a chance into the oh-so-sought-after Noodle House.