A wall of vinyl — fifteen thousand records stacked two stories high — sets the tone before the food arrives, and a DJ usually fills the rest. Behind the art-deco clutter and fresh flowers, the kitchen turns out the real reason to come: Korean double-fried chicken, shatter-crisp and lacquered in soy-garlic, alongside soju cocktails and Korean-fusion small plates. It's a tight, dim, romantic room in the East Village that's been a date-night fixture for years — come-as-you-are, music-forward, no attitude. The chicken alone is worth the trip.