이치류 홍대

About

Japanese ramen in Hongdae. Rich tonkotsu broth.

Staff here grill Sapporo-style lamb over a domed jingisukan pan, the kind that lets fat drip down onto charring onions and scallions while the meat—French rack, bone-in galbi, striploin—cooks at exactly the temperature they've decided is right. You sit at the counter, hands free, watching someone else manage the fire. The lamb is Australian, under a year old, never frozen, and the kitchen runs through about thirty servings of each premium cut daily before they're gone. No gamey smell, just clean fat that coats your tongue and vanishes before it turns heavy. The galbi gets snipped partway through so you can pull the meat off the bone with the little metal handle they clip on. French rack melts. Striploin stays lean enough that you can eat more than you planned. The dining room is small, all counter seating, lockers by the door so your coat doesn't leave smelling like smoke. A QR code on the table handles ordering in several languages, though staff will talk you through the sequence if you ask—fattier cuts first, leaner ones after, a rhythm that keeps the meal from collapsing into monotony. Finish with kosho-men, cold noodles in a soy-yuzu broth spiked with pepper, which resets your palate and makes you wonder if you have room for one more round. You don't, but the impulse lingers. Book through Naver or Catch Table two or three days ahead if you're coming on a weekend or aiming for prime dinner hours. Walk-ins can wait two hours when it's busy. The restaurant opens at 4 p.m., and early arrivals have better odds at the limited daily cuts. Card only, no cash. Last order goes in at 10 p.m.