I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone that South Korea is hot right now; I’ve been watching a lot of Korean TV lately, which is somehow hilarious, heartfelt and slickly produced all at once. I mean, who hasn’t loved Squid Game or Physical 100… Such wildly gripping drama.

You may also have noticed that Korean food is absolutely exploding across the globe. New York in particular has gone all‑in, with an unprecedented 12 Michelin stars now held by Korean restaurants. The big names include Jungsik, the first Korean restaurant to earn three Michelin stars, which has retained its top‑tier status; Joo Ok, which recently jumped from one to two stars; and the globally celebrated Atomix, still holding strong at two stars and topping the 2025 “North America’s 50 Best Restaurants” list.

Hong Kong is no slouch either, home to a couple of one‑star Korean restaurants, including the always‑brilliant Hansik Goo, which I’ve visited and absolutely adored.

And of course, this fever pitch of Korean culinary appreciation has seeped into reality TV, culminating in the spectacularly addictive Culinary Class Wars, a South Korean cooking competition staged with the same high‑stakes intensity as Physical: 100. The premise? One hundred elite chefs split into two “classes” – White Spoons (veterans) and Black Spoons (newcomers) – battling their way through brutal elimination challenges, 1‑on‑1 cook‑offs using mystery ingredients, and even full restaurant‑building missions, all under the watchful eyes (and palates) of judges Paik Jong‑won and Anh Sung‑jae. Season two drops on Netflix in December 2025, so if you haven’t dived in yet, now’s the time.

It’s gripping TV.

So with Korean cuisine riding this global wave, it’s no surprise that a new Korean fine diner has slipped into Brisbane, and of course, I went straight in during its first week of opening.

The restaurant is called SUUM, tucked behind an unmarked door in a quiet Charlotte Street arcade. Small, intimate, moody (very moody) the room is all dark timber, carbon steel and shadows, with lighting that feels more like a stage spotlight than illumination. It seats just 16 diners, wrapped tightly around a U‑shaped counter where the final plating happens right in front of you; the actual kitchen is hidden, so what you get is this lovely theatre of precision as each dish receives its finishing touches.

The chef is Andy Choi, whose résumé includes The Fat Duck and Disfrutar, two of the most inventive kitchens in the world. His background in molecular gastronomy is everywhere in the menu, which lands around $180 per person for 11 courses.

We were one of the first to arrive for the evening’s sitting, and instantly loved how cocooned the space felt; everything black, everything hushed, everything focused. With so few seats hugging the plating counter, you get this wonderful connection to the team: watching the chefs lean in, adjust, swipe, pour and perfect before each dish lands in the small pool of light in front of you. It’s the kind of intimacy I absolutely love about fine dining; it pulls you into the experience in a way big dining rooms never quite manage.

The seats filled quickly, no surprise in week one of a highly anticipated opening, and soon enough, the meal began.

We began with a trio of intricate small bites, each presented elegantly on cylindrical wooden platforms of varying heights.

The first morsel was a soy-seasoned beef tartare housed within a delicate, cow-shaped tuile dotted with sesame seeds. The beef was beautifully sweet and rich, its fatty texture providing a luxurious mouthfeel and flavors that lingered on the palate long after the bite.

Next was a vibrant marinated prawn tartare, hidden from view inside a striking red, star-shaped tartlet. The surprise element was delightful, accentuating the wonderful contrast between the shatteringly crunchy casing and the sweet, succulent prawn within.

The final bite was a more traditional presentation of wild sesame tuna. Though classic in form for an amuse-bouche, it was a perfectly balanced and simply wonderful conclusion to the opening trio.

The menu offered little description, heightening our anticipation (and our worry) when the simply named “Chestnut” arrived as the first element of the main tasting menu.

I am personally not a fan of chestnuts; their unique, mealy texture and distinct sweetness usually relegate them to desserts, which doesn’t sit well with my palate. I could not have been more surprised, then, by the presentation and execution of this dish. Served in a simple, elegant black bowl, the contents were incredibly thick and unctuous, topped with a delicate shaving of black truffle.

Every spoonful was a revelation, contradicting all my preconceived notions. While certainly sweet, I would never have identified the primary ingredient as chestnut. Instead, a harmonious balance of deep umami and a vibrant, punchy earthiness hit the palate, creating a genuinely unexpected and delightful experience.

We were so gobsmacked we spent a bit of time chatting to the manager as she took the dishes away – just a unique dish that was a wonderful start.

In stark contrast to the rustic chestnut opener, the next course arrived looking like it had stepped straight out of a modern art gallery; a wildly contemporary take on Dubu Kimchi Samhap.

Traditionally it’s a humble trio: tofu, stir‑fried kimchi and pork. But here, the team at Suum had gleefully thrown tradition out the window. The tofu had been transformed into a perfect, glossy tomato impostor, so shiny and convincing that for a split second I genuinely wondered if they’d changed the dish. It sat perched on a nest of finely worked kimchi, all deep reds and tiny curls of heat. A small pipette of concentrated umami sauce was tucked into the side, and we were instructed to drizzle it over once the “tomato” was sliced open to reveal… well, tofu.

I’d been worried the spice would come charging in and steamroll everything else: Korean cuisine does love a bit of fire, but the flavours were beautifully judged. Clean, savoury, warming, and just enough heat to keep things interesting.

The pork, cleverly served off‑plate, was sliced into little morsels so we could mix and match: a bit of tofu, a bit of kimchi, a ribbon of salty pork. Every bite snapped into place, the richness of the meat playing foil to the cool tofu and subtle heat below.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit I’m generally not a tofu devotee. It rarely wins me over. But while this dish didn’t convert me into a tofu tragic, I was genuinely impressed by the creativity, the finesse, and the sheer deliciousness of the interpretation. A very clever plate.

Next up was a fine-dining interpretation of the dombe style beef noodle soup. The presentation immediately captivated me, served in a stunning plate with a curled edge that lent an air of sophistication to the otherwise rustic dish.

A generous helping of delicate noodles formed a nest for slices of perfectly cooked, rosy-pink beef, all bathed in a surprisingly complex, yet mild and flavourful broth. Traditionally, the boiled meat (dombegogi) is served separately on a cutting board, but combining all the elements within this single, elegant bowl expertly elevated both its visual appeal and its depth of flavour.

The most amazing dish of the night was the steamed fish with maesaengi soup, a complete masterpiece from a visual, textural, and flavour viewpoint. It was presented in a spherical bowl with a fitted lid; upon the reveal, I was initially confronted with a deceptively simple sight: an indistinguishable piece of fish in a vibrant green broth topped with caviar.

Boy, was I wrong to judge! The fish was steamed queen fish (cheong-eo), known for its lean, white flesh. Its texture was firm yet yielding, a perfect match for the accompanying broth. This rich, unctuous soup delivered an intensely concentrated umami flavour, arguably one of the most profound hits I’ve had in a long time.

The natural sweetness of the queen fish was perfectly complemented by the savoury depth of the maesaengi broth, and each mouthful was a pure delight, and a touch of caviar gave a little salty contrast. I genuinely did not want this dish to end; it was, in a single plate, worth the entire price of admission

It’s widely known that Wagyu is often considered the king of beef, and its reputation is certainly well-deserved. Less familiar to many is Korean Hanwoo beef (hansang beef on the menu), which some connoisseurs consider a step above even top-grade Wagyu.

The next dish, a spectacular presentation of striploin hansang with seasonal banchan, was absolutely delightful. Banchan are simply small, shared side dishes integral to a traditional Korean meal, providing complementary flavours and textures. This modern fine-dining interpretation presented two perfect strips of the rosy beef in the centre of the plate, flanked by six precisely arranged accompaniments:

Unfortunately I can’t remember all of the different banchan (but there was some asparagus, bamboo and kimchi), but the idea here is to combine a small amount of the banchan with each bite of the beef, creating a different flavour profile with every mouthful. My favourite combination was definitely the beef paired with the kimchi; the sweet fattiness of the Hanwoo contrasted beautifully with the unexpected sweet-sour kick of the fermented cabbage.

My pending food coma meant I missed getting a photo, but the final savoury dish was a masterclass in balance: abalone sotbap with tteok-galbi. This fascinating rendition brought the ocean and the land together perfectly. Sweet, briny abalone infused the plump rice with umami, while rich, sweet-and-salty grilled beef patty provided a bold, robust contrast.

It was a deeply satisfying, multi-layered end to the courses.

However, by this stage, the sheer amount of food was overwhelming my palate. I simply could not finish the generous bowl and felt a pang of guilt, especially considering the price tag of the tasting menu!

Even though we were completely stuffed by this point, everyone knows you have a second stomach for dessert. What’s interesting is that I used to think this saying was unique to Australia, but my time living in Hong Kong and extensive travel highlighted that pretty much every culture has a phrase that means the same thing.

In Hong Kong, while there isn’t a single direct idiom in Cantonese, the sentiment is widely understood, people always have room for tong sui (sweet soups or desserts) like mango sago or egg tarts after a main meal.

In Korea, there is a perfect, widely-used phrase: 디저트 먹을 배는 따로 있어, which literally translates to, “There is a separate stomach to eat dessert with.”

Dessert was simply titled “Truffle Chocolate”. It was an architectural dessert focusing on textures of chocolate with a smooth, perfectly shaped quenelle of banana gelato, topped with a delicate shaving of black truffle.

At the base of the dish, there were small chocolate fragments, while the striking, textured “truffle” was actually a rich chocolate mousse designed to mimic the shape of a real truffle. The thoughtful balance of textures (crisp, smooth, airy), temperatures (cold gelato, room temperature mousse), and unique flavours came together perfectly, providing a truly delightful and sophisticated final bite of the evening.

We really enjoyed our first visit to Suum. It was pretty much exactly what we were hoping for; and frankly, what we’ve come to expect from modern Korean fine dining. The intimacy of the room was spot‑on, the all‑black styling felt sleek without being cold, and the layout meant every diner had a front‑row seat to the chefs as they fussed, plated and perfected. Service, too, was impeccable; polished, warm and genuinely engaged.

Because we were visiting in the very first week, each dish arrived with a quiet check‑in from the manager: what we thought, how the flavours landed, whether anything could be improved. Our feedback was overwhelmingly positive… except for one tiny thing. There was simply too much food. By the time we hit the final stretch, we were both uncomfortably full, that kind of full where you slow down, not because the food isn’t good, but because your body politely says, “Mate, please stop.”

Look, I know it’s a far better problem than leaving a tasting menu still hungry and searching for a burger on the way home, but there is a tipping point where abundance starts to work against enjoyment. And at $180 per person, a slightly tighter menu would not only improve the pacing and pleasure of the meal, but potentially make Suum a touch more accessible too.

All that said, it was a highly enjoyable, inventive experience; a wonderful blend of Korean tradition reframed through a contemporary, playful lens. It’s intimate without being intimidating, refined without taking itself too seriously, and absolutely somewhere we’d return to for a special occasion like a birthday or anniversary. Beyond that, it’s probably a little on the pricier side for frequent visits… but for a treat? Absolutely.

If you haven’t been already, do yourself a favour and go check out Suum. It’s well worth the adventure.