Baroo | Los Angeles, CA
Photo Credit: Wonho Lee
My introduction to Baroo came courtesy of a friend who, over a drink one evening, dropped this on me: “I honestly don’t know why they don’t have a Michelin star, but they’re currently my favorite restaurant in LA.” A little planning, a reservation, and a couple of weeks later, I found myself in the Arts District of Los Angeles enjoying one of the most memorable meals I’ve had in years.
Baroo isn’t new to the LA food scene – though it certainly has evolved. Originally opened in 2015 in a humble Hollywood strip-mall, it quickly earned a cult following for its inventive, fermentation-driven Korean cooking. Chef Kwang Uh, who trained at the Culinary Institute of America and worked at Noma in Copenhagen, runs the kitchen alongside his wife and partner Mina Park. Together, they’ve shaped Baroo’s identity from its early days into its current polished-yet-playful Arts District incarnation, keeping the same fearless approach to flavor that put it on the map in the first place.
Beyond the dining room, Baroo quietly puts its values into practice, donating 1% of sales – as noted on their menus – “to Zero Foodprint, a nonprofit organization dedicated to restoring the climate by supporting regenerative farms and healthy soil initiatives.” It’s an easily-missed line, but a big gesture that ties what’s on the table to how it’s grown.
When you hear “Korean food,” odds are your mind drifts straight to barbecue – sizzling beef, smoky tableside grills, all-you-can-eat bravado. Anything outside of that can feel like uncharted territory, at least it did for me. And that’s exactly where Baroo shines: exploring the spaces between the obvious, pulling from tradition but twisting it with technique, unexpected ingredients, and global sensibility. According to the team, dishes tend to change one or two at a time, usually reflecting what’s in season from local farms. They work within broader seasonal frameworks, but the tempo isn’t locked to a set rotation. Chef Kwang Uh and his wife Mina Park visit the farmers’ markets regularly, and sometimes a market find sparks an impromptu special that appears on the menu for a short run.
Dinner was a six-course tasting menu, with only a couple of decisions up front – a choice of protein for the main course (pork collar ssam or beef short rib ssam, in our case) - and a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ for any impromptu add-ons, as offered. My drinks journey was cocktail-led for the evening – Korean-influenced riffs on familiar drinks alongside more original creations. A friend did the Korean sool pairing, which can also be recommended without hesitation. Honestly, it feels like a more natural fit here than the standard wine pairing – you wouldn’t go to a fine French or Italian restaurant and insist on a sool pairing, so why do the reverse?
Each drink and dish felt in balance – nothing overshadowing the rest, and each holding its own on the dance card. That first course – a summer corn naengguk, its chilled silkiness offset by the gentle savor of jokpyeon and the nutty warmth of black sesame sool bbang – arrived with a little crunch and a fresh, delicate corn flavor that still lingers on my mind days later, refusing to fade into the blur where early courses often go.
Texture was a star player throughout. Think crisp, almost glass-like casing breaking to reveal soft tuna tartare crowned with caviar. The mouthfeel alone was reason to smile, but it’s that mix of sensory delight and culinary wit that makes Baroo so compelling. Food here doesn’t just taste good – it surprises you, flirts with you, makes you pay attention. It’s rich and bold one moment, delicate and clean the next. Adventurous, playful, unique.
In summary, star or no star, the cooking here hums with a balance and intention you can taste in every bite – the kind of meal that stays with you long after the last forkful, no guidebook required. Baroo is hardly a secret, with plenty of accolades and attention to its name, but that doesn’t make its charms any less compelling.
