This Korean ‘hangover soup’ is one of the most soothing liquids in Sydney

No matter what night of the week you visit, a line for Yeodongsik is inevitable. Callan Boys joins the queue.

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Remember that Sesame Street sketch where Ernie dances himself to sleep while Bert watches through the window because he’s been locked outside? Yes? No? Anyway, I felt like Ernie in that video when I was eating at Yeodongsik the other week, just with less boogie-woogie sheep and more Korean blood sausage. Despite the bright lighting, it’s one of the cosiest restaurants in Sydney, and you might spend most of your dinner watching people in the line outside watching you.

I know exactly what they’re thinking, too. “How long is that bloke going to spend hunched over his soup? It’s freezing out here; stop hogging the table. Damn it, now he’s ordering another bottle of soju. We’re never getting in.” I know what they’re thinking because I was in the same position less than an hour ago. No matter what night of the week you visit, a line for Yeodongsik is inevitable.

Once you’re inside, Yeodongsik is balm for the soul.Jennifer Soo

The tiny Lidcombe restaurant, which opened in June last year, attracts a broad church of customers for its 11-item menu. First-generation Koreans are fans because owner Justin Shin is cooking his mother-in-law’s recipes and the guks (soups) are a clean-tasting reminder of home. Local workers like the lunchtime prices. TikTokkers come to film and eat Shin’s makguksu (chilled buckwheat noodles) slicked with perilla seed oil.

Why the $18 noodles have become a small internet sensation is anyone’s guess. You might as well try to understand the placebo effect or why Friends is still a thing. They’re refreshing and delicious, sure – chewy, slippery and nutty with a bass note of seaweed – but there are delicious cold noodles at a lot of places.

The guks though? The guks are a reason to join the queue, not to mention the Bill Evans-ish soundtrack and complimentary banchan of pickled radish and fresh green chillis to swipe through savoury-sweet ssamjang sauce.

The haejangguk “hangover soup”, which may or may not have the power to cure a soju-induced headache, is something of a signature. Just as there are several types of hangover, Korea has many types of hangover soup. Some feature congealed cow’s blood; others might have a few marsh snails bobbing about.

Yeodongsik’s ppyeodagwi haejangguk ($23) is built on long-simmered beef bones and it’s one of the most soothing liquids in Sydney. Pork bones with fall-apart meat bolster the gorgeously rounded flavour, plus spring onion, cabbage and one tennis ball-sized potato. Add the accompanying rice at leisure.

The ‘hangover soup’ is something of a signature and it’s one of the most soothing liquids in Sydney.

Sundae-gukbap ($20) is a cloudier leg-bone broth packed with frazzled knobs of porkblood sausage, plus pig heart, ear and stomach. What might sound like a hectic bowl of bits and bobs is a comfort-first soup removed of any offal intensity.

Seasoning is largely do-it-yourself and a table-side tray of condiments is provided. A rust-coloured chilli paste boosts the gukbap with umami, while a gomtang soup ($24, also very soothing), featuring thin-sliced beef brisket, likes roasted salt and black pepper. Floor staff are happy to provide guidance on which seasonings go with which soup if, like me, you find the spice choices daunting.

Note that the short menu can be even shorter in the evening. On a 6pm visit one recent Thursday night, two soups were already sold out, including the $22 spicy (but not that spicy) yukgaejang with brisket, leek, black mushroom and potent, direct flavour.

Saewoobuchu jeon (chive and prawn pan-fried pancakes).Jennifer Soo

There always seems to be crunchy chive and prawn pan-fried pancakes ($23), though, and a plate of boiled and sliced pork belly ($28), which you can season with saeu-jeot, cute little curls of fermented shrimp.

The irony of Yeodongsik specialising in hangover soup is that John Street, Lidcombe – or any busy street, for that matter – is one of the last places I want to be on Saturday when I’m most likely to be hungover. You’ll need to arrive around 11.30am for the best chance of a table when the doors open, otherwise the wait can be up to an hour.

Shin runs cups of barley tea to queuing customers at least, to manage the pain and, once you’re inside, Yeodongsik is balm for the soul. Gracious hospitality. Soft jazz. Steadying soups.

A fridge is stocked with Korean beers and milky rice wine makgeolli in case you want to make a proper afternoon of it, too. Just don’t let the cure become the cause.