I have come to think that the producers who sit at the forefront of South Korea’s craft sool revival tend to do three key things at once. (1) They make something that tastes genuinely good, (2) they stay legible within tradition, and (3) they master innovation and modern control. None of the three is optional. Flavour on its own is obviously the baseline. Tradition on its own risks modern irrelevance. Innovation on its own could be clever but ungrounded, the sort of bottle that gets talked about once and then disappears from memory.

The reason I keep returning to this three-part rule is simple. Every mature drinks category comes with reference points that help you taste with confidence. You have a sense of what a Bordeaux red is trying to be, or what a junmai daiginjo is structurally aiming for, even before you decide whether you like it. Those anchors do not limit evaluation, they make evaluation possible. Without them, tasting becomes oddly disorienting: you cannot tell whether a sharp acidity is a deliberate structural choice or a fermentation that veered off course; you cannot tell whether cloudiness is an expression of style or a lack of control. Tradition, to that end, is not merely a catchy headline on The Chosun Daily newspaper. It is a shared vocabulary.

At the same time, it is exactly within the parameters of tradition that the best makers start to become interesting. Innovative brewers who truly lead the conversation are the ones who can explain what they are inheriting, then show you what they are improving, not by ignoring the old logic, but by complementing it with modern technique. They keep the lineage visible, but they refuse to be trapped by it.

This is why Onzi Suldoga has become such a useful producer for me to think with. Even if you have not been following Korea’s sool scene closely, Onzi lands clearly within this three-part balance: a critically acclaimed flavour profile that reads as deliberate and polished, a respect for ancient approaches of makgeolli , and a very modern insistence on process control. It is an approach that does not ask you to choose between taste, authenticity, and reinvention. It argues that you need all three.

Onzi Suldoga's founder and CEO Kim Man-jung (Source: Eunpyeong Citizen Newspaper)

Now, Onzi Suldoga began as a Seoul tavern project, with its founder brewing in-house to revive the idea of a proper jumak (a Korean tavern) in Seoul where traditional food and drink could be enjoyed. In just a few years since its founding, Onzi Suldoga garnered an outsized reputation in Korea’s traditional alcohol scene. Word-of-mouth among sommeliers, beverage writers, and avid makgeolli fans has been especially kind to this little brewery.

Its makgeolli moved far beyond neighbourhood drinking, earning top honours at major domestic competitions and finding its way onto the lists of some of Korea’s most demanding dining rooms. Bottles like the Seomak 15 are now poured in high-end restaurants where craft makgeolli is treated as a serious pairing alongside refined cuisine.

But I think it’s most meaningful to introduce Onzi through the same three-part lens that has helped me make sense of the wider revival. First, flavour. Then, tradition. Then, innovation.

Flavour

If Onzi has a calling card, it is that its makgeollis do not smell or drink like the mental template many people carry for makgeolli. Since the beginning, taste was the primary driver for Kim Man-joong (김만중), who was inspired to serve his own handcrafted makgeolli to delight the patrons at his pub. This experience turned out to be Kim’s apprenticeship and proof-of-concept rolled into one.

Night after night, he poured his brews for a live audience of diners, gauging reactions and further refining recipes. His measures for success were firmly practical: Is it delicious? Is it balanced? Does it make people say “wow, I’ve never had makgeolli like this”?

Onzi’s makgeolli and yakju have a depth and balance that many find surprising for the category. They offer a tasting experience that can feel closer to sipping a farmhouse ale or natural wine than to chugging a classically-made makgeolli of a countryside diner. It’s a makgeolli you want to sniff and contemplate, said Korean sommeliers.

The brews are known for having a tangy-sweet profile with a silken smoothness and lack of fizz, in contrast to traditional makgeolli that have a coarser texture due to chalky rice sediments and prickly carbonation from ongoing fermentation in the bottle. Unlike many mass makgeollis that achieve sweetness by dumping in artificial flavours after a dry fermentation, Onzi’s approach yields inherent sweetness from rice that’s integrated with layered tartness. The result is a brew you can drink on its own like fine wine – “even without food, it never grows tiresome,” Kim had proudly told a reporter.

Recognition from experts and competitions soon followed these murmurs of acclaim. Before long, Onzi Suldoga became something of a darling of the craft sool press – local media would refer to it as Danyangju Myeongga (단양주 명가)– literally “a famed house of single-ferment brews”. And on that note, we’ll get into what single-ferment means in a bit!

Tradition

It’s tempting to equate “traditional” with “good”, as if authenticity alone automatically produces the most compelling drink that everyone would immediately be impressed by. But I would argue that without a reference to tradition, no one would even know you’ve brewed a well-made drink. The point is not to follow old methods simply because they are old, but to show what kind of drink you are making, what lineage it sits within, and how your fingerprints make it better. Without that, innovation becomes arbitrary, and even a well-made drink can struggle to be evaluated on its own terms.

Onzi’s relationship to tradition is clearest in its commitment to a single-step fermentation (dan-yang-ju) approach, the style that was historically associated with farmhouse brewing. This is the earliest form of Korean grain alcohol that emerged from households. The logic was simple: Cook the rice, crumble in the nuruk (starter), add water, and let the mash live. Everything went in together because there was no reason to separate it.

Using this method was often an inconsistent process. Fermentation followed the rhythms of the weather, and the microbes embedded in the nuruk and the house itself. And when it was ready, it had to be drunk very soon to prevent spoilage.

Over time, Korean brewers realised that the fermentation process was more consistent when rice was added gradually in stages, rather than all at one go. They developed elaborate two-stage (이양주) or three-stage (삼양주) fermentation techniques that could produce greater amount of alcohol more reliably. These brews travelled better, lasted longer, and held their shape beyond the village.

Before Onzi, the prestige in artisanal brewing often went to multi-stage brews made by craft breweries or in temples. Single-step makgeolli was seen as everyday farm hooch – charming, but with little consistency and not much complexity.

Onzi Suldoga turned that conventional brewing wisdom on its head by asking: what if a single-step brew could be just as complex and refined, given the benefit of modern equipment and hygiene? Kim had glimpsed the answer back in his pub days, where his one-step makgeolli held its own in flavour. He remained convinced that, if handled correctly, a single-step method could actually make a brew that could taste better, with a unique complexity.

Innovation

Once we accept that Onzi is not chasing novelty for its own sake, its innovation is immediately appreciated. The brewery proved that the oldest traditional method, when perfected with patience and tech, can yield extraordinary results.

As mentioned earlier, it is conventional wisdom that single-step nuruk fermentations are more vulnerable to contamination and harder to keep stable. But Onzi’s response is straightforward: treat hygiene as the first-class ingredient.

(Source: Eunpyeong Citizen Newspaper)

By meticulously sanitising equipment, using filtered water, and regulating temperature, Onzi found that it could brew single-step mashes that ferment cleanly for months – achieving the depth of multi-stage brews without actually doing multiple additions.

Kim also discovered several other benefits to this approach. By keeping fermentation really slow and cold – at around 15 °C (instead of 25 °C) for up to 90 days (instead of several weeks for typical makgeolli makers), the yeast continues to produce alcohol without generating harsh-tasting byproducts. It also gives lactic acid bacteria time to create gentle acidity rather than a spike of sourness.

The results of this approach is evident in the taste of the final product. Some residual sugar is left , leaving a touch of natural sweetness that balances the acids. The long fermentation time also allows complex ester and aroma development – giving complex fruit and floral notes rarely found in quick-fermented makgeolli. Finally, the extended fermentation time also means that the yeast and enzymes have fully completed their jobs. No more in-bottle fermentation takes place and the makgeolli is thus quiet and uncarbonated.

The most compelling examples of Korean breweries show us that excellence rarely comes from nailing down just one virtue. The most compelling examples marry great flavour with a clear sense of where the drink comes from, and a willingness to improve on methods with new ways of doing things. It is this combination, rather than any single virtue on its own, that seems to separate the producers who lead the conversation from those who merely participate in it.

And with that, let’s have a taste of the brewery’s flagship bottling, Seochon Makgeolli 15% (also known as Seomak 15) – the same bottle that put Onzi Suldoga on the drink enthusiast’s world map.

Craft Sool Review: Onzi Suldoga Seochon Makgeolli 15, “Seomak 15”, 15% ABV

Tasting Notes

Appearance: Pure white and hazy.

Nose: Fruit forward and creamy. Opens with fresh honeydew melon and green grape tones, followed by a cool, milky sweetness that recalls nata de coco folded into yoghurt with a light white floral lift sitting above. As it settles, a deeper rice and grain character emerges edged with a faint rustic note that feels closer to unpasteurised cream, soft dough, and fresh yeast. A mild fermented tang develops of Belgian farmhouse ale and kombucha.

Palate: Very weighty and dense with a rounded mouthfeel. Opens with a rice -driven sweetness spreads across the palate, carried on a silky, creamy texture. The body feels cohesive and finely textured, devoid of any gritty sediment. Lactic softness builds through yoghurt-like notes, joined by a subtle nuttiness of honey granola. The structure stays surprisingly composed and approachable despite the higher ABV. There’s no heat or prickly carbonation distracting from the core flavours.

Finish: Clean and controlled and tapering off quickly. A bright, slightly bitter lemon peel note, gentle cedar woodiness, dry, coconut flakes and a subtle lactic farmhouse acidity returns in a savoury echo at the end.

My Thoughts

This is a solid, layered and distinctive brew that invites slow, attentive drinking. The aroma shows a balance between fresh fruit, dairy-like creaminess, and a restrained ferment character, while the palate is firmly anchored in rice, grain and lactic softness, very smooth and approachable with very little distraction from fizz or sharp acidity. There is a clear sense of depth here, particularly in the richness of the rice and cereal elements. The dryness towards the finish adds structure and keeps the sweetness in check, and I suspect this could actually stand up to even more bottle aging for further complexity.

Kanpai!

@CharsiuCharlie