When introducing unsuspecting newcomers to Koreatown's Dwit Gol Mok, the key element is surprise.
What you do: gather up some friends and don't tell them where you're going. Just tell them to bring a Sharpie. And say "trust me." If your friends are like mine, they'll say "Fuck that, last time we trusted you, we wound up at a cowboy bar in Fullerton where that drunk Texan tried to force us to invest in bulls." And you tell them that was weeks ago and there is no reason to be bringing up the past, and that spending their life savings on a rodeo bull is a gambit that will eventually pay off. They finally relent.
You park your bull on Wilshire and walk north on Berendo. There'll be a gloomy parking lot on your right. Lead everyone through there. There will be a ramp leading up to a darkened alley portal. Go up that ramp. Ignore your friends' nervous whispers and the murmured accusations that "he's taking us somewhere to sell us into sex slavery." (That was ONE TIME, Mike.) Head through an archway, into a dimly lit courtyard. Walk through a doorway, past a kitchen, up a flight of stairs, and you are finally in...
...the greatest Korean dive-bar in Los Angeles. Think of an early 90's Tony Scott movie about Asian gangsters, imagine where a clandestine criminal meeting would take place, and you've basically got Dwit Gol Mok. The interior is a buzzing shantytown, full of sloped tin roofs, booths private enough to have sex in, the lighting a lurid scheme of blue-and-red-and-cigarette-smoke, and every inch of wall-space covered in Sharpie-scrawled graffiti.
There is soju to be sipped and Hite to be swilled, and sizzling sweet pork ribs to be nommed on. There's a seafood pancake that does right everything that fellow dive-bar legend OB Bear does wrong. The menus are blocks of wood etched with Korean writing. The whole place percolates with conspiracy and mischief.
Be sure to leave a Sharpie message on the wall. One for your friends. Perhaps: "I told you so."