Though the methods are unorthodox in a way that might turn off purists, Lee’s Noodles dishes one of the best jjajangmyeons and jjam ppongs in the city. Don Shin (formerly General Manager of Lee Man Ku Kyodong Jjam Ppong, also on this list) takes grated sweet potato and gives what’s usually a greasy jjajang sauce some much-needed balance. The finely pureed sauce clings neatly to the restaurant’s thick and chewy hand-pulled noodles. As for the jjam ppong, Shin takes a page out of his former employer’s book (think massive mussels and big heat) but ups the ante with the aforementioned hand pulled noodles, which leads to a more substantive experience overall.

Young King (also pronounced “Yeon Gyeong”) was the original go-to spot for a quick Korean-Chinese fix, and it’s still plenty serviceable with phenomenal old-school, thin-noodled jjajangmyeon. As always, make room for the proteins: Young King’s Korean-style kung pao shrimp is still the standard-bearer, with big, deep-fried shrimp slathered in that familiar spicy-savory sauce.

The jjam ppong is the star of the show at Kyodong, and for good reason: Big portions of fresh seafood and serious heat might lend Kyodong’s ambitiosn of opening a scalable franchise operation stateside some serious credibility.

Most Korean folks who’ve lived in Koreatown long enough will have been here at least once. The Dragon is the place for receptions, meetings and, of course, freshly fried tang-su-yook with the sauce poured over tableside for optimal crunchiness. The noodle offerings get a boost from sheer childhood nostalgia, but it’s also a capable (if not slightly gussied up) primer on how Korean-Chinese food actually tastes in South Korea. Make room for a real treat at the end: The Dragon’s sticky candied sweet potatoes, or goguma mattang, are a unique treat.

Pao Jao’s noodle offerings are pretty limited, but that’s not why you braved the lunch rush at the Koreatown Plaza food court. The shrimp dumplings are. The wrinkly, tenuously wrapped numbers come eight to an order for about $8. Given how they add a little spicy kick to the minced scallions, shrimp and create a nice crumble, though, it’s hard to complain. If you must (and you want to save money and fill some real estate), the seafood jjajangmyeon looks like a family-sized pasta at Buca di Beppo — and doesn’t taste half bad.

Is it gimmicky? Do the waiters engage in silly tray-twirling stunts? Is there really a “fire jjam ppong challenge” and three-bowls-of-jjajangmyeon in 45 minutes challenge with victims’ Polaroids on the wall? In a pinch, does it get the job done? So, does that make it the Shin Sen Gumi of Korean-Chinese cuisine? Yes.

Feng Mao (or as a Korean-Chinese person might pronounce it, “Poong Moo”) is a region on the northern Korean-Chinese border, but Feng Mao Lamb Kebab has been a mainstay in the Koreatown for a white-hot minute. The shenjiangbao (small, bready pork dumplings akin to a miniature baozi with a nice crust on one side) are great, but most patrons will try the house specialty: The eponymous mutton kebabs are grilled over coals on a two-tiered setup that allows for an initial sear before cooking through on the cooler upper tier.

Yan Bian Korean Autonomous Prefecture is (you guessed it) on the northern Korean-Chinese border, and the dishes are an interesting mash-up of Korean dishes with Chinese influences or vice-versa. For one, there’s ma la tang, which plays out kind of like your standard budae jjigae (spicy spam and tofu casserole) except there’s bok choy thrown in, and the Jilin japchae, a duochromatic number that takes the familiar stir fried glass noodles and throws in garlic and julienned chinese broccoli.