5-Tier Steamed Seafood Tower — Honest Review, Price, How to Eat

The Steamed Seafood Tower You'll Find at Every Korean Coastal Town

Jogaejjim is a towering, multi-tiered steamed seafood feast you'll spot at pretty much every seaside town in Korea. Aluminium steamers are stacked three, four or five layers high, each tier packed with different shellfish and seafood, then blasted with steam until the lot's cooked through. If you reckon an Aussie Christmas seafood platter is impressive, imagine that — but vertical, steaming hot, and about five times the size.

If you've ever wandered along a Korean coastal strip, you've seen the scene: tables out the front of restaurants with these massive steamer towers stacked sky-high, clouds of steam billowing out between the layers. That's jogaejjim. The idea is simple — ocean-fresh seafood sorted by type into separate tiers, then steamed together so the juices drip down through each layer. You'll find these restaurants in pretty much every coastal city: Tongyeong, Busan, Taean, Sokcho, Jeju — the lot.

Most people heading to Korea think of sashimi or raw fish when someone mentions seafood, but everyone I've spoken to who's actually tried jogaejjim reckons it's the better experience. Raw fish is great and all, but jogaejjim gives you lobster, abalone, scallops, conch, blue crab and prawns all in one sitting. It's like rocking up to the Sydney Fish Market, grabbing one of everything, and having someone steam it all for you in a giant tower. That's why I wanted to do a proper write-up of the whole experience.

The structure's pretty straightforward: each tier holds a different type of seafood, and the very bottom layer collects all the broth that drips down from the shellfish above — you finish the meal by chucking noodles into that concentrated seafood stock. You pick your tier count based on how many people are eating, typically from 3 to 5 tiers, and pricing varies by region and size, but for 3–4 people on a 5-tier you're looking at roughly A$115.

A Winter Arvo in Tongyeong — Our 5-Tier Steamed Seafood Experience

This happened during winter when I was in Tongyeong with the family — a harbour city on Korea's southern coast, roughly 4.5 hours south of Seoul by car. My wife, my mum, my brother and I had been walking around the waterfront and spotted a jogaejjim restaurant, so we just ducked in. It was off-season and still early for dinner, so we got seated straight away with no wait. It was freezing outside, so honestly just sitting somewhere warm felt like a win. The menu had 3-tier, 4-tier and 5-tier options, and since we were on holidays, we figured why not go the whole hog — 5 tiers. About A$115 all up. Not exactly cheap, but split four ways that's roughly A$29 a head, which for a seafood feast at a coastal tourist town isn't too bad. That's what I told myself anyway.

Side Dishes That Come Out Before the Seafood Tower

Before the main event arrives, staff set out a spread of banchan — Korean side dishes. We got kimchi, seasoned bean sprouts, rice cakes and dumplings, and here's the thing that always blows visitors away: all of it's free. In Korea, when you order a main dish, the side dishes come included at no extra charge, and you can ask for refills if you run out. If you're used to paying A$5 for a bowl of edamame at a restaurant back home, this system feels almost too good to be true. But in Korea, it's completely standard.

More banchan kept coming after that. Spicy raw fish salad, seaweed salad, stuffed cucumber kimchi and acorn jelly. Being a seaside restaurant, the raw fish salad as a freebie was a nice touch — that's the sort of side dish you'd never get at an inland place.

The Moment the 5-Tier Steamed Seafood Tower Hits the Table

And then it arrived. The 5-tier jogaejjim. Five aluminium steamers stacked on top of each other, plonked right in the middle of our table. It was so tall I couldn't see my mum sitting across from me. The table next to us turned around to have a look as well. What's in there? Do we open it from the top or the bottom? Two dipping sauces were already set out — a tangy red chilli vinegar sauce called chojang and a soy-based one.

Top Tier — Lobster and Octopus

The moment we cracked open the top lid, all four of us made the same noise. A whole lobster was sitting in there, and right next to it, an octopus with its tentacles curled up around itself. Mum goes, "If this is just the first tier, what on earth's in the rest of them?" I was dying to open the next one. My brother already had his phone out filming, and my wife was staring at the lobster claws trying to figure out how you're supposed to crack into them. Honestly, just from this first tier alone, I started thinking A$115 might actually be fair enough.

I pulled the lobster tail meat out and it was way thicker than I expected. Because it was steamed rather than grilled or boiled, the flesh was really moist — not dry or rubbery at all. If you've ever had a lobster roll where the meat's been steamed and it's all silky and tender, it was that kind of texture. No butter, no seasoning — just pure steamed lobster — so the natural sweetness of the meat really came through. Dip it in the chojang and you get this tangy, slightly spicy kick that's properly Korean. Completely different vibe from a buttery grilled lobster, but heaps good in its own way.

The octopus came out with its tentacles steamed whole, suckers still perfectly intact. If you've never seen a whole steamed octopus up close, it can be a bit confronting — but you just grab the scissors and cut it into bite-sized pieces. The more you chew, the more this rich, savoury flavour builds up. Not tough or chewy either — just the right amount of bounce.

One of the staff came over and cut up the octopus with scissors, then separated the lobster claws from the body and plated it all up for us. Heaps of jogaejjim restaurants do this — the staff will prep everything tableside so you don't have to wrestle with it yourself. Even if you've never eaten this kind of seafood before, you won't be left guessing.

A Tier Packed with Scallops

Next tier down and it was absolutely loaded with scallops. Bumpy, uneven shells, all different sizes — and since Tongyeong is actually famous for its scallop and oyster farms, I had high hopes. The second that lid came off, a wave of ocean smell hit us and steam poured out everywhere. On a freezing winter day, that steam felt even more dramatic. This is the magic of jogaejjim — every time you open a new tier, there's that buzz of not knowing what's coming next.

When scallops are steamed, the shells pop open and the meat's right there waiting for you. The golden bit is the roe and the round white part is the adductor muscle — that's the good stuff. Pop it off with your chopsticks, put it in your mouth and it's soft but with a proper bite to it, and the sweetness is surprisingly strong. If you've had a beautifully seared scallop at a good restaurant back home, imagine that same sweetness but without the caramelised crust — just pure, clean, steamed scallop flavour.

Up close you can see the muscle and roe sitting right there on the shell, steamed and ready to go. Just prise it off with your chopsticks — leave the dark intestine bit and eat the white muscle and golden roe. My brother absolutely camped on this tier, wouldn't stop eating scallops. I asked him what his deal was and he just said this was the best layer. I honestly couldn't argue with him.

Conch, Abalone, Blue Crab, Prawns — The Full Shellfish Platter Tier

The next tier was basically a shellfish platter all on its own. Conch, abalone, blue crab and prawns all crammed into one layer. Combined with the leftover octopus from the top tier that we'd moved down, our table was quickly disappearing under a growing pile of empty shells and plates. My wife just picked out the prawns, and Mum was dead silent for a good ten minutes cracking into crab legs.

Abalone — Don't Waste the Juices

The abalone came out still in their shells with these little pools of juice bubbling away inside. Those juices are the key — it's basically a concentrated broth from the abalone innards, salty and packed with umami. Scoop it up with a spoon and it's like drinking pure ocean stock. The abalone meat itself had little score marks so it came away from the shell easily with chopsticks. With conch, prawns, abalone and crab all jumbled together in one tier, the beautiful chaos of not knowing what to eat first was half the fun.

The Fun of Winkle-ing Out the Conch

Conch meat sits curled up inside the shell and you've got to twist it out with a toothpick. First go, you'll almost certainly snap the meat halfway. I failed twice before nailing it on the third attempt — getting it out in one clean spiral is genuinely satisfying. Mum got hers out perfectly first try and tried to show me her technique, but honestly I still couldn't get the hang of it.

Blowing on a piping hot abalone that's just come out of the steamer on a freezing winter day — that's the kind of moment that makes the trip to the coast worth it. Mum spent the longest on this tier out of any of them.

Pen Shells and Hard Clams — Pure Shellfish Flavour

Next tier down was pen shells and hard clams. Pen shells are a type of large wedge-shaped mollusc — they were sitting in the steamer with their shells gaping open, bright orange roe and white adductor muscle clearly visible inside. The pen shell muscle is actually a premium cut that goes for serious money even at sashimi restaurants, and eating it steamed like this gives you a completely different experience.

Close up, the meat's just sitting there exposed. The orange bit is the roe, the white bit is the adductor muscle. The muscle has this wonderful chewy, almost bouncy texture — you could easily eat it raw as sashimi, that's how firm and clean it is. I'll be honest, by this tier I was getting properly full, so I was eating more on autopilot than actually savouring things, but even so, the pen shell muscle stood out as genuinely delicious.

The hard clams were heaped up generously. They look a bit like vongole clams but noticeably bigger, and since they were already steamed open, you just pull the shells apart and eat. There were enough for four of us with leftovers. I'll be real though — by this point, shelling scallops and prying open clams was starting to feel like a bit of a chore. It was fun at the start, but after doing it non-stop for twenty-odd minutes, your hands get tired.

The Grand Finale — Noodles in Seafood Broth

The very bottom tier is all broth. While everything above was steaming away, the juices from every single tier of shellfish were dripping down and collecting at the bottom — creating this ridiculously concentrated seafood stock. They chuck knife-cut noodles (kalguksu) into it and let them cook right there at the table, with seaweed flakes, fresh chilli and bean sprouts on top. It was both refreshing and punchy at the same time. You can also throw in any leftover shellfish from the tiers above to make the broth even richer. I was absolutely stuffed after five tiers, but somehow the noodle broth still went down. Mum said the broth was the best part of the whole meal, and after eating through all five tiers, I finally understood what she meant.

What I'd Honestly Change Next Time

Five tiers is a LOT of food. For the first three tiers, you're buzzing — "oh look at this, oh that's amazing" — but from tier four onwards, you're so full that you're more or less just shovelling food in rather than actually enjoying it. Shelling scallops and cracking clams non-stop gets tiring on the hands too. And A$115 isn't nothing — it's about the same as what you'd pay for a decent seafood platter at a restaurant in Sydney or Melbourne, so it's not like it's dirt cheap. If there's only 2 or 3 of you, a 3-tier is absolutely plenty. The portions are generous and the price is way easier to swallow. Save the 5-tier for groups of 4 or more, and only when you're in a "let's go all out" kind of mood.

Why You Should Still Try It at Least Once

Even with all that said, if you're heading to the Korean coast, jogaejjim is something I genuinely reckon you should experience at least once. The anticipation of cracking open each tier and not knowing what's inside, the chaos of scissors and shells and toothpicks and everyone laughing and talking over each other — that atmosphere IS the meal. On a freezing winter day, sitting in front of a tower of steamers with hot steam pouring out while you blow on a piece of abalone before eating it — there's no photo or video that captures what that actually feels like. You've got to be there.

And it's not just Tongyeong — you'll find jogaejjim restaurants all along Korea's coast. Busan, Taean, Sokcho, Jeju, you name it. If you're walking along the waterfront and you spot a restaurant with steamer towers on the tables, just walk in. You won't regret it.

This post was originally published on https://hi-jsb.blog.