Chef Ki Kim’s Journey From Closure to Leading a New Michelin-Starred Kitchen

Working in restaurants can be a tough endeavor: Lower pay, physical and mental exertion, and long hours are the norm. Studies have found that tipped workers are at greater risk of depression, insomnia, and stress and that the restaurant industry ranks high for drug use and heavy alcohol consumption. These factors, compounded by ongoing economic pressures to turn a profit as well as the rarity of health insurance, paid time off, and sick leave, have led to food service being cited as one of the worst industries for mental health. Over 1 million workers have left the industry since the pandemic began, with over 60 percent of those remaining saying they are leaving in due time.

In this special edition of Service Check, Eater examines the sustainability of Los Angeles restaurants through the lens of hospitality workers.

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This story mentions self-harm and suicidal ideation.

Ki Kim opened one of Los Angeles’s first modern Korean tasting menu restaurants, Kinn, in November 2021. The chef had worked at some of New York City’s most prestigious fine dining restaurants but moved to Los Angeles during the pandemic to be closer to family. After staging a few pop-ups, Kim opened his restaurant Kinn in Koreatown to acclaim, earning high praise from Los Angeles Times critic Bill Addison, who wondered if it heralded the future of fine dining in LA. Two years after opening, Kim closed Kinn in November 2023, citing strains on his physical and mental health. Kim took some time off and eventually landed an executive sous chef position at Meteora, rising to chef de cuisine within a few months. He remains there, overseeing a newly minted Michelin-starred restaurant.

Eater sat down with Kim to discuss his journey through the industry, unpack the Kinn closure, and learn what brought him healing in its aftermath.

Eater: Tell me about your journey through the restaurant industry.

Ki Kim: I started cooking when I was 18. Our family moved to Colorado from South Korea and had a hard time adjusting to American culture. I had a hard time blending in, so I dropped out of high school and took the GED. Friends of mine were working in restaurants, making $100 or more in tips. I started working in an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant. I wanted a waiting job, but they pulled me into the kitchen to make California rolls.

If I stuck to my major in college, I would’ve studied journalism. I admire the journalism world and have been a huge fan [of people in that world]. But liking and being is very different, and I didn’t stand a chance in school. At that time, cooking was very fun for me. I eventually worked at Nobu in my early 20s and ended up doing a stage at Benu in San Francisco, which opened my eyes to fine dining. Then I knew I had to go to New York City. I staged at some restaurants in Japan and then worked at Jungsik, Atomix, and Blanca in New York before coming to LA during the pandemic.

One of my colleagues from Atomix, Arnold, suggested that I come out and do a pop-up with him at Hanchic. The pop-up was very successful, and I spent some time working as the executive sous chef of N/Soto with Niki Nakayama before it opened. The partners at Hanchic eventually called me to offer a space they had found, which became Kinn.

What happened at Kinn?

It was definitely a learning experience. Some people in LA called us fusion, but in New York City they would have called it modern Korean cuisine. It taught me what I want to cook [because I enjoy cooking] versus being just a chef on a payroll. It taught me about living in LA, which I hadn’t done before.

There were just issues with my partners to which I couldn’t find a solution. Running a restaurant isn’t just about making and selling food. There’s HR, accounting, and everything else a business requires. There are so many operational things — cooking is the easiest part of operating a restaurant. I say that because, as a chef, cooking becomes a muscle memory. For my partners, they lacked the muscle memory to address problems that came up. It was like every single problem felt new to them.

I was a 49 percent owner, but with the amount of work and responsibility, it should’ve been far more. It began to feel unfair with the amount of hours I dedicated every week. I tried talking to them about needing help, and they rejected the request. It was three of them versus me. I was always outnumbered, even if I had the most logical perspective. I said, if that’s what it’s going to be, we have to close. It took a very specific type of sacrifice to do that restaurant, and that was basically me. That built up to having mental and physical health issues.

How do you find a balance between work and home life?

I was trying to come up with a professional answer to that question and, very truthfully, I haven’t found a perfect work-life balance. As cooks we go to work at 11 a.m. or noon, stay past midnight, or sometimes 3 or 4 in the morning. We always jokingly say that if you can leave work before the food trucks close, that’s balance. That’s not just me, but any chef who wears a similar hat to mine: sous chefs, executive chefs, chef de cuisines. Most of us experience the same thing. That doesn’t make me feel despair in life despite the extreme time and demands of the job. There’s a satisfaction that I’m one more step toward my dream of opening my own restaurant, so that makes it worth it.

Ki Kim

What is the dream that you’re working toward?

One of the things that I learned about the LA restaurant scene, and I don’t mean this in a negative way, is that it’s hard to find people who are driven by the same standards and professionalism. I respect and value master craftsmanship. That’s the kind of food that I make, without having to compromise the quality of food or my creativity.

My dream is to open another restaurant. At this point, it’s not even about making money or having the most successful business, or even having a profit margin. I want to open a sustainable restaurant for myself, my employees, and guests. I have a drafted thought of what that’s going to look like. Hopefully, that’ll open in LA one day. Fortunately, after closing Kinn, a lot of people were reaching out with opportunities. But 99 percent of the time, it’s about “Hey, let’s make a lot of money together.” Unfortunately, money does matter. We all need it to live, but that doesn’t align with my priorities. I already know I’ll be investing the most time and putting in the physical demands. So I’m very cautious about who I want to work with. Prior to Kinn, I would’ve eaten those offers up because I was very eager to open something. Kinn taught me to be more specific.

I have a very specific vision about what my restaurant would look like and what we want to serve, but it’s difficult to find people who agree with that. I think the answer is scaling down, with preferably fewer than 16 seats, and one or two turns at most. Just three or four people working at the same time, including myself. And my partners need to have experience in operating this certain caliber of restaurant.

What are the ways you find rest and recharge?

We all say we’ll sleep when we die, but for me, I find rest on weekends and spend most of my time sleeping to refresh my mind. It’s hard to say I go hiking or exercise because that’s just not true. What has been helpful is therapy. I only started because my friend insisted. I was like, “Whatever, I’ll do it.” I had no opinion about it except for, “Why am I paying money?” This person isn’t a fortune teller or giving you life advice. I was just sharing stories about myself.

But since I closed Kinn, therapy has been one of the things I’m most grateful for. Just having someone obligated to listen for “X” amount of time, somebody that gives you a realistic reaction to what’s going on in your life, and someone who has enough education and intelligence to diagnose by hearing you — it’s amazing. I do work a lot, and therapy has been a strong form of rest.

Tell me about your position right now.

I worked at Morihiro after Kinn closed. Chef Morihiro was very generous to give me a position. I then joined Meteora as executive sous chef. I was hired to be a sous chef at Vespertine and was training at Meteora. But they needed someone to stay and manage the restaurant. Other sous chefs transferred there. Then, in May 2024, I was promoted to chef de cuisine at Meteora.

Since then, it’s been great. I feel like I’ve been here much longer than that — like a year. Not that my day-to-day has changed dramatically since being promoted. It’s just more of a recognition from the company. I’m very grateful for the opportunity. I feel like ever since Kinn closed, even though it’s in the past, that was definitely the low point of my life. I felt like chef Jordan [Kahn] extended a hand to give me a home. I’m extremely grateful to be a part of Meteora. All the resources within the company are incredible, and I couldn’t be happier. We got a Michelin star this year, and that’s a reflection of everyone’s hard work on the team. And it’s much busier now.

Kinn

How do you feel about the rigors of fine dining?

I love sharing about the challenges of fine dining. There are places that make things challenging just for the sake of it. Fine dining is very mentally and physically demanding. It’s impossible to execute without having enough specific sets of hands with a specific mentality. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun or that it always has to be miserable. You have all these employees, all in their 20s and 30s. We all find joy somehow. We all find friends. Sometimes it sounds like gaslighting, but when things are tough, it brings us together.

At Blanca, there were just four of us. Three people who worked service and one who came early to do prep. We were putting out two-Michelin-star food. It was so fun working there every night; it felt like a party. There wasn’t any drinking, yelling, or screaming. It just felt very fun because we were so synchronized. There was so much joy. I already knew what one person was thinking without having to speak. We all know what the steps were going to be, and there’s a really big joy in that.

Generally, fine dining kitchens are quieter or strict. That doesn’t mean it’s not fun, or that it’s toxic. Yes, it can be really hard to distinguish between real toxicity versus working hard. We all choose to be at our jobs. You don’t just get hired at a Michelin-starred restaurant, you go through certain interviews and stages to be hired. Everyone went through a process because they chose to. If they want to leave, that’s fine. If they didn’t enjoy it, it doesn’t mean they failed in their career. This industry offers so much, from McDonald’s to the French Laundry. The spectrum is so wide. Whether cooking burgers or cooking with tweezers and paintbrushes, if the environment isn’t working out, it might be something to reconsider. I’m not saying hardships shouldn’t be overcome — there’s a great mental reward in overcoming hardships — and I’m not saying everyone should bite their tongue, either.

What other ways do you find healing and rejuvenation?

After closing Kinn, I was depressed and low-key suicidal. Not that I did anything or attempted anything — I was just very depressed. But I found therapeutic things, even outside of therapy. Going to Hayato was therapeutic. Working at Morihiro was very therapeutic. It was a new passion that I found in our industry at that moment. We’re all really tired and working hard. There are very few resources that we can rely on. Going to those restaurants, seeing the entire dining experience: of how motivated they are, making personal interactions when serving guests. That level of service felt genuine. It’s like having somebody to just listen to you and what you’re experiencing. It’s very heartwarming. That’s what I’m trying to reach; that’s the caliber of service that I want to provide for my future guests.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.