How Volcanic Stone and Thatched Roofs Transformed a Vancouver Restaurant

The Island of Three Abundances

There's a particular quality to restaurants that anchor themselves in geography rather than trend. The 44-seat Jeju, which opened on East Broadway in Vancouver, exemplifies this approach by rooting every design gesture in the material and cultural landscape of South Korea's Jeju Island. The island carries a historical nickname that translates as "the Island of Three Abundances," referencing its strong winds, volcanic stone, and the Haenyeo free-diving women who historically harvested seafood after much of the male population was lost at sea. The studio &Daughters translated that abundance into spatial language, deploying stone, thatch, and symbolic craft as organizing principles rather than decorative afterthoughts.

Chef Dylan Kim originally launched Jeju in Tofino in 2021 with his wife, Sung Kim, exploring parallels between the Vancouver Island surf town and South Korea's coastal topography. The Vancouver iteration, opened in partnership with his mother, chef Myungseok "Julie" Suh, brings the concept back to the mainland with a menu structured as a Venn diagram: traditional Korean dishes by Suh on one side, modern interpretations by her son on the other, collaborations in the center. The spatial design follows a similar logic, balancing vernacular craft with contemporary detailing.

Basalt as Tectonic Base

Volcanic basalt is ubiquitous on Jeju Island, forming the backbone of traditional walls and terraces. &Daughters used basalt-capped concrete masonry unit blocks to form the bases of the bar, chef's table, and host stand, grounding the interior with material weight. The CMU construction is exposed rather than clad, a tectonic honesty that reads as both industrial and elemental. The stone caps provide thermal mass and visual heft, anchoring the room's lighter elements.

The flooring, a pre-existing concrete slab, revealed unexpected tonal variation during polishing. Rather than replace it, the design team leaned into the imperfection, drawing a parallel to Korean ceramic traditions that prize irregularity and to the windswept beaches of Jeju itself. The result is a continuous surface that shifts in color and texture underfoot, adding a layer of visual complexity without additional material intervention.

Thatched Craft as Overhead Gesture

Two custom light fixtures reinterpret the chogajip, Jeju Island's thatched-roof vernacular houses. &Daughters constructed armatures from dimensional lumber and hand-thatched them with dried grass secured by braided ties, a labor-intensive process that honors traditional craft methods. The fixtures hang at different heights, casting textured shadows and providing tactile contrast to the room's harder surfaces.

The thatching process itself is notable for its fidelity to historical technique. Each bundle of grass is individually dried and bound, then lashed to the frame with braided cordage. The fixtures function as sculptural objects as much as light sources, their organic irregularity offsetting the precision of the tubular black pendants and recessed geometric panels that provide ambient illumination elsewhere in the space.

The Jeongnang as Ritual Marker

Behind the floor-to-ceiling glazing and three-meter-high wooden entrance door, a jeongnang gate system replaces the standard open-closed sign. On Jeju Island, where theft was historically rare, residents used three-pole gates with different pole arrangements to signal occupancy: all poles down means someone is home, one pole raised indicates a brief absence, all poles raised signals an extended departure. At the restaurant, a lowered pole marks the start of service, and raising it ceremonially closes each evening.

The gesture is subtle but legible, particularly for diners familiar with the cultural reference. It also establishes a threshold ritual, transforming entry from a transactional act into something more deliberate. The jeongnang sits just inside the glazing, visible from the street, making the restaurant's operational status part of the urban streetscape.

Material Layering and Acoustic Strategy

Cork wall cladding runs throughout the dining room, providing both acoustic dampening and a warm, tactile counterpoint to the basalt and concrete. The material choice is pragmatic but also sensory: cork absorbs sound without the visual weight of fabric panels or the sterility of acoustic tiles. Its granular texture catches light unevenly, adding another layer of depth to the walls.

A full mirrored wall on the east side of the room amplifies the space visually, reflecting the thatched fixtures, the bar shelving backlit with warm LED strips, and the movement of diners and staff. The mirror also extends sightlines, making the narrow room feel wider and more permeable. It's a modernist gesture that contrasts with the craft-forward elements elsewhere, creating productive tension rather than stylistic confusion.

Elevated Kitchen as Spatial Anchor

The kitchen occupies a raised platform accessed by a pre-existing ramp. The elevation positions the chef's table diners at near eye level with the cooks, heightening intimacy and making the cooking process legible. From the kitchen, the chefs have a clear vantage over the entire dining room and through the glazing to the street beyond, a reversal of the typical front-of-house to back-of-house hierarchy.

The ramp itself, inherited from the previous tenant, could have been read as a constraint. Instead, &Daughters made it a spatial organizing device, using the level change to delineate zones without walls or partitions. The elevated kitchen functions as a stage, but one where the performers can see the audience as clearly as they are seen.

Precedent and Context

The project recalls Noma's Copenhagen dining room, where material restraint and craft traditions frame the culinary experience without overwhelming it. It also shares DNA with Studio Tack's work in the American West, where regional materials and vernacular forms are deployed with contemporary rigor. Closer to home, the design conversation includes Ste. Marie's Vancouver projects, which similarly balance West Coast modernism with tactile, handmade elements.

What distinguishes Jeju is the specificity of its cultural and geographic references. The design doesn't gesture vaguely toward "Asian" or "coastal" aesthetics; it draws a direct line from Jeju Island's volcanic geology, thatched architecture, and social customs to a dining room on East Broadway. That precision gives the space conceptual clarity and material coherence, qualities that are increasingly rare in hospitality design.

Reception and Reservation Dynamics

Since opening, Jeju has seen reservation blocks fill within hours of release each month. The tight seating count and the reputation of both chefs have driven demand, but the spatial experience appears to be part of the draw. Diners report that the room feels both intimate and energized, a balance difficult to achieve in small restaurants where intimacy often tips into claustrophobia.

The design's success lies in its refusal to simplify or sentimentalize its source material. The basalt, thatch, and jeongnang are not decorative signifiers but structural elements of the spatial narrative. The result is a restaurant that feels grounded in place, even as it occupies a city thousands of miles from its namesake island.

Credit: Alex Lesage