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Photograph by Ben Rollins

When James Kim was young, he used to visit his father’s family on Geoje Island off the southern coast of South Korea. There were no traffic lights in the village, but there were rice paddies on steep slopes, and his uncle fermented makgeolli, Korean raw rice wine, in clay pots. Compared to the dry cleaner’s shop his immigrant parents ran on Jimmy Carter Boulevard in Norcross, it was idyllic.

Kim hated working at the family business; all those piles of clothes to tag, all those shirts to press in the sweltering heat. Once he finished college, he knew he wanted a “W-2 job” and an air-conditioned office. But after graduating from Georgia Tech with a degree in industrial engineering and doing time in the corporate world, he had second thoughts: Maybe self-employment wasn’t a bad idea after all.

Photograph by Ben Rollins

A few years ago, Kim and his business partner, Ming Han Chung—a former Duluth High School classmate—began to kick around ideas for a start-up. (Previously, they’d owned a photography business together, taking pictures at weddings and special events, and Kim had been a partner with another friend in a quick-serve Japanese restaurant.) Chung suggested they make alcohol. Kim remembered his uncle’s homemade makgeolli and asked his dad to get the family recipe, and a new business was born.

Last fall, Kim and Chung opened Minhwa Spirits in the corner unit of a recently renovated retail development on Van Fleet Circle in Doraville. Minhwa refers to a genre of Korean folk art created by itinerant artists without formal training. “They just painted art to be enjoyed by the masses,” Kim says. “We are just two dudes trying to make good spirits for the people.”

At Minhwa, you will find Korean booze handcrafted from Arkansas rice (plus a gin incorporating botanicals sourced from Marietta-based Chai Box); cocktails; and a modern aesthetic. An outdoor mural, rendered in minhwa style by Washington, D.C.–based artist Julia Chon, aka Kimchi Juice, symbolizes the flowering of Korean culture in America. The mythic mother-goddess of Korea is draped in red, white, and blue, the colors of both countries, while branches of Asian peaches wink at Georgia’s most famous fruit. Hoshi, the distillery’s resident stray cat, is named for a Korean pop star known for his feline pout.

Photograph by Ben Rollins

Minhwa is unique to the city and one of only a handful of artisan soju and makgeolli makers in the United States. “Minhwa has built a modern tasting room not unlike a space you would find in Napa or the Willamette Valley,” says Matt Rodbard, founding editor of the online magazine Taste and coauthor, along with San Francisco Bay area chef Deuki Hong, of the well-received Koreaworld: A Cookbook and Koreatown: A Cookbook.

While this modern jumak (Korean tavern) centers on Minhwa’s spirits, it also serves as the home of two emerging Asian American–owned businesses: Postern Coffee and pop-up kitchen Ganji. The synergistic business model makes for a day-to-night operation with a bounty of exciting mix-and-match options: Postern’s coffee drinks spiked with Korean ingredients; Ganji’s Korean fried chicken sandwiches and shrimp schnitzel; Minhwa’s perilla highballs and kimchi-laced soju sippers.

On weekdays, the stylish space is a counter-service coffee bar, with the addition of food and booze on weekends. Wednesday through Sunday evenings, diners can enjoy Ganji’s menu, with table service.

Minhwa arrives on the crest of a Korean wave that’s been building locally for the past quarter century. Heirloom Market BBQ, launched by chefs Jiyeon Lee and Cody Taylor in 2010, is an iconic Cobb County destination where Korean flavors mingle with Southern smoked meats. Last year, Korean American chef Brian So’s fine-dining restaurant, Spring, in downtown Marietta, was awarded a Michelin star, and So’s second restaurant, Spring 2nd Branch, is nearing completion.

“I remember distinctly in junior year [of high school] is when the Korean invasion started happening in Gwinnett,” says Chung, recalling the late-1990s transformation of Pleasant Hill Road into an enclave of Korean-owned restaurants, grocery stores, banks, and other businesses. For the record, the culturally omnivorous Chung was born in Taiwan, but he fell hard for Korean culture as a Gwinnett teen.

“I go to Korean restaurants now, and sometimes, I walk in and we (Korean Americans) are in the minority,” Kim says. “I love seeing that—just people having an interest in Korean food, Korean culture.”

Still, Minhwa’s founders understand that the clear, rice-based soju and sweet-sour makgeolli may be new to many non-Koreans. Having first-rate culinary and coffee programs adds extra enticement for customers to stop in.

And Minhwa’s support of minority-owned businesses can help their colleagues gain exposure and financial stability. “Ming and James came out of nowhere,” says Jun Park, who runs Ganji with his chef-partner, Jess Kim. “They are trying to change the landscape of not just drink, but also food and Korean hospitality in Atlanta.”

Soju, which can be traced back to 13th-century Korea, has gotten a bad reputation in modern times, as commercial distillers have added sugar, artificial sweeteners and flavorings, and water to the product—and even used sweet potato and tapioca as the base ingredient, rather than rice.

Minhwa’s soju, by contrast, is made from three ingredients: rice, water, and nuruk, the Korean fermentation starter. But that doesn’t mean the process is simple. Kim and Chung have applied their tech background with nerdy aplomb, making batch after batch, visiting distilleries, and finding the perfect Southern-grown rice.

“We don’t add any sweeteners or preservatives or additives,” Kim says. “The whole idea was going back to that traditional style of doing it, the way my uncle used to do it, the way our ancestors used to do it for hundreds of years.”

For many, Korea’s national drink is more than a way to drink alcohol. It’s a libation imbued with emotion—poured at weddings, graduation parties, barbecues, funerals. A shot glass can hold so many feelings: pride, joy, pain, melancholy.

“In my family, everybody drinks soju,” says Park, 27, who moved to Atlanta from South Korea when he was eight. “My grandma drinks soju. My aunts drink soju. I remember when I was really young, one of my aunts who loves me very much gave me a little paper cup with a little soju in it, because she didn’t know the next time she would see me. It’s that kind of drink for Koreans. There’s always a meaning behind drinking soju.”

Making the soulful spirits of his parents’ homeland is a highly personal endeavor for Kim, a way to make up for something lost in transit. “Since I was born here in Atlanta, my ties to our culture are not as strong as they could be,” he says. “We don’t speak a lot of Korean in our house. I do feel some sorrow that my children may be losing a part of their heritage because of this.”

Now, in pursuing the art of rice spirits, he’s been able to revisit his past and plant a seed for the future.

This article appears in our March 2025 issue.