Chef Hooni Kim may not be a household name. Given the food he's cooking at Danji, however, it's just a matter of time. In my estimation, he's the next Dave Chang. Here's why.

Like Chang, he's a classically trained fine-dining chef (he cooked at Daniel and Masa) who has turned his eye to serving his own food in a humbler setting. In this case, he's taken his native Korean cuisine--a genre that's been served to death in the fried chicken and kim-chi drenched shops that line the streets in the shadow Madison Square Garden, and more recently (and less successfully) in a sterile setting in the former Chanterelle space called Jung Sik--and turned it into a thrilling new model, a small plate bonanza packaged in the shape of a rowdy Spanish tapas bar crossed with a sleek Japanese Izakaya.

Kim's sake-friendly menu is divided in two sections: modern and traditional, and each offers generous amounts of pleasure. All dishes, appetizer sized and meant for sharing, range in price from $6 for a trio of palate pleasing kim chi (it's made by Kim's mother-in-law), to $20 for a generous portion of bossam: silken cabbage leaves are offered up for swaddling nuggets of luscious braised pork belly and spicy threads of dehydrated daikon.

Counting the bossam, Susie and I shared about a half-dozen dishes and a bottle of Junmai sake, the right amount for two people with healthy appetites for food and drink. The bossam was a favorite, that is until we got to the spicy yellowtail sashimi ($13), a dish from the modern side of the menu. A domino-sized slice of yellowtail is used like a wrapper for a bundle of julienned jalapeno, daikon, and cucumber, then painted with a red sauce that started out sweet and turned beautifully warm and spicy in its finish, like a long lazy sunset. The scallion pancake, a traditional favorite, should be ordered too. Crispy and virtually greaseless, it's served sizzling in a cast iron pan and could happily feed a table of friends. Pass it down.

One of the more magical dishes on the menu is Kim's tofu ($7). He's revolutionizing the pale white stuff, doing to tofu what Robert Pattinson has done for vampires. Rectangular cubes like oversized marshmallows are rolled in potato starch then flash fried so they are robed in skins that are hot, delicate and crisp, while their centers remain smooth, creamy and cool. They're served in a nest of tempura flakes, flecked with scallions and slivers of hot red peppers-a gentle fury of combustible flavors.

There is wonder lurking in the food at Danji. This is a chef who plays with food like Mamet plays with words. Pungent pickles come up fast and quick with hearth-bitten chile peppers, fiery ginger, juicy tart citrus, silken buttery fish and fatty deeply flavored meats. It's hard not to swoon.

But the restaurant does have its issues, primarily its close quarters. The white-washed space, on 52^nd Street between 8^th and 9^th Avenues, is quite small. Too small I'd say for the number of people that are clamoring to get a seat. (There are only a precious 36 of them.) You'll find blond wood communal tables so tightly spaced that you may not be able to exit your assigned row if you've indulged too much. Be prepared to suck it in!

And another thing: The hard bar stools you'll be perched upon (with short little backs that just dig into your spine rather than support it) don't make things much better. Maybe it's just me. I'm a comfort seeker. I like to be able to relax at dinner. This is not the experience you'll have at Danji. It's crowded, high energy and fun, sure, but just know the deal and go in the right mood and with the right person. I like a chair with a back. I like a little leg room; mine was completely obscured by our neighbor's coats. And while there were hooks under the tables for purses, they were all taken by the time we squeezed in our communal feeding station, so I ate with my purse on my lap.

My advice: Treat your experience as though the TSA might come by for a surprise raid. Wear light layers. Pack little. Nothing more than three ounces. I plan on returning in just a tank top, light sweater, and fanny pack. No joke. That said, a state of nirvana-like bliss does come from Kim's food, so it's possible to tune out the crowds and rush of the restaurant and focus just on your companion and the food between you.

Given how close you are to your tablemates, the possibility of adding dishes by sharing with neighbors is also an option. We had food envy a couple of times. It was at its worst when the Korean couple next to us dug into a stack of the chef's spicy KFC (Korean fire chicken wings, $10), all shimmery and sticky with spice and sweetness. I was tempted to offer some of our bossam in exchange, but they were so gleefully and ravenously tearing through those wings, I feared I would be knocked off my stool at the suggestion.

Susie and I finished dinner with a plate of Kim's fantastic sliders. Buttery buns the size and color of summer peaches are stuffed with spicy bulgogi beef, then garnished with spicy pickles and a salsa fashioned from scallions ($12). You may never go back to an ordinary slider again. At least not happily.

You'll leave Danji and be grateful for the fresh air and the wide open space of Hell's Kitchen. But you'll be thinking about your meal for days after it's over, like an affair you know you should probably cut off but you can't. You'll be back in those chairs again. And so will I.

Danji is located at 346 West 52^nd Street, between 8^th and 9^th Avenues, 212-586-2880, www.dajinyc.com

Andrea Strong