Bangladeshi craft meets Korean design at Sol restaurant
The furniture is deliberately restrained in Sol—wooden chairs and tables defined by clean, linear profiles and minimal detailing. Instead of relying on sculptural forms, the space draws its character from atmosphere, where lighting, sound and subtle shifts in mood provide the sense of drama
A heavy wooden door, carved with intricate patterns, marks the entrance to Sol — a Korean barbecue restaurant that avoids foreign grandeur in favour of local textures and materials. Here, Bangladeshi craftsmanship shapes a sophisticated Korean ambience.
From the elevator lobby, a subtle shift in atmosphere signals the transition. The lighting softens and the layout encourages a slower pace. A garden-like forecourt — evocative of a Zen garden, though never literal — serves as a threshold between the bustle of the city and the calm within. This intermediary space is essential, setting the tone for the dining experience that follows.
Sol is located at Ventura Mall in Gulshan, just beside the constant hum of Pink City. As I stepped in through the door, the chirping of birds reached my ears. For a moment, it felt confusing; after all, I was on the 12th floor. Only later did I realise the sound came from a carefully curated sound system. In that instant, the city's clamour felt a world away.
Keep updated, follow The Business Standard's Google news channel
From the very first moments, Sol signals its intent: this is not a space of visual excess. Rather, it is a carefully orchestrated experience of mood, transition and arrival of Korean eatery.
And the namesake expresses this value as well. According to the owners, they chose the name for a layered meaning. It refers to the pine tree, Korea's national tree, echoes the native pronunciation of Seoul, and faintly suggests the English word "soul", which is a subtle nod to the restaurant's spirit.
Korean, but contextual
Sol is the brainchild of three partners — Md Saqib Farabi, Md Aaqib Farabi and Najmul Nahid — and opened its doors just last month, in December. Though firmly rooted in Korean barbecue traditions, the restaurant deliberately avoids mimicking Korean interiors.
Neither the owners nor the architect, Utsha Zaman, sought literal replication; their goal was resonance, a space that feels authentically Korean yet distinctly local.
"To get a better understanding of an authentic Korean restaurant, we travelled to Malaysia in August last year for research and development. Because Malaysia has so many halal Korean options. The Korean dining scene there felt far more evolved. And we took careful notes," said Najmul Nahid.
One of the key inspirations came from traditional Korean hanok houses, particularly their roof structures. Hanok roofs are curved roofs on traditional Korean houses, characterised by their upward sweep and black or grey ceramic tiles (giwa), supported by natural wooden structures, with deep eaves (cheoma) for shade and rain protection. These are constructed from natural, recyclable materials like timber and clay.
The team noticed a visual and conceptual similarity between hanok roofs and the tiled roofs in Bangladesh. The similarity probably came from the tropical rainy atmosphere in Bangladesh. They incorporated this roof structure around the Zen garden over the dining area.
Rather than importing foreign materials or motifs, Sol chose to reinterpret Korean forms using local elements like wood, cement, stone, grounding the design in its Dhaka context.
This philosophy of restraint aligns closely with the owners' own understanding of Korean culture. Korean food, Nahid believes, is often misunderstood as niche or luxurious. In reality, it is deeply rooted in ideas of home, preservation, and necessity.
"Dishes like kimchi emerged from scarcity and seasonal survival, not indulgence," said Nahid. That humility, he felt, should extend to the space in which the food is served.
A conscious rejection of flash
Gulshan's dining scene is no stranger to poshness. Many restaurants rely on polished surfaces, dramatic lighting, and a sense of exclusivity to signal value. Sol deliberately takes another path.
Despite occupying an expensive location, the owners were clear that they did not want a space that felt intimidating or elitist. Luxury, in their view, does not have to announce itself. What mattered more was comfort, the feeling that one could linger and relax.
This philosophy influenced material choices throughout the restaurant: mostly wood, cement and mosaic.
The result is a space that feels rather unpretentious, but at the same time, not careless. Fair-face concrete is used intentionally as an aesthetic decision. The simplicity is precise.
Nowhere is this design logic clearer than in the restaurant's handling of Korean barbecue itself. At Sol, each table features its own grill, allowing diners to watch their meals prepared in real time. "Since this is a confined indoor space, smoke control was critical. The smoke is drawn away through a ducting system that runs beneath the floor," Aaqib noted.
In a confined indoor space, even minor miscalculations could make dining uncomfortable. To address this, the design team developed an extensive ducting system that runs beneath a raised floor.
The ducting itself is carefully positioned to serve multiple tables efficiently, avoiding a cluttered or random appearance that could disrupt the spatial rhythm.
Tabletops posed another challenge. Wood was unsafe due to fire risk; glass could crack under heat; metal would transfer heat uncomfortably to diners. The solution was mosaic tiles—traditional, heat-resistant, affordable, and visually warm. It is also a choice that reflects the project's broader ethos: practical and thoughtful.
Lighting at Sol is intentionally understated. Rather than flooding the space with decorative fixtures, the light here at Sol is warm and soft.
Metal mesh sheets conceal light sources, allowing illumination to filter through softly, especially at night. The light bodies themselves remain largely invisible, while shadows and patterns animate the surfaces around them. Beneath these fixtures, borders inspired by traditional jhalor or chandelier details appear—another example of local elements being woven into a broader aesthetic language.
Plants are used sparingly throughout Sol. Rather than turning greenery into decoration, it functions as emotional infrastructure. "Green is known to soothe the eye and calm the nervous system, and the design uses this effect subtly," said Nahid.
Furniture was custom-designed after extensive research, drawing from Korean references and adapted by local artisans. Chairs, tables, and even cutlery were chosen with cultural meaning in mind.
The pieces are deliberately restrained — wooden chairs and tables defined by clean, linear profiles and minimal detailing. Instead of relying on sculptural forms, the space draws its character from atmosphere, where lighting, sound and subtle shifts in mood provide the sense of drama.
This approach extends throughout the restaurant. Brick walls, left deliberately simple, serve both functional and aesthetic purposes. In one instance, a patterned brick wall separates the kitchen from the dining area. Instead of adding panelling or decorative layers to turn it into a feature wall, the wall itself becomes the background which is textured, honest, and unobtrusive.
The use of metal chopsticks, for instance, nods to Korean tradition, where such utensils were historically associated with royalty which serves the purpose of practicality rather than luxury.
Beyond the design
For the owners, however, design is only one part of the equation. "A beautifully designed restaurant means little if the food and service fail to match the space", said Aaqib. Their philosophy centres on hospitality in its most literal sense: treating guests as if they are visitors in one's home.
Staff are trained not simply to serve, but to host the customers. Emotional fulfilment, not just culinary satisfaction, is the goal. "If guests leave feeling cared for, they will return and bring others with them," said Aaqib.
This belief is rooted in how the owners understand Korean food itself. It is not celebratory in a loud way. It is nourishing, communal, and emotionally grounding. Sol aims to extend that feeling beyond the plate, into the architecture and the experience of being there. In a crowded neighbourhood, Sol stands out by lowering its voice.
Its Korean identity is evident but never overstated. Its local grounding is subtle yet firm. Every element, from brick walls to ducting systems, from soundscapes to seating, serves the same purpose: to make people feel welcome and comfortable.
And in a city as restless as Dhaka, that may be its most radical gesture of all.
