There is a moment that happens on almost every beef tour I lead.
Someone looks down at a beautifully marbled steak and says, “So… this is basically Korean Wagyu, right?”
I get why they ask. Hanwoo and Wagyu occupy similar spots in their respective countries. Both command astonishing prices. Both get treated as national treasures. Both produce beef with marbling so intricate it seems almost too pretty to put over a fire.
But calling Hanwoo “Korean Wagyu” is a bit like calling Burgundy “French Napa.” It gets you in the general neighborhood. It misses what makes each one what it is.
The more interesting question isn’t whether Hanwoo is Korea’s version of something else. It’s why Koreans care about it so much in the first place.
Beef Was Never an Everyday Food
For most of the Joseon Dynasty, killing a cow without permission could get you killed too. The government issued and reissued ugeumnyeong, cattle slaughter bans, over and over across five centuries, because an ox wasn’t food, it was infrastructure. One animal plowed your fields, hauled your cart, and represented more capital than most families would ever hold at once. Butchering it for a meal wasn’t a treat. It was closer to burning your own tractor for warmth.
Pork became everyday food. Chicken filled a similar role. Beef stayed reserved for celebrations, major holidays, promotions, weddings, or the rare dinner when a family decided, “Tonight, we’re spending a little more.” Even now, plenty of Koreans still associate Hanwoo with occasions rather than routine meals. It carries emotional weight that goes well past the meat itself.
Why Koreans Will Gladly Pay the Price
Visitors are often shocked by what Hanwoo costs.
Koreans generally aren’t.
Part of that is simple economics. Hanwoo is raised in relatively small numbers, most of it stays in Korea, and the cattle are bred over generations for quality rather than volume. But the willingness to pay isn’t only about scarcity. There’s a lot of national pride wrapped up in Hanwoo. In a country that imports much of its food, especially grains and foreign beef, Hanwoo remains something distinctly Korean. It represents decades of breeding, agricultural investment, and an insistence that domestic beef can go up against anything in the world. Whether every Korean actually believes it’s the best beef on earth is almost beside the point. The belief itself has value.
It Doesn’t Taste Like Wagyu
This is where the comparison falls apart. Japanese Wagyu often feels almost engineered to dissolve on your tongue. At its highest grades, it’s rich enough that a full steak can feel like drinking warm butter. That’s not a knock, it’s exactly what Wagyu is built to do.
Hanwoo takes a different path. The marbling is there, but the beef flavor stays front and center. You notice the sweetness, sure, but you also notice you’re still eating beef rather than just luxuriating in fat. It’s indulgent without tipping over into excess. I find Hanwoo easier to eat as an actual meal. Wagyu is an extraordinary tasting experience. Hanwoo is something I genuinely crave. Reasonable people can disagree.
The Best Place to Eat It Isn’t Fancy
Visitors often assume the best Hanwoo must be hiding inside some restaurant where everyone whispers and the lighting costs more than the cattle. I send them to Majang Meat Market instead, which doesn’t look luxurious because it isn’t trying to. It’s a working wholesale market. Butchers stand behind glass cases displaying cuts that resemble geological cross-sections of marbling, and regular customers argue grades with vendors they’ve known for years.
One of those vendors, a guy who’s spent more years behind that glass case than I’ve spent in Korea, once held up a cut for me and a group of guests and said, “This one, foreigners always say too much fat. Koreans say not enough.” He wasn’t being smug. He’d just watched that exact disagreement happen a thousand times, and he already knew which way we’d land before we did.
Meat gets weighed, wrapped, carried upstairs, and grilled minutes later. You stop being a restaurant customer and briefly become part of the food chain itself.
Is It Worth It?
Depends on why you’re eating it. If you want the cheapest Korean barbecue of your trip, no. Korea has plenty of fantastic meals that cost a fraction of what Hanwoo does.
But if you’re curious about Korean food culture, Hanwoo is more than an expensive steak. It’s a story about agriculture, history, prosperity, and national identity. You’re tasting the product of a country that once relied on cattle to survive and eventually decided those same animals deserved to become one of its great luxuries.
That’s the version of Majang I take people through on the Majang Meat Market Experience, the same butcher two floors down, the same argument over fat content, the same walk upstairs to grill what you just bought. You’re not being shown Hanwoo. You’re buying it from the person who knows exactly why it costs what it costs.
Most people think they’ve eaten galbi because they sat at a grill, flipped something shiny, wrapped it in lettuce, and left smelling like smoke. That assumption is common, understandable, and usually wrong.
Seoul has no shortage of BBQ restaurants that look convincing. Wood-paneled walls. Stainless exhaust pipes. A server with scissors moving quickly from table to table. The performance is familiar. The result is often forgettable.
What keeps mediocre galbi alive isn’t malice. It’s repetition. Once enough people accept the version in front of them, the original quietly steps aside.
Table of Contents
What Galbi Used to Mean
Galbi 갈비 means ribs. Not ribs as a flavor category, but ribs as structure.
Older Koreans still talk about wang-galbi without irony. Large ribs. Real bones. Meat that varies in thickness and shape because animals are not symmetrical. It bends on the grill. It resists the scissors once before giving way.
The bone is not decorative. It changes how heat travels. It slows the cook. It keeps the meat from drying out before the sugars in the marinade caramelize. You notice it most in the bite closest to the bone, where the flavor deepens instead of sweetening.
That style of galbi still exists, but it no longer dominates.
When Substitutes Become the Standard
At some point, practicality crept in.
Smaller cuts were easier to portion. Uniform shapes were easier to price. A clean bone added familiarity. Food-grade binding agents made it possible to attach one to the other.
Nothing about this is illegal. Nothing about it announces itself as wrong. Once marinated, grilled, and cut tableside, most diners never question it.
The scissors clatter. The smoke rises. The table fills. The difference disappears unless you’ve felt it before.
Cheap Galbi, Not as a Moral Problem
A friend of mine, Injoo, has spent years chasing cheap BBQ with a kind of cheerful persistence. Three-thousand-won pork belly. Five-thousand-won galbi. He treats new price points like rumors worth investigating.
Most of the time, the results are predictable.
One night, after a long day wrangling kids at a Halloween carnival, he suggested another bargain galbi place. I hesitated. Cheap galbi often means shortcuts, not because the owner is dishonest, but because something has to give.
This place held.
The grill came out empty. Then the charcoal arrived.
The Fire Chief Still Tells You Things
In older galbi houses, someone still handles the fire.
Charcoal comes fast and hot, dropped into the pit with the practiced indifference of repetition. Ash lifts into the air. Heat rolls across the table edge and into your sleeves. It smells sharp, unfiltered, and temporary.
Gas grills are tidy. Charcoal announces itself. You notice it later, on your jacket, when you think you’ve left dinner behind.
When the Meat Hits the Grill
The sound is dry and immediate. Sugar catches quickly. Soy and garlic darken if you hesitate. Fat drips, flashes, and sends smoke back up into the hood.
The scissors move fast. Metal clicks against metal. Pieces fall where they land.
This is usually the moment when substitutes reveal themselves, not through drama, but through texture. Uniform cuts behave politely. Real galbi pulls unevenly. One section yields. Another holds for a second longer.
You don’t need to know why to feel it.
About Rules, and the Lack of Them
Every few years, someone decides galbi needs etiquette. One lettuce leaf only. Garlic cooked but not raw. Sauce in a specific order.
None of that holds at the table.
Koreans eat galbi according to mood, appetite, and whatever is within reach. Garlic raw or grilled. One leaf or two. Kimchi folded into the wrap because it fits better that way.
There is one rule that does seem to persist. Don’t put your rice spoon into a shared stew. Everything else adjusts.
LA Galbi Has Its Own Story
LA galbi exists because butchers in the United States cut beef differently. The solution was to slice across the bone. Thinner meat. Faster cooking. Easier to handle.
It can be good. It is not a replacement for wang-galbi. It solves a different problem.
When a restaurant offers only this cut and presents it as tradition, it’s usually a sign of what they value most. Speed. Predictability. Familiarity.
Where Galbi Still Feels Like It Used To
You tend to find it in places that are slightly inconvenient.
Restaurants with uneven menus. Grills scarred from decades of use. Ventilation that rattles louder than the music. Tables filled with people who don’t photograph their food because they’ve eaten it before.
These places don’t announce themselves. They don’t need to.
You don’t stumble into them the way you once could. You notice them because something about the meal feels slower, heavier, more complete.
A Quiet Ending
None of this means you were fooled. It means the city changed around a dish that once had a narrower definition.
Galbi didn’t disappear. It loosened. It adapted. It learned to behave.
If you’ve eaten enough of it, eventually you notice when something feels different. Not worse exactly. Just smoother, easier, and oddly forgettable.
That recognition tends to arrive mid-meal, when the smoke hangs a little longer and the bone finally makes sense again.
This post was originally published on Oct. 29, 2005. Updated in 2026.
Move over Valentine’s Day; there’s a new Hallmark holiday in town—only instead of candy hearts, we get sizzling strips of pork belly. March 3rd is Samgyeopsal Day in South Korea, and yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like: an entire day dedicated to grilling fatty pork in all its glistening glory. If you’re surprised this is a thing, trust me—it’s as real as Korea’s obsession with four seasons once was.
The Pork-Backed Origin Story
Samgyeopsal Day didn’t spontaneously manifest from the communal soul of Korean culinary tradition. Instead, it was created back in 2003 by the Paju Yeoncheon Livestock Corporation—essentially the pig industry’s way of shouting, “Hey, we exist, please buy more pork!”
Why March 3rd? “Samgyeopsal” literally means “three-layered meat,” so the date 3/3 is a neat pun. Marketing genius, right?
Why do Koreans love it? Possibly because there’s a built-in excuse to eat more pork—and who doesn’t like a reason to binge on BBQ?
As cynical as that might sound, the holiday worked. It boosted domestic pork sales, propped up farmers, and before you knew it, it became an actual, if unofficial, tradition. Now we’re all telling our friends, “Happy Samgyeopsal Day!” like it’s the Year of the Pig or something.
From Pariah Meat to National Staple
Believe it or not, pork wasn’t always the superstar in Korean dining. Beef was traditionally held in higher esteem, but supply issues in the 1980s nudged the government to push pork onto the dinner table. Add in some corporate powerhouses like Samsung and Lotte getting into meat processing, plus scientific hog-raising methods (think less barnyard funk, more succulent slabs), and you’ve got the recipe for a “pork renaissance.” By the ’90s, samgyeopsal was the new normal for big nights out.
Why Does This Holiday Even Matter?
Economic Kudos: Pig farmers thrive on this annual sales boost. If Hallmark can bankroll Mother’s Day, pig farmers can do the same for Samgyeopsal.
Food Soul: Despite its marketing-engineered roots, the communal act of sharing grilled pork belly has genuine warmth. Like a good kimchi jjigae, it’s become a comfort food staple that feels authentically Korean—even if it started as a PR campaign.
How Koreans Celebrate Samgyeopsal Day
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Restaurant Promotions Expect your social media to blow up with “Samgyeopsal Day 50% OFF!” ads. If you’re a carnivorous bargain-hunter, this is your Christmas in March.
Home BBQ Feasts Got a portable grill and a decent ventilation system? Invite some friends, grab soju, and fill your house with the sweet smell of sizzling pork belly (just hope your neighbors don’t mind).
DIY Lettuce Wrap Stations A key part of samgyeopsal’s charm is how interactive it is: get your ssamjang, garlic slices, kimchi, and fresh lettuce (or perilla leaves), then wrap ‘em up. It’s build-your-own taco, Korean-style.
Creative Takes Feeling fancy? Try gochujang marinades or a drizzle of sesame oil, salt, and pepper. The combos are endless, and so is the potential for Instagram food porn—just keep it real, yeah?
Themed Sides and Culture There’s more to a proper feast than pork. Japchae, kimchi, or even a little cucumber banchan bring texture, color, and that comforting sour-spicy contrast Koreans can’t live without. Throw on some K-pop, or do a mini history lesson about why we’re doing this in the first place—beyond just “3/3.”
Craving a Real Samgyeopsal Party? Book The Ultimate Korean BBQ Experience
Fun Ways to Celebrate at Home
Host a Korean Drinking Game Night: You’ve got the soju, you’ve got the pork. Add a few rounds of “Baskin Robbins 31” or “Titanic” (the soju-floating-in-beer-cup game), and watch the night unfold.
Fusion Feast: Feeling adventurous? Wrap your grilled pork in tortillas for a “K-Mex” twist, or stuff it into kimbap for a bizarre but surprisingly tasty roll.
Solo Samgyeopsal: Who says you need company? Fire up your grill pan, binge some K-dramas, and enjoy the privacy of not having to share.
Is Samgyeopsal Day Overhyped?
Of course it is. But so is Black Friday. We’re talking about a day conceived as a marketing gimmick that morphed into a borderline national celebration. Yet, here we are, excitedly marking it on the calendar. In a sense, that’s Korea’s magic: turning a PR stunt into something that actually feels meaningful by weaving it into the social fabric—food, friends, and family.
Final Thoughts
If you think Samgyeopsal Day is just another corporate-manufactured holiday, well, you’re not wrong. But it’s also a delicious excuse to gather around the grill and enjoy the smoky scent that’s as comforting to Koreans as fireworks on the Fourth of July are to Americans. Sometimes, that’s all the reason we need.
So, on March 3rd, do what Koreans do: celebrate a silly date that turned into a cherished tradition—and partake in that warm, interactive fun of sharing grilled pork belly with good company. Just be sure to crack a joke about how you’re doing your patriotic duty to support local farmers by chowing down on one more slice. Ssamjang optional—but highly recommended.
Happy Samgyeopsal Day, Everyone!
Put on your stretchy pants, gather your favorite humans, and toast to the “three-layered meat” that’s wrapped this country’s heart in smoky, savory goodness for decades. Marketing ploy or not, it’s time to feast. Enjoy!
I’ve been writing about Korean food in Seoul since 2004 at ZenKimchi. I’ve consulted Anthony Bourdain, Andrew Zimmern, Lonely Planet, Conde Nast Traveler, The Travel Channel, and other world media in finding the must eat Korean foods. Here’s the ultimate list. These are foods you can find specific restaurants for. I’m not including foods that you’d find as side dishes, like Japchae and Kimchi.
Beginner’s Quest
This list is getting so hyuuuge that I’m dividing it into Beginner, Intermediate, and Advanced. Beginner is if you’re new to Korean food, or if it’s your first time in Korea. These are also the foods that are crowd pleasers–the greatest hits. The Top-40 music of Korean food.
Korean BBQ
The first must-eat Korean food that springs to mind. Cooking meat at your table and wrapping it in lettuce. There’s something primal about that. Korean BBQ is all about community and fun. In Korea itself, pork is king. Beef costs so much it’s for special occasions.
Where to eat Korean BBQ
It’s hard to screw up Korean BBQ in Korea. The competition is so fierce that mediocre places don’t hang out long.
Mapo Jeong Daepo 마포정대포
My go-to place is still Jeong Daepo in the Mapo neighborhood, near Gongdeok Station. The whole area is full of BBQ aromas. Most all the restaurants in that area are great. We made sure Anthony Bourdain went there the last time he was in Seoul. It’s the main place we go to on The Ultimate Korean BBQ Night Out.
Hongik Sutbul Galbi Sogeum Gwi 홍익숯불갈비소금구
I don’t know how long this will hold out against the pressure of gentrification. It’s a packed, packed, packed place. They give your meat a pre-cook over strong fire before finishing it at your table.
Chicken & Beer
“Chimaek” (Chicken + Maekju | beer) got its start in the early 1970s. It’s now such a great must-eat Korean food institution that we have more chicken restaurants than there are McDonald’s in the entire world. There’s something about this combination. Strangely, it works well with watered down Korean beers–preferably Cass. I swear. I’m more a fan of classic styles. Recent styles of fried chicken lean more to the American style–thick flour-based crust. I like the thin starch-based coating with the aromatic spicies.
Where to eat Chicken & Beer
I’d almost say it’s hard to go wrong, but it is. Chicken hofs are neighborhood haunts. There’s no exclusive I-gotta-try-this chicken pub with a line out the door. In fact, if there’s a line out the door stay far away from it. My rule of thumb is this. If it’s full of beautiful young women taking Insta-selfies, it’s not good chicken. If it’s grease stained and full of middle-aged men who look like life has kicked them in the teeth, great chicken.
Two-Two Chicken 둘둘치킨
You can’t go wrong with Two-Two (pictured above). You’ll likely be the youngest person in any of its locations. It’s a franchise, but each venue acts like a mom-and-pop shop. The basic recipe and yangnyeom (spicy sweet garlic sauce) are the same, but they put their own spins on the sauces. We include a stop at a Two-Two on our Authentic Korean Chicken & Beer Experience. They’re outside Gongdeok Station, and the couple who runs it is great and welcoming. I want them to get more love.
Chicken Baengi 치킨뱅이
They also do it classic style. Get their chicken 3-ways: fried, sauced, and garlic. Then go for the pa dalk, boneless chicken thighs on top of dressed ribbons of green onions. My favorite location is run by two ladies on the north of the main strip of Hongdae. Go out Hongik University Station, exit 7 (Holiday Inn) and head due south a couple of blocks. It’ll be on your right.
Nurungji Tongdalk 누룽지통닭
A new brand, they don’t do fried. Chicken is spit roasted over wood and served on sizzling platters of crispy rice. We also go to this on the new Authentic Korean Chicken & Beer Experience. The ones near Gongdeok and Sookmyung Women’s University kill.
Locations?
Since these are franchises, your best bet is to copy and paste the Korean names above into Google Maps, Naver Map, or Kakao Map.
Kimchi Jjigae
Okay, you fans of “Always Be My Maybe.” This stew sits on the pantheon of comfort foods, next to macaroni and cheese. It is so perfect on a chilly Seoul night. You want it chock full of tofu and pork. The canned tuna version is also quite good, though I like it better when it’s served at a drinking establishment in a beat-up tin pot.
Where to eat Kimchi Jjigae
Most Korean diners, like Kimbap Cheonguk, will have it on the menu. There are few places that make it the star of their menus, except…
Omori Jjigae 오모리찌개전문점
Go down to Jamsil, across the lake from Lotte World, and up to the second floor for this. It’s a chain, but this is the flagship store. Go to the second floor. The first floor is for black bean noodles. Here, you can get 3-year-old Kimchi Jjigae. You’d be surprised at how subtle and smooth it tastes.
Gwanghwamun Jip 광화문집
Tiny, tiny, tiny place near Gyeongbokgung Palace. They have two items, a very tart pork kimchi jjigae and gyeran mari (rolled omelet). Get both.
Bibimbap
(Gogung Jeonju Bibimbap)
The king of rice bowls. There are many kinds of bibimbap. There’s the dolsot sizzling kind. There’s the fancy Jeonju bibimbap. There’s your basic Korean diner bibimbap served in a plastic bowl with a fried egg. Contrary to what you may have had outside Korea, it doesn’t always come sizzling, and it doesn’t always come with an egg. There are infinite combinations.
Where to eat Bibimbap
Like Kimchi Jjigae, it’s available in most diners. There is a chain called Bon Bibimbap, the same as Bon Juk. It’s just fine and dandy. But if you want to go for something more serious…
Jeonju Yuhalmeoni Bibimbap 전주유할머니비빔밥
Respect, respect, respect. Grandmother knows how to make good bibimbap. This place has been around for over 50 years. Simple menu. Get the bibimbap and the Kongnamul Gukbap (Bean Sprout Soup).
Gogung 고궁
I love Gogung (pictured above). The original location is in Jeonju. It’s a case of franchising out and collapsing. It’s hard to find a Gogung in Seoul anymore. Thankfully, there is one in the Starfield Mall in Gangnam. This is classic refined royal Jeonju bibimbap served in brass bowls.
Naengmyeon
Chilled. Buckwheat. Noodles.
It’s in my top ten of favorite Korean foods. All the chilled buckwheat noodle dishes are. Naengmyeon itself comes from North Korea. The classic Pyongyang style is light with a clean sophisticated broth. Can you believe that before the 20th century, northern Korea was known for more fancy artistocratic cuisine than the south?
Naengmyeon always hits the spot at the end of a barbecue meal, with a few squirts of vinegar and hot mustard from the bottles sitting next to you. That may be why places like Woo Lae Oak are famous for the naengmyeon. Fancy BBQ must follow with refined naengmyeon. There are usually two types available, noodles in soup (mul naengmyeon), and noodles mixed with a spicy gochujang sauce (bibim naengmyeon). Of course, there are many more varieties, like there are of bibimbap. Baby steps.
Where to eat Naengmyeon
If you’re in Korea for a short while, just order a bowl at the end of your BBQ dinner. The one pictured above was just a W5,000 (~$4.25 USD) lunch special at a little BBQ joint near my regular jogging route. Otherwise, try these places.
Woo Lae Oak 우래옥
Famous, famous place. Almost too famous for being too famous. I like it, but it feels a bit stodgy. It’s where you take your grandma after church. The prices are premium, but it’s worth it for the naengmyeon.
Dongmu Bapsang (Comrade’s Table) 둥무밥상
He used to cook for officers in the North Korean army before defecting to the South. Now his cozy shop serves dishes that he misses from home. Yes, definitely eat the naengmyeon here. Also try the soondae sausages.
Jeongin Myeonok 정인면옥
Watch out for the lunch lines here. It gets crowded. The naengmyeon is great, but it may also be because it’s one of the few good restaurants in Yeouido.
Street Food
When in Asia, tourists want street food. Seoul has good street food, but don’t expect what you’d find in Southeast Asia. Street food in Korea primarily acts as a snack and late night starch filler for an alcohol-laden stomach. Most carts serve the same exact thing. There are variations, but those are in areas that cater to tourists and college students.
Tteokbokki
Don’t call it “topoki!” That was some hare-brained scheme concocted by a government agency ten years ago. They’re chewy rice cakes in a spicy sauce. I personally think the stuff on the street is sweeter because it’s more suited for kids. Tteokbokki in bricks-and-mortars, like Jaws Food and Mimine (pictured above), tend to be better. Spicier and more savory.
Odeng/Eomuk
Fish cakes on sticks soaking in MSG-saturated broth. Just go and grab a stick, brush on a few happy dabs of sauce with the brush Bob Ross style, eat, and pay. The proprietor counts the number of sticks you have left over.
Hot Ba
Or Hot Bar? It’s fish dough shaped into logs on sticks and deep fried like a corn dog. In fact, they come with hot dogs and other ingredients in them. That’s one of my favorite street foods.
Twigim
Fried stuff. Usually sweet potatoes, shrimp, sesame leaves. It’s like tempura but heavier.
Soondae
The proper romanization is sundae, but I don’t want you to confuse this with ice cream. They’re blood and glass noodle sausages. The traditional version uses rice instead of noodles, but the street version uses the glass ones, giving them a bouncy texture. It’s served with pig liver and offal. What I like to do is make Kim-Tteok-Soon. Mix the Twigim and Soondae together with Tteokbokki sauce. It’s what Harold and Kumar would crave if they lived in Korea.
Hotteok
Fried dough stuffed with brown sugar, nuts, and other goodies. They are delicious and make great hand warmers. They emerge in high numbers during winter.
Bungeobbang
Sweet cakes stuffed with sweet red bean or custard. Another great hand warmer and quite good.
Gyeranbbang
Literally, “egg bread.” Sweet pancake batter cooked in a cup like a muffin with an egg cracked inside. Sweet and savory. Protein and carbs. It’s the breakfast you never knew you needed.
Where to eat Seoul Street Food
You can get it most anywhere. Here are some areas that have a unique touch.
Myeong-dong
It’s one of the few times I’ll say Myeong-dong has better food. The street food scene there is competitive. But Myeong-dong is like Times Square in New York. There are more tourists than locals. It’s here that you’ll find the Frankenstein creations, like lobster with cheese. The Tornado Potato was born here, as well as many street food staples and flashes in the pans.
Insa-dong
It’s another touristy area. Here you’ll find the famous Insa-dong Hotteok, which puts a bit of cornmeal in its dough, giving it a super crunchy texture. Other highlights are the fire-grilled chicken on a stick and my beloved egg breads. Insa-dong’s street food scene took a bad hit from both COVID-19’s tourism dearth and the relentless bulldozing to make way for bland shopping malls.
Hongdae
Carts with the basics camp outside Hongik University Station, exit 9. Further down, past the buskers, you can find what I call Crazy Street Food Alley. It’s a series of stalls that are always rotating with new street food ideas. It’s like a market research lab throwing everything against the wall to see what sticks.
Noryangjin Cup Rice Road 컵밥거리
Now this is food that is meant to be eaten like a meal. These stands cater to young adults studying for professional exams. The cram schools to help them prepare for these career tests congregate here. Cup Rice Road sprouted as a bunch of carts to feed these poor hungry young professionals-to-be. Here’s a map of all the places I’ve mentioned.
Patbingsu
Dessert! We don’t really have desserts in the Western sense in Korea. We do have this shaved ice treat. The competition each summer with Bingsu makers gets more intense each year. It’s a war! The goal is to shave ice so perfect it’s fluffy fresh fallen snow. The ice itself usually comes from frozen milk, but I’ve seen other ice sources, including coffee and makgeolli (Korean rice ale).
Where to eat Patbingsu
The margins make this lucrative, so everyone is trying to get into the game. Most all bakery chains, like Paris Baguette and Tous Les Jours, get all into this. Most coffee shops do this. There are some places that specialize in it.
Sulbing 설빙
Sulbing is a franchise that popped up a few years ago. I wondered how risky such a venture would be–as in, who would order bingsu in winter? But they’ve done well. They’re crowded in the summer. Sulbing specializes in Instagrammy bingsu, and that’s a good thing. They’re showstoppers. Don’t worry about how large they are. Remember they’re just shaved ice. When melted the liquid would fit into a grande Starbucks cup. If you’re traveling with kids this is the treat they’ll remember. Since it’s a franchise, just copy and paste 설빙 into your map app of choice to find your closest location.
Mealtop 밀탑
Odd name. Odd location. It’s hidden on the 5th floor of Hyundai Department Store in Apgujeong. Well, not really hidden. It takes up a lot of space. But you have to go up a bunch of escalators to get there. They have a big variety of bingsu. What I like is that the portions or smaller, so you can try different flavors in one go. They are starting to franchise out.
Brothers is not a fancy restaurant, but it has a 20-plus year reputation (since 1987) of serving up authentic “old school” Korean food. It has generous operating hours from 11 am. to midnight Sunday through Friday.
There is a second location a block east at 4014 Geary Blvd. It opened in 1993 but operates only Friday through Sunday 5 p.m. to midnight.
Warning: Do not wear “dry clean only” clothes to this restaurant. You will walk out smelling like a barbecue grill, particularly one that uses real wood instead of briquettes. It’s the first Korean restaurant I’ve visited in the Bay Area that has grills embedded in some tables with vent hoods above.
The staff brought out the glowing charcoal ready to cook right away.
Based on the reviews at Yelp! and Zagat, many go to Brothers for the barbecue. My husband and I ordered kalbi (Korean beef ribs) and dakgui (grilled chicken) from their dinner menu and decided to grill them ourselves. The server brought us two different tongs, one for the raw meat and the other to cook it. The attention to sanitation scored points with me.
The first food item brought to our table was a teapot full of hot barley tea. That scored even more points with me than the double tongs. Next, someone brought out the hot charcoal to get us instantly fired up for the main event.
The “main event” came with 10 different kinds of banchan (side dishes), including cucumber, radish and cabbage kimchi as well as spicy anchovies, spicy odeng (fish cakes). We also had two different ssam options, either romaine lettuce or kim (sheets of seasoned dried seaweed; nori in Japanese) for wrapping the grilled meat.
One of the highlights of the meal was the bowl of soon dubu jjigae (soft tofu stew). It was full of dubu, zucchini and chives. The broth may have had some dashi (Japanese fish broth) or seaweed in it because it had a slight ocean taste but it was really good.
Kalbi ssam with a little bit of salty ssamjang peaking out.
The only item we didn’t like much was the ssamjang (Korean wrapping sauce). It was heavily slanted on the doenjang (Korean miso) side rather than the gochujang (Korean pepper paste) side but it was a bit too salty so we decided to get our spicy and good salty fix by sprinkling our ssam (meat and lettuce rolls) with the spicy anchovies instead.
Dak gui ssam is jjang!
Prepare to pay about $30 per person, including tax and tip, for Brothers’ signature barbecue dishes. But this “old school” Korean barbecue is worth it.
If barbecue is not your style or in your budget, Brothers has a wide variety of Korean soups and stews, including kalbi tang (Korean stewed ribs), kimchi jjigae (kimchi stew with beef), soon dubu jjigae (soft tofu soup) and kori kom tang (oxtail soup).
The restaurant also has about a dozen lunch items offered from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Prices on that menu top out at about $15.
Korean taco trucks are no longer limited to America’s West Coast cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco and Portland. Now Atlanta, the largest U.S. Southeast city, has Yumbii. It’s one of the latest such roving restaurants to follow in the wake of intense popularity for Kogi, which has more than 67,000 listed followers on Twitter.
Yumbii chef Tomas Lee fuses Korean, Mexican and Southern cooking traditions onto a small plate. He is the former executive chef of Atlanta’s ritzy Buckhead Diner.
Lee calls Yumbii, “the result is the best damn meal you’ve had out of a food truck east of the Mississippi.” The menu includes Korean barbecue tacos and burritos as well as pulled pork sliders topped with cucumber kimchi.
Using an increasingly common marketing method for rolling restaurants, Yumbii updates Atlanta-area residents on the truck’s latest location via Twitter.
ZenKimchi would like to hear about your experiences with this newcomer to Korean fusion gourmet on the go.
Yeah, we know Samgyeopsal. Now get ready for Ogyeopsal. The “sam” in Samgyeopsal means “three,” as in “three layered pork.”
So Ogyeopsal loosely means “five layered pork.”
What’s the fifth layer?
Well, if you’re a little vigilant, it’s the prize in the cereal box for pork lovers: the skin. Not all Ogyeopsal has skin, though. Yet if the menu says “Ggeobdegi Ogyeopsal 껍데기 오겹살,” it definitely will have it.
