Amazing grazing in the capital of colour
It’s hard to imagine a more vibrant food scene that the one in Seoul, where fine dining restaurants nudge up against ancient tea-houses and markets serving tasty street fare
Twenty-four hours after boarding my flight to Seoul, I’m tucking into a hot dog. But not just any hot dog – it’s a meaty sausage encased in batter and panko (a type of breadcrumb), filled with Mozzarella cheese and sprinkled with sugar. Heart attack, here we come.
It turns out that corn dogs are one of the most popular street foods in Seoul, the capital of South Korea, and are sold at the city’s food stalls, bars and fast-food restaurants.
Corn dogs appeared in South Korea in the 1980s, but their popularity exploded in 2016, when the first Myungrang Hotdog store opened near the city of Busan.
Known for the Insta-friendly takes on what had become a South Korean staple, the chain expanded and transformed the humble corn dog; Myungrang’s most popular versions include one dipped in squid ink.
This evolution is one of the most visible examples of Seoul’s new-found culinary ingenuity.
“Ten years ago, when I was living in Macau and Singapore, Korea’s cuisine was less wellknown than the food scenes in … Hong Kong and Singapore,” says Andre Lee, executive sous chef at Mariposa, a South Korean fine-dining restaurant at the Fairmont Ambassador Seoul.
“But recently, we’ve seen the emergence of new aspects of Korea’s food culture. Bold experimentation has raised Korean cuisine to a new level, and Seoul’s chefs are developing their own styles rather than copying trends.”
At Mariposa, the degustation menu includes truffle jamon with a Comté cheese sandwich and an egg yolk, and pan-seared lobster with sea urchin and Hanwoo beef (meat from a breed of cattle found only in South Korea).
Luckily, I find plenty of opportunities to offset my calorific indulgences.
The 6.3km Gyeongui Line Forest Park sits in the footprint of a railway that closed in the 1950s. Walking it offers a new perspective on central Seoul – in the residential areas it passes through, I spot tiny vans transformed into market stalls and seafood strung from the windows.
The route – mostly narrow but with old siding areas decorated with ponds and benches – is lined with statues, cafes and picnic spots. The Gyeongui Line Book Street section, near the Hongdae subway station, has a cluster of bookstores tucked into repurposed train carriages.
The heart of Hongdae – named after Hongik University and known for its bars, K-beauty outlets and independent stores – is a saccharine explosion of kawaii (Japan’s culture of cuteness).
That’s seen in everything from the unstaffed photo-booth stores, where visitors don quirky outfits and snap selfies that can be overlaid on cartoon-themed backdrops, to the food-themed pop-ups, the most recent of which is the Cinnamoroll Sweet Café, where visitors strike poses inside a giant pink teacup and order matcha teas garnished with impractical cut-outs of the eponymous floppy-eared bunny’s head.
Much of Seoul’s food is designed to be Instagramfriendly, although some items found fame unintentionally.
Dalgona – circular honeycomb confectionery engraved with hearts and stars – achieved global recognition after appearing in hit TV show Squid Game.
The best dalgona are those sold at stalls lining the steep path to the 236 metre tall N Seoul Tower, a hilltop viewing platform in lush, downtown Namsan Park, which is also worth a visit for its replicas of beacons used during the Joseon dynasty (1392-1897) to warn of enemy invasion.
There’s a wonderful simplicity to South Korean cuisine, which goes hand in hand with the abundance of comfort food – hearty, warming dishes served in restaurants in narrow side streets.
A Flower Blossom on the Rice, which is listed in the Seoul Michelin guide, stands at the end of a short, narrow, peaceful alley lined with traditional homes in Jongno district, a neighbourhood of ancient tea houses and stores selling hanji paper made from mulberry tree bark.
It’s one of a growing number of Seoul restaurants specialising in organic, home-cooked fare, and beneath a tangle of wooden beams I try a delicious beef stew served with plump dumplings.
At Maru (meaning “living room”), a Korean restaurant at the Four Seasons Hotel Seoul, abstract floor-to-ceiling murals reflect the colours of South Korea’s landscapes. The dishes are all about comfort and include kimchi jjigae (a soup made with kimchi and pork neck), grilled short ribs with Korean pickles, and fried chicken with pickles and chilli sauce.
As elsewhere in Asia, tea is taken seriously in Seoul.
Tea brand Osulloc sources its brews from Korea’s Jeju Island. The chain’s teahouse in Seoul’s Bukchon neighbourhood has a concrete exterior that looks out of place in an area known for traditional homes, but inside it is a tribute to traditional architecture, with lots of volcanic stone, wood and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Osulloc’s green-tea waffles can be washed down with any of dozens of varieties of tea, from red papaya and tangerine teas to ones grown on the volcanic slopes of Mount Jeju. I choose Moon Walk (Korean pear and honey).
The sculpture-like glass teapot comes with a timer to assist with brewing; at other branches, tea sommeliers are on hand.
Nearby, Bukchon Hanok Village has Seoul’s highest density of traditional, tiled-roof houses. These hanok share cobbled lanes with stalls of spicy fish skewers.
Also close by is the National Palace Museum of Korea, where galleries explore customs relating to birth, death and everything in between. I advise viewing the food exhibits before those that explore traditions relating to birth, and where the items on display include a stone placenta pot (complete with dried placenta) once used by the royal family.
A few streets to the southeast is the Museum Kimchikan, a tribute to kimchi. In 2013, kimjang, the process of making and sharing kimchi, was added to Unesco’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Today, this museum runs kimchi masterclasses.
For kimbap – sushi-like rolls of seaweed (kim) wrapped around rice (bap) – I head to Gwangjang Market. South Korea’s colourful, chaotic first permanent market
Seoul’s chefs are developing their own styles rather than copying trends
ANDRE LEE, EXECUTIVE SOUS CHEF AT MARIPOSA
There’s no denying that much of Seoul’s food is designed to be Instagram-friendly
has expanded over the years to cover more than 450,000 square feet. Inside are 5,000 stalls and shops, and sections dedicated to everything from lacquerware to clothing, although most visitors come for the street food.
One sparkly eyed lady toils away at a stall in front of a blown-up photo showing her feeding a kimbap to TV chef Gordon Ramsay – a move that has obviously become her trademark, because she insists on doing the same to me.
That night, I raise a toast to Seoul’s food scene in neondrenched Hongdae, known for its barbecue restaurants, where tables have built-in grills and diners order platters of raw meat to be cooked over the hot coals.
Finding the right bar is no mean feat – some of the best are hidden on the upper floors of mixed-use buildings – and on Saturday nights, Eoulmadang Street, the main drag, is clogged with locals watching wannabe stars accompanied by ghetto blasters perform everything from acrobatic dance routines to recitals of K-pop songs on the pavement.