Chickens, dogs and summer heat

A chicken peddler and his potential customers in the summer, circa 1920s / Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

• Published Aug 10, 2025 9:00 AM KST

Saturday is "malbok," the last of the three traditionally hottest days of summer. In the past, many Koreans believed in fighting the heat with foods associated with heat, such as samgyetang, a Korean dish made from chicken and ginseng. That tradition lives on to this day, and restaurants serving it will be packed.

Many years ago, when I first came to Korea, I was a fairly picky eater. My Korean friends — especially my "hyeong" (older brothers) — took it upon themselves to teach me about Korean culture, especially food. Among us, there was a rule that we each had to try everything at least once. In my opinion, it was a pretty one-sided rule since almost everything we ate was Korean. Still, it was an adventure I am glad I undertook.

One of these foods was samgyetang.

To me, there is nothing appealing about it. Visually and taste-wise, it is bland. I can still remember them laughing with me (or rather, at me) when I promptly declared it to be “chicken bathwater.”

Don’t get me wrong — I love Korean chicken. As a young man, I ate platefuls of chicken gizzards and feet in neighborhood tent restaurants, washing them down with copious amounts of beer. As an older man, double-fried chicken became my go-to order on Saturday nights. Even my visiting friends and family agreed it was one of their favorite dishes in Korea.

Historically, judging from letters, journals and diaries kept by Westerners residing in Korea in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, chicken was one of the most popular dishes on their dining tables. It was plentiful, cheap and easily obtained.

In the early 1900s, one American gold miner at the Oriental Consolidated Mining Company in northern Korea noted that chickens cost between five and a half to eight cents each, and could be easily butchered. At first, he considered his chicken dinners a treat, but his enthusiasm soon faded as it began appearing far too often on the menu — breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Sometimes, the problem wasn’t the frequency, but the preparation.

In 1898, William B. Scranton, an American missionary, wrote:

“Chickens! Chickens are good eating, as any presiding elder at home can testify. So, too, in Korea. One dear old man whom I often visit could not be content. He must show his gratitude. I wish you could all have seen the demonstration. In it came, a chicken in a bowl, feet straight out and up, head on with closed, water-soaked eyes hanging pendant over the side of the dish. It came at the close of my own repast, when I was no longer hungry, but my thanks were hearty. I proceeded to carve it generously, tasted and found it had been boiled, and in fresh water, no salt or seasoning at all — simple, pure, unadulterated chicken! I smacked my lips and pronounced it good, at least as good as my host knew how to offer, and his heart was all in his offering. I called in my native helper and told him what a treat we had, and he ate it.”

Apparently, like me, Scranton was not a fan of “chicken bathwater.”

There was another food associated with “the three dog days,” or the hottest days of summer: bosintang (dog soup), which was believed to replenish vitamins and minerals drained by the oppressive heat. Many, if not most, Westerners living in Korea in the late 19th and early 20th centuries were unwilling to try this dish. They were, however, more than willing to write about it.

In the summer of 1881, Dr. Frank Cowan spent a short time in the Wonsan area on the east coast and recorded his impressions. One of these concerned dogs. According to him, “[The] flesh of the dog is eaten [by Koreans] as we eat the flesh of the sheep and hog, that is generally as an ordinary article of diet on the tables of the rich and poor.” Although any dog could be eaten, yellow dogs were especially favored, as they were believed to provide the greatest medicinal value.

Cowan compared this to a familiar sight back home: “[Our] good old mothers and maiden aunts, in selecting chickens for the table, lay their hands on the yellow-legged first, as being, in their opinion, the most tender, so the [Korean] housewife, in looking out for a tender tidbit for the invalid in her charge, makes it exceedingly uncomfortable for the yellow dog belonging to the family!”

But not everyone agreed. In 1888, one American writer — whom I suspect was an English teacher — argued:

“There are plenty of unpleasant features about the social condition of [Koreans] without filling the minds of outsiders with imaginary ones. Much has been said about the [Koreans] being great eaters of dogs’ flesh. After a personal observation of the habits of the people for two years I can truly say that it is only the lower classes that indulge in that luxury. By the middle and upper classes, it is considered as detestable as by Americans. However, when one goes through some of the poorer parts of the city and sees people absolutely starving to death, it does not cause any surprise that such food is made use of. Dog flesh is absolutely unknown in [Korean] feasts. A foreigner could sit down to the [Korean] table and eat of almost every dish that is brought him without fear of dog meat.”

His conviction was strong, but not entirely accurate. On more than one occasion, missionaries inadvertently ate dog meat, and dog soup was sometimes served, even in the royal court, to help restore the strength of the injured or sick.

I had several encounters with dog meat myself. One summer, my hyeong’s mother decided we looked too thin and sickly and was determined to remedy it. She announced she would go to the market, buy dog meat and make us a soup the next day. My hyeong was not fond of dog meat, and neither was I, so we made a quick escape to the southern part of the peninsula, to his sister’s house.

The next morning, we woke to find his sister had prepared breakfast: dog soup and rice. His mother had called the previous night and told his sister to make it for us. Nothing stops a determined middle-aged woman.

Those days, however, are nearly gone. In January 2024, the National Assembly unanimously approved a bill banning the trade and consumption of dog meat. Starting in 2027, “the raising or butchering of dogs for human consumption, as well as the distribution or sale of dog meat” will be prohibited, with violators facing stiff fines and possible jail sentences.

If you are feeling worn down by the heat and want to experience the Korean tradition of “fighting heat with heat,” go out and have some “chicken bathwater” — I mean, samgyetang. If you are feeling truly adventurous, like a few of my Western friends in Korea, you could try eel, goat or — at least until the ban takes full effect — dog.

Or, you could do what I do and order some crispy fried chicken and wash it down with a cold beer.

My appreciation to Diane Nars for her invaluable assistance and to Jeon Dong-hoon for providing me the picture of samgyetang.