Reinventing baekban, the original K-food
Few things are more Korean than “baekban:” a tray of rice and soup, surrounded by assorted “banchan” (side dishes) like kimchi, vegetables, savory pancakes and perhaps braised fish or marinated meat.
There's no menu theatrics and no explanation required. It’s food that assumes familiarity, comfort and trust.
Baekban is how Korea feeds itself — or at least, it was. While Michelin-starred restaurants and European fusion cuisine dominate Korea’s food media and cultural prestige, the traditional eateries which used to be the backbone of everyday Korean dining are being pushed toward extinction.
The food that nourishes everyday life receives little applause, while imported culinary frameworks are celebrated as symbols of sophistication and progress. The irony is striking: As Korean food becomes globally admired, the most Korean form of it is disappearing at home.
Baekban is as simple as a meal can get, focusing on balance over excess, variety over pretense and seasonality over spectacle. It reflects home cooking and democratizes eating out. Office workers sit next to students, taxi drivers and elderly regulars. There’s rarely a fixed menu, except for perhaps one main dish like bulgogi or stir fried spicy pork.
Korean baekban is at a crossroads. It represents Korean culture, just like K-pop or cosmetics. It’s embedded in daily life, yet rarely celebrated. But if lost, it may change the landscape of Korean cuisine forever.
An image of Korean baekban at Yangpyeong restaurant in this file photo shows the rice, soup and side dishes that form the backbone of Korean cuisine. Baekban restaurants are getting harder to find, due to the high price of labor and ingredients. Courtesy of Hankook Ilbo
Traditional baekban eateries, many run by aging owners who have cooked the same food for decades, are closing their doors. Rising rents, surging ingredient prices, labor shortages and shrinking margins have turned what was once a sustainable livelihood into an economic gamble. For many of these owners, retirement or closure feels inevitable.
Adding to the pressure is a deep-seated expectation that baekban should remain cheap and abundant, a perpetual form of generosity. When some restaurants began charging for banchan refills, public reaction was swift and unforgiving. According to a survey by the market research firm Embrain, 64.8 percent of customers said they would not pay for additional banchan in restaurants. Many argue that free refills are part of what makes Korean banchan special, and most restaurant owners understand the cultural and sentimental significance. Charging more may help in the short run, but may lose customers in the long run.
Once unthinkable, paying for side dishes has now become an option for survival. But instead of empathy, these changes are often met with disappointment and sometimes even moral judgement. However, generosity cannot exist without sustainability.
Baekban does not fit the Cinderella story of a humble chef rising to fame and releasing namesake products that line up convenience stores. There’s little praise for humble presentation and daily meals for the masses. There’s no singular author, no plating drama and no seasonal menu press releases. Its value lies in repetition and restraint. Similar flavors are cooked daily with no big surprises and adjusted subtly to the weather, the market and the tastes of the cook. This kind of mastery is slow and anonymous, yet important. It’s not hard to meet a baekban chef changing things up from the usual menu, casually stating that other ingredients were simply cheaper or fresher that day. Customers nonchalantly accept this explanation, just like anyone would accept this at home.
Preserving baekban doesn’t mean romanticizing the past; it means reimagining how everyday Korean meals can and should survive and thrive today. Charging for banchan is not a betrayal of Korean hospitality but an honest acknowledgment of reality. Expecting endless generosity at unsustainable prices romanticizes hardship and accelerates closure. If baekban disappears, it will not be because owners failed but because society refused to value the labor behind simplicity.
The future of baekban may look different, but it's not all greed or betrayal. Tradition can survive through adaptation. It could mean baekban "omakase," a high-end style of service where the menu is set by the chef, which many restaurants have already experimented with. It could also mean banchan conveyor belts, inspired by sushi restaurants, allowing diners to choose while controlling waste and cost. It could mean smaller portions, transparent pricing or modernized interiors. Innovation does not dilute authenticity — neglect does. Some may recoil at the idea of reinterpretation but reinvention has always been part of Korean culinary history. Fermentation was once an innovation, but now it graces the plates of every Korean household. Survival requires imagination, and history has shown us time after time, Koreans are masters.
Meanwhile, policy makers could recognize long-standing baekban places as cultural assets deserving protection from rent shocks. Quality control should be done as with any other international food guide, consistently and consciously. Restaurant owners should understand their significance when it comes to carrying the torch, while consumers should also reconsider expectations. It’s already happening in some places: charging a bit more, accepting paid banchan and choosing baekban not just out of sympathy or convenience, but from respect and pride. Supporting baekban is not charity nor a quick fix. With the right amount of respect, pride and realistic solutions, it could reinvent itself, feeding Koreans day in and day out. Baekban doesn’t need special applause nor stars. It needs recognition and room to breathe — and this can only come within.
Han Sang-hee is a former staff reporter at The Korea Times and former editor at CNN Travel. She is based in Stuttgart, Germany but now lives in Seoul with her Italian husband and two daughters and shares stories on her instagram @rachelsanghee.