MORNING CALM TALES Korea’s early taste of foreign flavors

Popeye's in Itaewon, published in The Korea Times, Sept. 28, 1988. Korea Times Archive

By Jeffrey Miller

• Published Mar 17, 2025 2:06 PM KST
• Updated Mar 25, 2025 5:14 PM KST

A few months after I arrived in Korea in 1990, a colleague at the language institute where I taught rushed into the staff room one afternoon, waving a colorful flyer.

“You’ll never guess what’s opening across the street,” she said breathlessly. “A Taco Bell!”

Up to that point, I’d been happily eating Korean food — bibimbap, "kimchi jjigae," kimchi fried rice, bulgogi, "sundubu jjigae" — punctuated with the occasional burger or pizza. Yet the mere thought of a taco or burrito from Taco Bell felt both magical and a little decadent.

The first chance I got, I walked over to the new Taco Bell, which was tucked away on a side street behind the New York Bakery near Gangnam Station. Its familiar red-and-yellow sign glowed against the drab concrete surroundings. Even from the entrance, I caught whiffs of warm tortillas and seasoned beef drifting through the open doors — a fast-food aroma that instantly brought back memories of home.

Stepping inside, I felt like I’d been transported to any Taco Bell in the States: the same counter layout, buzzing fluorescent lights and colorful menu boards. But here, there was a twist of novelty. The staff had posted instructions — complete with diagrams on paper place mats and posters — on how to properly eat tacos and burritos. They were clearly trying to guide curious newcomers toward the joys of Mexican fast food. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Within a year, Taco Bell closed. It simply wasn’t its time in Korea.

Picture a Korea where anything resembling “Western food” was still a rarity. In the 1980s and early 1990s, Western-style restaurants were mostly found in pockets like Itaewon in Seoul, Texas Street in Busan and areas near U.S. military bases. Their menus were a curious fusion of American and Korean flavors, offering everything from burgers and fries to cheese ramen and "yakimandu" — a mishmash of comfort food tailored to both locals and foreigners.

Two popular restaurants — especially among the U.S. military community, foreign expats and tourists— were Popeye’s (unrelated to the chicken franchise) and The Nashville, both located in Itaewon. They specialized in more traditional Western fare, offering steaks, burgers and omelets, making them go-to spots for those craving a taste of home.

Meanwhile, American fast food was steadily making its way into Korea, paving the way for a dining revolution that would reshape the country’s food culture. Surprisingly, Wendy’s beat McDonald’s to the punch, joining the homegrown Lotteria, which had been flipping burgers since 1974. But the real shift came as Korea prepared to host the world for the 1988 Seoul Olympics — a moment that marked more than just a sporting milestone. Practically overnight, McDonald’s, KFC and Pizza Hut made their grand entrance, introducing more than just burgers and buckets of fried chicken — they brought an entirely new dining culture. Fast, casual and unmistakably American, these chains offered a glimpse into a different way of eating, one that would quickly weave itself into the fabric of everyday life in Korea.

Wendy’s and Pizza Hut were known not just for their burgers and pizzas but also for something new to many Koreans — the all-you-can-eat salad bar. While technically limited to a single trip, patrons quickly mastered the art of strategic stacking, turning their plates into towering feats of engineering, carefully balancing layers of salad, toppings and dressings in a delicate yet ambitious construction. It became a challenge in itself, embraced by both Koreans and foreigners alike.

Local entrepreneurs also tried their hand at mimicking American-style burger joints, with varying degrees of success — and sometimes bizarre results. One called Dixie Burger, for instance, sported a signboard of a Confederate soldier charging with a musket, bayonet fixed — completely out of place at the Korean Folk Village near Suwon, Gyeonggi Province.

One lesser-known spot for Western food in the 1990s was the USO Canteen next to Camp Kim, near Namyeong Station. Managed by Mike Maddox, it served American-style breakfasts, lunch specials and short-order dishes. It was also famous for its Thanksgiving turkey dinners with all the trimmings. When I taught at Yonsei University’s Foreign Language Institute in the 1990s and early 2000s, my colleagues and I often raced over to the canteen after morning classes on Thanksgiving before it stopped serving. On those Thanksgivings we ran late, Maddox — who had also taught at Yonsei — would hold our dinners for us.

Around this time, several family-style restaurants in Seoul offered a mishmash of Korean and Western fare. One of them was Tomorrow Tiger, located not far from the institute where I taught. However, it wasn’t until Coco’s — billed as a “California Restaurant” (whatever that was supposed to mean) — that the family-style dining concept truly took hold in Korea. Their Chicken Doria, a rich, cheesy chicken and rice casserole, was nothing short of legendary.

It wasn’t just American food, though. La Cantina was the go-to spot for Italian, tucked away in the basement of a building next to the former U.S. Information Services in downtown Seoul. It's still open today, but in the early 1990s, when good Western-style options were scarce, it served some of the best pasta in town. Over in Itaewon, Old Germany provided a welcome alternative to the usual burgers and pizza, offering hearty German fare just down the main drag from the American haunts.

But that was about to change.

In 1992, TGI Friday's opened just down the street from Gangnam Station, signaling a seismic shiftin Korea's dining culture. Over the next decade, Bennigan’s, Tony Roma’s, Ponderosa, Outback and Ruby Tuesday’s spread across Seoul and beyond. At the same time, American fast-food chains — Burger King, Hardee’s, Popeye’s (this time, the chicken place), Dairy Queen, Domino’s and Papa John’s — continued multiplying, transforming and reshaping Korea’s dining scene. Even Taco Bell returned for another go, hoping for a different outcome this time around.

Everyone seemed to be jumping on the Western food wave. I once spotted the renowned Korean fashion designer André Kim and his assistant carrying bags of burgers out of the Burger King behind the Kyobo Book Centre in downtown Seoul — a sight I thought I’d never see, but one that underscored how mainstream fast food had become.

Just as an “English craze” swept through Korea after the Seoul Olympics, Western food quickly followed. It’s probably no surprise that many of these early franchises opened near language institutes in places like Jongno and Gangnam — the two seemed to go together.

Sometimes, efforts to hop on the Western food bandwagon veered into the downright odd. In 1997, while riding a bus to visit friends behind Myongji University, I glanced out the window and thought I saw a familiar Kentucky Fried Chicken facade. A second look revealed it was actually “Kenturky Fried Chicken.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the creative imitation.

Still, old habits die hard. Once, in 1996, I was having lunch with students at a newly opened TGI Friday's near Hongik University when a middle-aged woman and her mother walked by our table. The older woman stopped, stared at our spread of breaded chicken strips, spinach and Cajun chicken salads, barbecue ribs and burgers, and then exclaimed in horror to her daughter, “There’s no rice!”

In the 1990s, when Wendy’s began shuttering many of its franchises worldwide, the franchise rebranded itself as Winner's instead of closing up shop in Korea.

Once, while on assignment for this paper in Dongducheon to cover an event hosted by the U.S. Second Infantry Division at Camp Casey, I had some time to kill before meeting with the public affairs officer. Spotting a Winner’s across the street from the main gate, I stopped in for a bite to eat. Despite rebranding itself as Winner’s, I was surprised to discover that the red and wood interior still resembled the Wendy’s decor. Equally surprising were several items on the menu, which also smacked of Wendy’s, including chili hot dogs. Then I found out why. From where I stood, I could see back into the storeroom and noticed boxes of Wendy’s chili and other condiments stacked to the ceiling. Wendy’s might have been gone, but its chili lived on.

Another short-lived but memorable arrival was Kenny Rogers Roasters in Sinchon. One summer day in 1997, a colleague came into our Yonsei staff room raving about their meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Intrigued, a few of us went the next day to see for ourselves. Sure enough, there it was on a steam-table lineup with other American classics: corn on the cob, coleslaw, grilled chicken — the works.

It was the best meatloaf I’d had in ages, and for several weeks, I became a regular. But the novelty wore off, and soon enough, trays of meatloaf and mashed potatoes were replaced with kimchi fried rice. Not long afterward, the place closed. Whether it was the location — surrounded by traditional bulgogi and "galbi" restaurants — or an early casualty of the Asian financial crisis, it didn’t survive.

Reflecting on the boom of Western food in Korea during the 1980s and 1990s, it truly felt like an era of culinary experimentation and cultural milestones. Each new franchise opening brought excitement and curiosity, whether from homesick foreigners longing for a taste of home or Koreans eager to try something modern and different.

Over time, Western cuisine became so ubiquitous that its novelty eventually faded. Homegrown eateries began offering their own takes on Western fare. Korean and expat restauranteurs opened new establishments, and what had once been exotic turned into just another part of the local food scene.

Still, for those of us who experienced the early days of Popeye’s, The Nashville, Coco’s and the USO Canteen — as well as the first fast-food joints to set up shop — there’s a certain nostalgia for that era. It was a time when Korea was not just opening its doors to global flavors but embracing them with eager curiosity. The country was ready — and hungry — to taste the world.

Jeffrey Miller is the author of several novels including "War Remains," a story about the early days of the Korean War, and "No Way Out," a thriller set in Seoul in 1990.