Young Koreans drive growing obsession with Chinese cuisine

A table at Haidilao, a Chinese hot pot restaurant chain, features a variety of broths and hot pot ingredients. Courtesy of Haidilao

On a recent Tuesday evening, the Myeong-dong branch of Bantianyao Kaoyu, a Chinese restaurant specializing in whole simmered fish dishes, was already filling up well before the dinner rush.

Inside, large trays of whole simmered fish arrived one after another, each landing in a bath of deep red chili-laced broth, sending up a cloud of steam over the tables.

Despite having arrived at 5:30 p.m., early enough to avoid the usual queue of hungry commuters, most seats had already been claimed by small groups of young diners leaning in close, adjusting burners, reaching for chopsticks and talking.

What stood out was not just the food, but the sound.

Orders were called out in Mandarin, replies came back in Korean and conversations moved fluidly between the two. The overlap was constant, creating a unique atmosphere that felt increasingly familiar in parts of Seoul where Chinese restaurants cluster.

A whole simmered fish is served at Bantianyao Kaoyu, a Chinese restaurant in the Myeong-dong area of central Seoul, Tuesday. Korea Times photo by Pyo Kyung-min

Scenes like this would have been rare outside a handful of neighborhoods just a few years ago. Today, they are part of a shift in how younger Koreans eat and where they choose to spend their evenings. Across Seoul, from the bustling streets of Myeong-dong, Hongdae and Gangnam to the streets around Konkuk University, Chinese restaurants are drawing crowds.

Their core audience is diners in their 20s and 30s, for whom Chinese food has become part of everyday life — somewhere they return to, reliably and often, without much deliberation.

The road to that familiarity, however, began with a single unforgettable sensation: For most young Koreans, the gateway was "mala," the Sichuan-region seasoning famous for its spicy, numbing effect.

In the early 2010s, Chinese hot pot chains like Tanghwa Kungfu and Haidilao Huoguo had already set up shop in Korea, but their reach was limited.

The numbing heat of Sichuan peppercorns, central to so many dishes, struck local palates as alien, even alarming. Customer bases stayed narrow, confined largely to Chinese expatriates and international students.

Malatang, a customizable soup, first captured younger Korean diners' attention in the late 2010s to become a fixture of Seoul's dining scene. gettyimagesbank

That changed in the late 2010s, when two things went viral: Malatang, the customizable and intensely spiced hot pot soup, spread rapidly through social media feeds. So did tanghulu, the traditional Chinese candied fruit skewer that proved irresistibly photogenic. The flavors were bold, the visuals striking and the format made for sharing.

Haidilao also found a foothold when videos of K-pop idols and their crews sharing late-night hot pot meals began circulating online. For fans, seeing their favorite artists unwind over a simmering pot of broth made the food feel aspirational rather than foreign.

Younger consumers who were less anchored to established tastes took to the trends immediately. What followed was more durable than just a passing fad.

As exposure grew, so did the range of foods available. While mala remained the entry point, it was no longer the only one. Hot pot expanded into noodles and grilled fish, with beverages emerging as the next frontier.

Chinese tea brands are also moving into Korea. Shanghai-based Auntie Jenny has opened two Seoul locations and Mixue has expanded to around 15 outlets. HeyTea has six outlets, Chabaidao operates 21 locations and the premium chain CHAGEE is now preparing to enter the market. Chinese brands are no longer treating Korea as a testing ground and have embedded themselves in the daily lives of locals.

Customers hold drinks at a HeyTea location in Seoul. The Shanghai-based chain, which allows customers to customize their drinks, is one of several Chinese beverage brands that have recently expanded into the Korean market. Captured from HeyTea's Instagram

According to Statistics Korea, Chinese restaurants recorded average annual sales of 304.3 million won ($206,000) last year, surpassing Japanese, Western and Korean establishments alike. They also led in daily foot traffic, averaging 61.9 customers per day, and in delivery volume at 19.7 orders per day.

While these figures point to a cuisine that has become a genuine staple for many, much of this shift can be traced back to something more personal than market forces — lived experience.

In recent years, growing numbers of Koreans in their 20s and 30s have traveled to China, visiting cities like Shanghai, Qingdao and Chongqing to encounter local cuisine on its own terms. Dishes that once seemed distant now have a sense of familiarity.

Returning home from their trips, those diners looked at Chinese restaurants differently. Concerns about hygiene or authenticity, which once colored attitudes among some Korean consumers, appear far less central. What matters now are flavor, price and the overall quality of the experience.

That emphasis on experience is a large part of the appeal.

At a Chinese-style steamed fish restaurant, the meal doesn't arrive complete. It evolves. Ingredients are added incrementally, the broth thickens and deepens, and it becomes closer to an event than just a meal.

At hot pot chains like Haidilao, diners have agency. They select ingredients, create their own dipping sauces and set the tempo of the meal. Even beverages follow this logic, with adjustable sweetness, toppings and texture, shaped by the person ordering rather than fixed by the kitchen.

Skewered lamb, known in Korean as yangkkochi, is grilled at a Chinese restaurant. The skewer has become a common sight across Seoul as younger Koreans embrace a wider range of Chinese dishes. gettyimagesbank

This participatory format aligns closely with how younger Koreans approach dining. It is no longer a fixed set of expectations but something to be constructed, shared and, inevitably, photographed.

None of this is happening in isolation. The expansion of Chinese food brands into Korea also reflects pressures within China's own domestic market. As competition intensifies and growth slows at home, overseas markets have become increasingly strategic, and Korea, with its dense urban population and responsiveness to trends, has emerged as one of the most attractive.

What makes the current moment distinctive is that supply and demand are moving in the same direction at the same time. Chinese brands are entering the market precisely as Korean consumers are becoming more open to what they offer, giving the trend a momentum that feels less manufactured than earned.

Back in Myeong-dong, the Tuesday evening crowd showed no signs of thinning as the night wore on. Conversations continued to move between Mandarin and Korean without friction. Tables were organized around shared dishes rather than individual plates. No one seemed to linger on the question of whether the food was foreign.

The meal was simply dinner — familiar and communal. And for a growing number of young diners in Seoul, dinner increasingly looks exactly like this.

A whole simmered fish from Bantianyao Kaoyu, a Chinese restaurant chain / Courtesy of Bantianyao Kaoyu