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The Korea Times

On a recent Tuesday evening in Seoul, the Myeongdong branch of Bantianyao Kaoyu, a Chinese restaurant specialising in whole simmered fish dishes, is already filling up well before the dinner rush.
Inside, large trays of whole simmered fish arrive one after another, each landing in a bath of deep-red chilli-laced broth, sending up a cloud of steam over the tables.
Despite it only being 5.30pm – early enough at most restaurants to avoid the usual queues of hungry commuters – almost all of the seats have already been claimed by small groups of young diners leaning in close, adjusting burners, reaching for chopsticks and talking.
What stands out is not just the food, but the sound.
Orders are called out in Mandarin, replies come back in Korean and conversations move fluidly between the two. The overlap is constant, creating a unique atmosphere that feels increasingly familiar in parts of Seoul where Chinese restaurants cluster.
Scenes like this would have been rare outside a handful of neighbourhoods 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 neighbourhoods of Myeongdong, 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.
For most young Koreans, the road to that familiarity began with a single unforgettable sensation: mala, the Sichuan-cuisine seasoning famous for its spicy, numbing effect.
In the early 2010s, Chinese hotpot chains like Tanghuo 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.
That changed in the late 2010s, when two things went viral. Malatang, the customisable and intensely spiced hotpot soup, spread rapidly through social media feeds. So did tanghulu, the traditional Chinese candied fruit skewer that proved irresistibly photogenic. The flavours were bold and the visuals striking, making them perfect for sharing.

Haidilao also found a foothold when videos of K-pop idols and their crews sharing late-night hotpot meals began circulating online. For fans, seeing their favourite 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. Hotpot expanded into noodles and grilled fish, with beverages emerging as the next frontier.
Chinese tea brands are also moving into Korea. Shanghai-based Auntea Jenny has opened two Seoul locations, while 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.
According to Statistics Korea, Chinese restaurants in the country recorded average annual sales of 304.3 million won (US$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 travelled 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 coloured attitudes among some Korean consumers, appear far less central. What matters now are flavour, 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 does not 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 hotpot 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.
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 Myeongdong, the Tuesday evening crowd shows no signs of thinning as the night wears on. Conversations continue to move between Mandarin and Korean without friction. Tables are organised around shared dishes rather than individual plates. No one seems to linger on the question of whether the food is foreign.
The meal is simply dinner – familiar and communal. And for a growing number of young diners in Seoul, dinner increasingly looks exactly like this.
Read the story at The Korea Times.


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Food & Drink

Chinese food has become part of everyday life for South Koreans in their 20s and 30s thanks to viral trends and their own lived experiences


Chinese food has become part of everyday life for South Koreans in their 20s and 30s thanks to viral trends and their own lived experiences.


Why are young Koreans going crazy for Chinese restaurants? Inside the growing trend

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Chinese food has become part of everyday life for South Koreans in their 20s and 30s thanks to viral trends and their own lived experiences

Chinese food has become part of everyday life for South Koreans in their 20s and 30s thanks to viral trends and their own lived experiences