Welcome back to the “Korea 101” Newsletter by Sori.

Before we begin, I would like to sincerely apologize to our subscribers.

Over the past few months, I started a new business and had to focus deeply on building and operating it. Because of that, this newsletter was delayed longer than it should have been, and I was not able to communicate that clearly in advance.

Thank you for continuing to subscribe and stay with Sori despite the silence. Going forward, even if it is not perfectly regular, I will do my best to send this newsletter more consistently and share Korean stories whenever I can.

Now, let us continue.

In 2024, Netflix released a Korean original series officially titled Culinary Class Wars, known in Korea as 흑백요리사. At first glance, it looked like another cooking competition. In reality, it was carefully designed as a social metaphor.

The show divided its contestants into two groups from the very beginning. Famous chefs with established careers were labeled White Chefs. Unknown chefs with no media exposure were labeled Black Chefs.

The difference was intentional and visual. White Chefs entered with their names, faces, careers, and restaurants fully revealed. Black Chefs cooked anonymously, identified only by numbers, their identities hidden.

Korean viewers immediately understood what this meant. In Korea, skill alone is often not enough. Recognition, background, and name value strongly influence who gets opportunities first. Culinary Class Wars visualized that structure in the most direct way possible.

The most powerful example of this was 권성준, better known to the public by his nickname “Napoli Mafia.”

Before the show, he was respected in professional circles but largely unknown to the general public. He trained in Italy, spent years mastering Neapolitan techniques, and quietly ran his restaurant Via Toledo in Seoul.

On the show, he entered as a Black Chef. No name, no reputation, no advantage. What stood out was not flashy presentation, but precision, balance, and confidence built from years of repetition. As episodes progressed and his identity was revealed, viewers realized they were watching a chef who had been operating at an elite level without public recognition.

After the show aired, Via Toledo became one of the hardest restaurants to book in Korea. Reservations filled months in advance. The phone stopped ringing because it never stopped ringing. Eventually, new reservations had to be suspended. Even Koreans living nearby joked that eating there now required more strategy than booking a flight. This was not because the restaurant changed. The food was the same. What changed was visibility.

For contrast, the show also featured White Chefs such as 최현석, already one of Korea’s most recognizable culinary figures. His restaurant Choi. had long been popular, frequently covered by media, and familiar to food focused audiences.

On the show, he represented the established side of the industry: skill combined with name recognition. Watching Black Chefs like Kwon Sung-jun compete on equal footing with figures like Choi Hyun-seok created the emotional tension that drove the series.

Viewers did not just watch for recipes. They watched to see whether hidden talent could finally stand in the same light as fame. That is why many Koreans found themselves emotionally invested in the Black Chefs. The structure felt familiar. Many people in Korea have experienced situations where ability existed long before opportunity arrived.

The impact of the show did not end with Season 1. Netflix is currently airing Culinary Class Wars: Season 2, officially titled in Korean as 흑백요리사: 요리 계급 전쟁 시즌2.

Season 2 intensifies everything. Backgrounds are contrasted more sharply, competition is harsher, and survival becomes part of the narrative. It feels less like a cooking show and more like a social experiment. Once again, restaurants connected to the show are experiencing massive reservation backlogs, and Korea’s dining map is being quietly rewritten.

For travelers, this matters. If you are planning a trip to Korea, these restaurants are worth researching before you arrive. They are not designed for tourists. They are places Koreans themselves want to eat at. Visiting them is not just about taste. It is about understanding what Korean audiences choose to elevate when given the chance.

맛집 (Mat-jib)

맛집 is one of the most important food words in Korean.

맛 (mat) means taste.
집 (jib) means house.
Literally, it means “a house with good taste.”

But in real Korean usage, 맛집 does not simply mean a delicious restaurant. It means a place people trust. That’s why Koreans trust lines more than reviews. Ratings can be bought. Waiting cannot.

When someone says, “여기 맛집이야” (Yeo-gi mat-jib-i-ya), they mean, “This place has already been tested by others.”

In daily conversation, you’ll often hear:
“맛집 알려줘.” (Tell me a good place.)
“맛집 가고 싶어.” (I want to go to a real good spot.)

This is why Culinary Class Wars resonated so strongly. The show simply showed how people cook. What happened next was up to the audience.

That’s how the word 맛집 is usually used in Korea.

Listen to and repeat Korean every day with Sori. You’ll pick up fun and natural expressions along the way. Click below to start learning with Sori!

www.sorikorea.com

To make this newsletter better, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Please take one minute to answer a short survey here: https://forms.gle/ZuHgARgAYJ7X3NXi6

by Minwoo from Seoul, Korea