Why (some) Korean restaurants in NYC trigger me

and why good globalization DEMANDS good context

It was during the late fall of 2024. I was walking through Flatiron with a friend when I noticed the exterior of a familiar restaurant among the fancy interior design showrooms of Park Ave. Turquoise tile wall engraved with funky white Korean fonts- it was the exact replica of a once notoriously trendy gastropub in my neighborhood in Seoul.

Was I thrilled to have this hometown eatery now within walking distance? Was I filled with nostalgia for Seoul? No. Instead, for some inexplicable reason, I was fuming with frustration and got triggered enough to spend the rest of the walk home ranting.

What got me so disturbed?

It’s no news that franchises, mom-and-pop businesses, and “hole-in-the-wall”s around the world flock to New York City. From the infamous Tuscan panini shop All’Antico Vinaio to the French steakhouse L’Entrecote de Relais, there is truly no food too niche or too far away to be discovered.

Even amongst them, Korean food has made the most aggressive expansion in the city over the past decade. The cuisine that was once only represented by self-cook BBQs and K-Town tofu houses now directly imports the trendiest names from the mainland, including Ok Dongsik, Katsu by Konban, and the now three Michelin-starred Jungsik.

And I am usually their biggest fan. Aside from having more access to good food, seeing the same restaurant interact with two completely different ecosystems brings me an almost academic kind of joy. But on that day, it only brought me frustration. After spending more time on it than I should have, I concluded that what upset me was the absence of context to this restaurant and the lack of effort to fill it.

The restaurant in question, Hojokban, opened in Seoul in 2019. It was located in Dosan Park- one of the most expensive and competitive culinary spots in the country. At that time, the park was filled with four-dollar-sign Italian pasta bars, omakase counters, and somehow equally expensive bakeries. Once you strolled into the area, the only casual dining options you had were a $25 (pre-covid!!) “wellness bowl” or a second-floor ten-don shop that consistently had a two-hour wait.

Hojokban came in on just the right block with just the right mix of novel and casual, offering Western-Korean fusion dishes that you could have as a hearty meal or as a lighter anju*. It was also the first sit-down restaurant presented by the hottest hospitality group in town GFFG after they had created legendary brands like Knotted Donuts and Downtowner Burger.

This was the kind of restaurant that had its own merch, collabed with beauty brands, and made its name on every it food app and influencer account. In a city that reacts to trends like moths flying to flashlights, it quickly became a restaurant you either loved to hate or hated to love.

And yet, here it was: five years later, across the Pacific, amid sterile furniture shops, completely stripped away from all the context that made the place so exciting. It carried none of the reasons why it became a kind of franchise promising enough to come across the world. Worse yet, I sensed that it expected the same sort of understanding and enthusiasm from this new set of diners. For the first time, I saw an international novelty in town and wished I was missing out.

While Hojokban became an unfair victim of my triggered mood, I see the same fallacy in many places across NYC. All’Antico Vinaio is only fun because, in Florence, it’s on an already tight cobble-stone ally, jam-packed with tourists who believe it’s the best thing Italy has to offer and locals who want you to know that there are literally hundreds of panini shops in the city. In the same vein, I’d feel weird to see New York’s Veselka in a non-Ukrainian village abroad without their community flyers and frequent donations to Eastern European businesses.

I find it incredible that we now live in a world where it’s exciting instead of strange to seek after other cultures. And it is energizing to witness foreign brands gaining more confidence to enter this city without having to explain themselves on why they deserve to be here.

However, globalization only shines when it’s met with ample consideration on how it can synergize with the environment, the people, and the history of the place it’s implanting on. There is a beauty in navigating these things with care and depth, and a little part of my soul dies when I see businesses globalizing just for the sake of expansion.

Again, I’m not saying that these were the intentions (or lack thereof) of the franchises mentioned above (and to be fair, Hojokban’s website says they wanted to present Korean food that foreigners would also enjoy). More importantly, I’m only writing this as a prelude to a love letter dedicated to many, many businesses that transplant themselves beautifully in another country.

Maybe a part two discussing my favorite international food projects in NYC. For now, I’ll be ordering in from my favorite Thai takeout. They certainly don’t care about how I think they’re doing.