Day 8: Cooking at Home in Korea — Smoke Alarms, Tiny Kitchens, and Ramen🍜 Redem
Cooking at home in Korea is an adventure of tiny kitchens, fiery stews, and unexpected fails. Here's what no one tells you about it—until your smoke alarm does.
>They said cooking at home would save money. They didn't warn me about setting off the fire alarm twice in one week.
It all started with one innocent pack of Shin Ramyun.
I moved into my first apartment in Korea—"apartment" is generous, by the way. Think: a slightly glorified closet with a hot plate. It had a sink so small I couldn't even fit my frying pan inside. The fridge was singing every time I opened it (still don’t know why), and the kitchen fan? Nonexistent. Or decorative. I’m not sure.
Still, I was optimistic.
How hard could cooking at home be?
📎 *Missed earlier stories? Here’s where the chaos began:*
* Day 3: [Living in Korea as a Foreigner: 10 Things I Wish I Knew]
> Culture shocks, weird habits, and the truths Google forgot to mention.
* Day 4: [Grocery Shopping in Korea — The Weird, the Wonderful, and the 'Wait... What?']
> From silent cashiers to mystery vegetables, it’s a wild ride.
* Day 5: [Banking in Korea — The ATM Yelled at Me and Other Financial Misadventures]
> It beeped. I panicked. I ran.
🎯 Next up — Day 9: Korean Markets Are Loud, Smelly, and Absolutely Magical.**
Get ready to dodge live octopus, haggle in body language, and discover why you’ll never want to buy vegetables anywhere else again.
I boiled water. So far, so good.
Added the ramen. Then the powder. Then the dried veggies.
And then—I don’t know what happened.
Maybe it was the lack of ventilation. Maybe I added too much water. Maybe the gods of Korean cooking were testing me. But within minutes, a loud, shrill *BEEEEEP* rang out.
The smoke alarm went off.
Not from fire. From steam.
I panicked, flailed a dish towel at it, opened every window, and considered moving out.
That happened *twice* in one week.
You quickly learn to adapt. Korean home kitchens are compact, yes, but also brilliantly efficient.
You get used to:
* No oven. (I repeat: no oven.)
* One or two burners, maximum.
* A rice cooker that’s smarter than your phone.
* Drying racks doubling as storage.
* Buying half your groceries in squeeze bottles.
And the pantry?
Oh, it’s the fridge. *Everything* goes in the fridge. Eggs, garlic, fruit, soy sauce, kimchi, your dreams.
I tried to make kimchi jjigae once.
Big mistake.
Not because it's hard. But because I forgot a vital step: ventilation.
I browned some pork belly, added aged kimchi, tofu, garlic, and just the right amount of gochugaru (Korean chili flakes). It looked beautiful. It smelled incredible.
And then... smoke again.
This time, the ajumma next door knocked. Not because she was angry—because she thought something was wrong. She came in, saw the stew bubbling, gave me a thumbs up… and opened my window.
Lesson learned: Korean food is delicious but aromatic.
And if you don’t vent, your place will smell like spicy heaven for *days.*
1. [Korean Cooking Starter Guide (Maangchi)]
> The queen of Korean home cooking online. Simple, visual, and expat-friendly.
2. [Beginner’s Guide to Korean Ingredients (Korea.net)]
> What’s that purple root? Should you refrigerate gochujang? This guide answers everything.
3. [What’s in a Korean Fridge? (YouTube: Korean Englishman)]
> A fun, visual dive into what Koreans *really* keep stocked.
4. [The Art of Doenjang Jjigae (Korean Bapsang)]
> Step-by-step instructions for the ultimate comfort dish.
Let’s talk ingredients.
Korean supermarkets are a paradise of **sauces, fermented things, and mystery tubes.**
Here’s what I always keep on hand now:
* Gochujang (red chili paste) — spicy, sweet, thick. A must.
* Doenjang (fermented soybean paste) — funky, salty, amazing in stew.
* Sesame oil — for when you want to feel fancy.
* Perilla leaves — minty, earthy… hard to explain, just try it.
* Pre-marinated bulgogi packs — lifesavers when you’re tired.
Oh, and *rice.* Always rice.
If your rice cooker doesn’t talk to you, is it even Korean?
* Tried to make jeon (Korean pancakes) without flour. It was... egg soup.
* Bought what I thought was milk. It was **yogurt drink.** My coffee was ruined.
* Accidentally microwaved metal chopsticks.
* Mistook vinegar for soju. Took a shot. Almost cried.
But hey, failure builds character. And better shopping lists.
* Most Korean supermarkets close by 10 PM. Plan ahead.
* Don’t ignore the freezer section. Dumplings, pre-cut meats, and soups live there.
* Small corner stores often have essentials cheaper than large chains.
* Avoid buying fresh fruit at convenience stores. Your wallet will cry.
Also, bring your own bags. Or buy one. Korea is serious about plastic waste.
* Vent fans don’t always work. Open windows often.
* Most apartments don't allow toaster ovens or air fryers. (Check your contract!)
* Raw meat is usually packed with tongs attached.
* Eggs aren't always refrigerated. That threw me off for weeks.
* You will eventually spill gochujang on something white. It’s a rite of passage.
I’d been cooking on and off for a few weeks. Still mostly burning things.
But then, one night, I made a pot of doenjang jjigae, threw in some tofu, mushrooms, zucchini, and a dash of magic (read: sesame oil).
I sat down, barefoot, in my tiny kitchen, with my knees touching the fridge.
And I smiled.
Not because it was perfect—but because it was *mine.*
The smoke alarm stayed quiet.
The rice was fluffy.
The soup? Tasted like I belonged.
Cooking in Korea isn’t about being a chef.
It’s about learning to navigate a tiny space, weird ingredients, and your own stubbornness.
You burn things. You laugh. You open a window.
And one day, without realizing it—you make a meal that tastes like home.
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever accidentally cooked?
Or better—what did your smoke alarm say about your cooking? 😅
Drop your kitchen war stories in the comments — let’s laugh and learn together!
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🍱 Tomorrow: We hit the markets. Real fish. Real yelling. Real culture shock.
Don’t wear white shoes. Trust me.
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💬 Have you ever set off a fire alarm cooking ramen?
Or mistaken vinegar for soju? (Please say yes.)
Share your cooking wins or kitchen chaos stories in the comments below! We’re all in this sticky, spicy mess together. 😄