Old Kitchens, New Oil: How Extra Virgin Olive Oil Found Its Way into Korea's Long-Standing Restaurants

Old Kitchens and New Ingredients: Why the Pairing Isn't Strange

There is an unspoken rule that follows the word nopo — the Korean term for a long-established, generations-old restaurant: the recipe does not change. Yet the owner of a forty-year-old soondubu-jjigae restaurant in Jongno-gu, Seoul has recently begun finishing his seasoned vegetable dishes with extra virgin olive oil (EVOO) instead of perilla oil. Is that a betrayal, or an evolution? The way EVOO has been finding its footing in these storied Korean kitchens turns out to be surprisingly organic, and the reasoning behind it is more coherent than it might first appear.

In Korean culinary tradition, oil has never been merely a cooking medium — it has functioned as the final seasoning, the finishing touch that gives a dish its sheen and its scent. The ritual of circling a spoonful of sesame or perilla oil over a bowl at the very end of preparation is closer to a glazing rite than a practical step. EVOO was able to step, at least partially, into that same role because it carries an analogous identity within Mediterranean culture: it is above all an oil meant to be eaten raw. The shared philosophy — that the finest expression of a fat is unheated, poured directly onto food — is the thread connecting two very different culinary traditions.

Namul and the Drizzle — The First Door to Open

The entry point for EVOO in long-established Korean restaurant kitchens has almost always been namul — the seasoned, blanched vegetable dishes that appear on virtually every Korean table. The technique is to finish spinach, chwi-namul, or bracken either entirely with EVOO in place of sesame oil, or with the two oils blended in roughly equal parts. According to the International Olive Council (IOC), extra virgin olive oil is an unrefined oil in which polyphenols and other fine-grain compounds are preserved intact, characterized by low acidity and a fresh, green aroma. Cooks working in these kitchens consistently report that this grassy character meshes unexpectedly well with the vegetal scent of the vegetables themselves.

A thirty-year-old bossam restaurant in Suwon, Gyeonggi Province has introduced a preparation in which a few drops of EVOO are applied to sliced boiled pork alongside coarse salt. The explanation offered by the kitchen is that the richness of the pork fat meets the slightly bitter, peppery finish of a good EVOO and creates distinct flavor layers in the mouth. Given that bossam is already a dish built on layering — fermented shrimp paste, kimchi, leafy wraps, and varying condiments arriving together — a drop of olive oil slots in as one more stratum rather than as an intrusion.

Blending with Fermented Sauces — The Most Ambitious Move

The most intriguing application of EVOO observed in these kitchens is its combination with Korea's traditional fermented pastes and sauces: doenjang (fermented soybean paste) and soy sauce in particular. A twenty-year-old ssambap restaurant in Mapo-gu, Seoul blends EVOO directly into doenjang to produce a dipping sauce. The kitchen's explanation is that the paste's savory, salty umami base softens in texture when olive oil is incorporated, while a fresh, plant-forward aromatic register rises above it.

This is not an accidental discovery. The meeting of fermented foods and high-quality plant-based oil is a well-established grammar in Mediterranean cooking: Spanish cooks blend olive oil with anchovy-fermented sauces, and Italian tables set aged cheese directly alongside EVOO. The principle — that the deep complexity produced by fermentation creates a synergy when paired with the fresh fat of unrefined olive oil — has been confirmed empirically in both traditions.

A variation using soy-based sauces has also emerged. A seafood-stew restaurant in Busan that has been operating for several decades adds a few drops of EVOO to a vinegared soy dipping sauce served alongside raw fish. The kitchen reports that the sharp acidity of the sauce is rounded and softened by the olive oil's body, and that it also appears to moderate the stronger marine notes of fresh seafood.

After the Flame — A Final Turn of the Bottle

A third context where EVOO has appeared in these kitchens is as a post-cooking finish on grilled and braised dishes. Bulgogi, galbi, grilled fish, and braised preparations are plated and then given a light drizzle of EVOO once all high-heat cooking has concluded. Because extra virgin olive oil has a relatively lower smoke point than refined oils, finishing rather than frying with it is generally regarded as the appropriate use — the approach that best preserves both its aromatic character and its micronutrient content.

A thirty-five-year-old restaurant in Eunpyeong-gu, Seoul, specializing in braised hairtail fish (galchi-jorim), applies EVOO to the dish just before it leaves the kitchen and reaches the plate. The kitchen describes the effect as a coating that gives the deep, spiced braising sauce a visible sheen while producing a unified mouthfeel, without any sense of the oil sitting separately from the rest of the dish. Structurally, the technique is analogous to the French monter au beurre — the addition of cold fat at the final moment to bring a sauce together and give it gloss and body.

The Practical Case for EVOO in These Kitchens

Beyond the culinary logic, there are straightforward operational reasons why long-established Korean restaurants are turning to EVOO. According to data from the Korea Agro-Fisheries & Food Trade Corporation (aT), domestic sesame prices have shown considerable instability over recent years, driven by fluctuations in the supply of Korean-grown sesame seeds, and that volatility creates real pressure on restaurant food costs. Olive oil, produced at global scale with an increasingly stable distribution structure, offers more predictable pricing as an alternative.

There is also a positioning dimension. Among younger diners, EVOO carries established recognition as a premium ingredient. For a long-standing restaurant that wants to signal modernity while preserving its traditional identity, introducing EVOO into a classic recipe functions almost as a rebranding gesture — one that requires no overhaul of the core menu. The steady circulation on platforms like Instagram of dishes tagged as "olive oil namul" or "olive oil doenjang" suggests this is not a short-lived experiment.

The kitchens of Korea's long-established restaurants are never truly static. Within spaces weighted with decades of accumulated practice, new ingredients find their way in quietly, and they stay when they earn their place. EVOO has earned its place in some of these kitchens not by forcing itself in, but because it made contact with something Korean cooking had already understood for a long time: that the best thing you can do with the finest oil is pour it on at the end.