How to Run a Korean Restaurant

To run a successful Korean restaurant in Central Asia there are some essential steps you need to take. Not every restaurant will be a success so if you stick to these guidelines you'll be sure to have a business that's off with a flying start.

Firstly you need an assortment of Korean dishes on the menu. Not just any run of the mill Korean fried chicken or some spicy noodles or even bibimbap will do. Koreans have strong links with Uzbekistan, Joseph Stalin having sent over thousands of people from Korea when he was in control and when Uzbekistan was merely a part of the U.S.S.R. Despite ethnic Koreans or koryo-saram now having limited connection to their homeland, glimpses of their culture are still found in the food they eat. So you have to have the right dishes on the menu.

It also would be a good idea to fit out the restaurant with overhead extractor fans and grills embedded in every table so that patrons can barbecue their own meat table-side. Even if they don't order items off of the cook-your-own barbecue section of the menu, it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

Next you've got to have banchan, and lots of it. The ubiquitous side dishes found across the Korean peninsula (though more so in the south these days) are an important part of the Korean culinary experience. You should have at least six different dishes ready to accompany whatever customers order. With some chilli-paste fermented cucumber and the always-present kimchi, it might not be a bad idea to also have some chilli-free options so you can appeal to all palates. Daikon sliced and coloured a pink so bright one can't help but assuming that it was pickled in Chernobyl will always go down well. A plate of lightly fermented cabbage makes a great entry-level, though flavourless, kimchi for those not wanting the following morning spent wincing on the edge of a toilet seat. Some slices of omelette and some fermented zucchini complete the set.

You might think that Korea's ever-growing music scene would be an important part of making a Korean restaurant feel Korean. But you would be wrong. Uzbeks have no time for any K-Pop nonsense while they're eating. Instead of popping on the latest BTS track, play Celine Dion's 'The Power Of Love.' It's the one and only song you need. No other songs. Just that one. Play it once. Play it twice. Play it again and again and again. All night. Get the exclusive rights. No one will get bored of it. It's the only song you need to play.

To round out the Korean experience you need to think about the decor. Despite the strong Korean community found in the country, getting authentic decoration sent to central Uzbekistan can be difficult and expensive. Getting some signs made up with ambiguous Korean lettering on the wall is a good way to fill the ways. Also think about getting some tablecloths with vaguely-East Asian patterning on it. All this will help the diner feel like he's been flown to one of the finest family restaurants in Seoul.

'Cause I'm your lady

And you are my man

Whenever you reach for me

I'll do all that I can

The Korean restaurant I visited in Samarkand had it all. It was built for success. There was even the Korean owner walking around to each table saying 'hello' and 'thank you' in Korean. There was only one thing missing for the experience: rice. I had gone to a Korean restaurant that ran out of rice.

This was a problem. Whilst there were definitely dishes without rice, there was no mistaking that a Korean restaurant without rice was like a pub with no beer. People didn't travel thousands of miles to reach the Birdsville Hotel and have a lemon, lime and bitters.

I could maybe see how they could run out of rice. Well, sort of. Rice was very popular. It was needed in most dishes. They used a lot of it. But then again, rice takes a long time to spoil. Had they not considered having more than an evenings' worth on hand? Were they worried that they weren't going to get through it all? I was also in a part of the world where rice was very common. The national dish of Uzbekistan, plov, was a rice dish. It wasn't that hard to find rice. If they'd run out of rice they could probably get another six bags of the stuff just by heading to the shop next door. It didn't make sense.

And so I was disappointed when the waiter flipped his way through my menu pointing out the few dishes that were still available. The meal was going to cost two or three times what it would in another restaurant and I was willing to pay the price if it meant enjoying a meal that had ingredients beyond meat and wheat. But the severe cuts to the menu made me consider leaving.

A couple of other tables who arrived after me, composed of both Uzbeks and tourists, left after hearing the news of what had come to be known at my table as 'Ricegate' (I was eating alone). I observed them and admired their courage to stick to their own convictions. It was a strength of character and self-respect that I would never have.

Of course, I chose to stay and have cold buckwheat noodles. They were not too bad and made me reflect on how nice it would have been to have the actual dish I wanted to have. But having the things I wanted to have in the place that usually had the things I wanted to have was not a skill I possessed.

It had also been a long and uncomfortable day since arriving in Samarkand. I was feeling a bit off from all the greasy meat and heavy dishes I'd had in the last few days. I had realised within a few minutes after arriving that I had booked the wrong hostel. The location seemed fine but there was no breakfast and so most people I had met in Tashkent had booked the hostel up the road. This meant that my hostel was filled more so with Japanese students studying at the international school around the corner and less with travellers who wanted to chat.

I had hoped that my Korean meal would be my saving grace, but Ricegate had made the saviour another saboteur. I tried to make the most of it and enjoy the noodles but I still felt reasonably unsatisfied. My taste for Korean food had only been slightly satiated and so I felt a quiet night at the hostel reading a book or watching a movie would be a nice way to settle myself.

Returning to the front room of the hostel, facing Registan street, I sat down on the small couch and instantly heard a ripping noise. "Krrrrrr." It was my pants. My one pair of pants in a country where every man wore pants. A tear had emerged and ripped right through the crotch of my jeans. My Korean meal had gone to my thighs quicker than expected and had torn my jeans to the point where they could no longer be worn.

It must have been the buckwheat. This never would've happened if they'd had rice.