The baby octopus in gochujang sauce is chewy – just as it should be

The first time I knew for sure I wanted to travel through South Korea was at the airport in the capital, Seoul, where we spent hours connecting from Okinawa on our way home. We sat down at a restaurant, ordered noodle soup, and I took a bite, was enraptured by the piping hot yet incredibly delicious flavor, and knew: I want more of this. A summer later, we ate our way through Seoul, and a year after that, this year, I spent two intensive periods there for a documentary series with Leiden University professor of Korean Studies Remco Breuker.

What struck me during these last few trips was the heartwarming hospitality, the abundance of food, and the generosity of people that reminded me of Morocco and other Arab countries. I also saw similarities in the rituals, and the connection I felt with people felt just as familiar. I find it moving, how, despite thousands of kilometers away, you can feel a natural connection with people who look different and speak a different language. Or, as Remco said to me: you don't understand each other, but you do understand each other.

That mutual understanding also manifested itself on the plate; my stomach and senses were often so delighted that I couldn't feel satisfied. Korean cuisine is spirited, with expressive flavors. Tables are always full: if you order one dish, it often comes with a variety of side dishes. I often think back on it with a touch of melancholy. For a brief period, the country was an important part of my life, and now I have to make do with the memories.

Fortunately, more and more Korean restaurants are popping up in the Netherlands. Perhaps a little too many in too short a time—I'm always a bit wary of hype. Chef Yunho Lee opened BapBoss Korean Cuisine Restaurant in Rotterdam in 2017, a small, atmospheric restaurant that draws a large crowd on Saturday evenings.

Just right

We order kimchi, of course, which is a must-have for any Korean meal. The incredibly friendly waitress points out that there are two kinds: "regular" kimchi in a small bowl or the fresh one, which is a larger portion. We go for the fresh one, because that's what we're here for: the real flavors. And it's excellent. The cabbage is crunchy and spicy, but not too spicy, which balances the flavors nicely, and the sesame seed accent works well.

Another dish that Korean cuisine has become famous for is fried chicken . Cooked well, it's not to be sneezed at. The "sweet & spicy" sauce comes with just the right amount of sticky sauce (not so much that the chicken is swimming in it, but not too sparingly either—just right to coat every piece). The chicken is perfectly cooked, not greasy, and the batter is crispy and slightly chewy .

Also chewy, or perhaps more accurately, a bit tough, is a generous dish for two with baby octopus in a rich, spicy gochujang sauce with crispy cabbage. Gochujang is a chili paste made with red peppers and fermented soybeans. Normally, I'd be unforgiving, but in Korea, I learned that raw fish, unlike in Japan, is eaten tough. You're supposed to chew it well. Now, I'm more of a melt-in-the-mouth type, but I've learned to appreciate it, though I still really prefer buttery-tender seafood. Aside from that, it's a fragrant and warming dish that, thanks to the spicy peppers, chases away any cold and revives the nose.

One of the dishes I loved in Korea was a savory pancake, which comes in all sorts of variations: vegetarian, with seafood. I actually object to calling just anything a pancake, but okay, the Korean name is "pajeon." On a busy, rainy day, we ended the evening at a restaurant near our hotel where we were served one of these "pancakes." I can't quite put into words the taste—a beautiful, harmonious combination of savory, spicy, and tender—but I can capture the feeling it gave me: a sense of security.

I don't get that feeling with the haemul pajeon (seafood pancake) that arrives. I find the base a bit greasy and the flavor initially bland, but our appreciation grows as we go along thanks to the pleasant crunch of the seafood. The flavor could definitely be richer and spicier; spring onions or scallions would give it a welcome kick, but it's passable.

Bingsu is the popular shaved ice that originated in Korea. The first time I was in Seoul, I ordered an extravagant sundae at our hotel restaurant, laden with velvety-smooth, honey-sweet mango. It was so expensive that I calculated the price several times, incredulous at the 65 euros I'd been charged. But it was an excellent sundae.

Bingsu at Bapboss comes in two successful variations: a traditional one with sweet red beans, and one with dalgona candy and espresso, a Korean take on the Italian affogato (espresso ice cream). Dalgona candy has the texture of brittle honeycomb (like Cadbury's Crunchie bar) and tastes like Haagse Hopjes.

This is a lovely evening. My nostalgia for Korea hasn't been assuaged, but it's a good start.