Bibimbap

Bibimbap: more than just a meal

Jacob Lee

Long before Korea’s skyscrapers and K-pop stars, before the word “bibimbap” was even written in Hangul (our word for the Korean language), families from across our peninsula were gathering around bowls of rice and vegetables. Once known as goldongban, bibimbap has made an appearance in records from the 16th century. The name’s derived from bibim which means to mix and bap which means rice, meaning mixing rice and eaten at the very least annually on Lunar New Year (Lee). Although there’s no exact recording as to when it was first made or the exact way to make it, the commonly accepted reason was that it was a “clever repurposing of leftovers” (“How to Make”). Bibimbap captures Korea’s communal spirit: harmony and togetherness. Its very structure mirrors Korea’s philosophy of balance. Warm rice anchoring the bowl, seasoned vegetables adding color and texture, and the red sheen of some spicy gochujang sauce tying everything together (Mun et al.).

A fairly traditional bibimbap with all the basics and a side of kimchi & miso soup (Nov. 02 2025) Photo by Jacob Lee.

Not too long ago, Bibimbap took flight, literally, when Korean Air introduced it as an in-flight meal in 1997 (Mun et al.). Today, the dish has no borders, an LA food truck might serve its ingredients as a burrito or a cafe in Melbourne might top it with avocado and tofu (you’ll probably find it more often outside of Korea than in). What began as a meal to clear out pantries for Lunar New Year has become a symbol of adaptability and personalization. However, as fascinating as its lineage is, bibimbap’s story doesn’t end in the history books: it continues every time someone sits down with it, mixes, and eats.

Entrance to Mr. Yun’s convenience store where they have a connected kitchen and restaurant seating area (Nov. 02 2025) Photo by Jacob Lee.

The adjacent kitchen and tables for patrons to sit at and eat (Nov. 02 2025) Photo by Jacob Lee.

When I first started looking around for places to eat bibimbap for this essay, I didn’t head to some well known restaurant. Instead, I found a small place tucked under my apartment because of an ad the owners made. My first thought, honestly, was wondering how they even managed to stay open – so far from central, in a small neighborhood that didn’t feel like it had enough Koreans to keep it running. I walked into an empty restaurant with only the owner there quietly wiping down a counter top, reaffirming my worries, I quickly said hi, ordered my bibimbap, and waited. A heavy nutty sesame oil smell hit me as the owner served my bowl with quiet pride: glossy egg yoke glinting on top. I mixed it slowly, the greens, oranges, purples, and whites merging into something new as the red sauce bled into the edges of the rice. I began to slowly take it all in when two Australian guys burst in, bowing slightly as they said annyeonghasaeyo (hello in Korean) and ordered food. Throughout the meal, more and more customers came in all different shades of ethnicities and peoples. That small restaurant, hidden but relevant, felt like a kind of crossroads, where cultures and peoples met not in difference or disagreement, but in appetite. Somewhere between the sizzling of the beef and the mix of accents, I’d realized that I somehow forgot that I wasn’t just Korean, but American and America was founded for this very reason.

“Bibimbap is a food that can be applied without time, space, and individual restrictions” (Mun et al.).

Food history’s important. It teaches us who we are and where we come from. Understanding our roots helps us recognize how we got here. However, history alone does not keep a dish alive. The far more vital stories are the ones being written daily, when people from any background or ethnicity pick up the spoon and mix it themselves to learn what it’s like to be in someone else’s shoe, even for a moment. The meals we share and the stories we exchange over them (especially when the weight of the story’s heavier than the plate), are the living chapters of culture being rewritten every day. When you ask Koreans about bibimbap they probably won’t talk about how it used to be called goldongban or which year it made it onto the Korean Air flight menu. But they might talk about the warmth of gathering around it on Lunar New Year, or the comfort of ordering it after an exhausting day. They might not perfectly describe the flavors using several sensory details, but they might say it tastes like laughter, comfort, or that it reminds them of their mother’s kitchen. I know it does for me. Bibimbap has always been about blending – about coexistence and harmony. These things don't mean all the “ingredients” are the same; it’s difference that cooperates. Food history isn't just learning your ancestors’ recipes but to cook your own story into them, try other people's foods, and ask what it means to them now.

Works Cited

“How to Make Bibimbap: Homemade Korean Rice Bowl Recipe - 2025.” MasterClass, 25 Nov. 2024, www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-make-bibimbap. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.

Lee, Cecilia Hae-Jin. “Everything You Need to Know about Bibimbap, Korea’s Famous Rice Dish.” National Geographic, 21 July 2023, www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/article/bibimbap-koreas-famous-dish. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.

Lee, Jacob. Entrance to Mr. Yun’s restaurant and convenience store . 02 Nov. 2025. Author’s personal collection.

Lee, Jacob. The restaurant kitchen + seating area . 02 Nov. 2025. Author’s personal collection

Lee, Jacob. The bibimbap is cooked in a stone pot and served in a blue bowl with miso soup and kimchi. 02 Nov. 2025. Author’s personal collection.

Mun, Eun-Gyung, et al. “The globalization of bibimbap: Focusing on the diversity of modernization of bibimbap.” Journal of Ethnic Foods, vol. 10, no. 1, 1 Nov. 2023, https://doi.org/10.1186/s42779-023-00195-2. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.

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