Spicy Rice Cakes, Blood Sausage Fried Snacks — Korean Bunsik Set

It was on my way home from work. Winter had set in and the sun was already down. When I stepped out of the subway station, the wind hit hard. I didn't feel like cooking a proper dinner, but my stomach was growling too loud to just skip it. As I walked down the alley, I spotted a bunsik shop sign. Through the glass door, I could see a pot of red, spicy rice cakes — and my feet walked in before my brain could decide.

When people think of Korean street food, most picture Korean BBQ or fried chicken. But the snack that Koreans actually eat all the time is something else entirely. It's called bunsik. Tteokbokki, sundae, fried snacks, and fish cake. When you order all four together, Koreans call it tteoksuntwio — a mash-up of the first syllables of tteokbokki, sundae, twigim (fried snacks), and odeng (fish cake). There are bunsik shops literally everywhere in Korea — as common as convenience stores. Whether you're in Seoul or Busan, a tiny rural town or a franchise chain or some beat-up shop tucked in an alley, there's always somewhere selling spicy rice cakes. And the price? You can order all four and fill up for about 10,000 won — roughly $7 to $8. Walk in alone, order a tteoksuntwio set, and that's dinner.

That's exactly what I did that night. I sat down and ordered the tteoksuntwio set. Even though I was eating alone, the portion was pretty big. I wondered if I could finish it all. Spoiler: I cleaned the tray — broth and all.

The Tteoksuntwio Set — the Quintessential Korean Comfort Food Combo

The tteoksuntwio set is Korea's answer to the fast-food combo meal — four street food classics piled onto one red tray for under $8. Tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes), sundae (blood sausage), twigim (fried snacks), and eomuk (fish cake in broth) make up this iconic combo that you'll find at virtually every bunsik shop in the country.

No matter which bunsik shop you walk into, the lineup is the same. A plate of red spicy rice cakes, a bowl of clear fish cake broth, a plate of sliced sundae, and a basket of fried snacks. I've eaten this in Daejeon — a major city about 1.5 hours south of Seoul — and I've eaten it in Seoul. The only difference was the tiniest variation in flavor.

Tteokbokki — Chewy Rice Cakes Swimming in Red Sauce

Tteokbokki is where most people start — chewy, cylindrical rice cakes drenched in a thick, sweet-and-spicy red sauce made from gochujang (fermented chili paste), sugar, corn syrup, and soy sauce. If you've never tried it, think of it like a spicy, saucy version of gnocchi, but chewier and bouncier. I grabbed a piece first. The plump rice cakes were submerged in bright red sauce, and there was a little cracker perched on top. I wasn't sure why they put a cracker there at first, but once I dipped it in the sauce, the crunch mixed with the spicy-sweet coating was weirdly addictive. One thing though — if you leave that cracker sitting in the broth too long, it goes completely soggy. I learned that the hard way.

Rice Cake vs. Wheat Cake — What's the Difference?

These were rice-based cakes. In Korea, tteokbokki uses two types of cakes: rice cakes (ssal-tteok) and wheat cakes (mil-tteok).

These days, rice cakes are the standard. But personally, I'm on team wheat cake. When I was a kid, I'd take about a dollar in coins — literally less than 1,000 won — to the bunsik shop after school, and they'd serve wheat cake tteokbokki. The rice-vs.-wheat debate has been going on in Korea for ages, and there's no right answer. It's purely a matter of taste.

The Secret Behind Tteokbokki Sauce

The real star of tteokbokki is this thick red sauce. It's made by mixing gochujang with sugar, corn syrup, and soy sauce, and the result hits you with sweetness and heat at the same time. If you're worried about the spice — don't. Regular tteokbokki isn't actually that hot. The sweetness comes first, and the spice just creeps up behind it. If you can't handle any heat at all, there's also jjajang tteokbokki — a black bean sauce version. It's black instead of red, and instead of spicy, it's savory-sweet from the black bean paste soaking into the rice cakes.

But on the flip side, there are versions made specifically for people who love the burn.

I tried level 3 once. I couldn't even finish half. I just ended up chugging fish cake broth the rest of the night. Haven't attempted the challenge since.

Fried Snacks — Dip Them in Tteokbokki Sauce and They Become a Whole New Food

Korean bunsik-style fried snacks, or twigim, are thick-battered, deep-fried pieces of vegetables, seafood, and dumplings — served alongside tteokbokki as one half of an inseparable duo. After a few bites of spicy rice cakes, I moved on to the fried snacks. This time it was a half-and-half of fried dumplings and fried squid. Korean bunsik frying is different from Japanese tempura. Tempura batter is light and delicate, but Korean twigim batter is thick and chunky. You bite through a crunchy shell first, and then the filling inside.

You can eat them plain, and they're totally fine. But the Korean way is to dip them in the tteokbokki sauce. I'll be honest — the first time, I ate mine plain because I didn't want to waste the crunch. Then I saw the person at the next table dunking theirs straight into the red sauce. I tried it. Never went back. Yeah, you lose the crispiness, but the sweet-spicy sauce soaks into the batter and turns it into a completely different food.

Korean Bunsik Fried Snacks Come in Way More Varieties Than You'd Think

If you go to a Korean street food stall (pojangmacha), you'll see all of these lined up on a wire rack draining oil. You just point at what you want and they bag it up. Each piece runs about $0.35 to $0.70.

Gimmari — the MVP of Bunsik Fried Snacks

Look at that batter thickness. The one with the greenish tint is gimmari — my personal favorite out of all the fried snacks. It's glass noodles rolled up in a sheet of dried seaweed, then deep-fried. The outside is crunchy, and inside, the glass noodles stretch and pull with every bite. Dunk it in tteokbokki sauce and the crunch swaps out for a moist, spicy coating. If tteokbokki is the main character, gimmari is the one you can't live without.

Fish Cake — The Clear Broth That Saves You from the Spice

Eomuk, or Korean fish cake, is served in a clear, savory broth made from dried anchovies and kelp — and it's the thing your hand reaches for the second the spice from tteokbokki starts building. In Korea, it's also called odeng (from the Japanese word oden). A bunch of fish cakes sit in this light, golden broth, and the broth is honestly the real treasure here.

The stock is made by simmering dried anchovies and kelp, and as the fish cakes cook in it, they release a deep umami that makes the broth incredibly rich. One sip on a cold winter day and you feel your whole body unclench. I've actually tried to recreate this broth at home multiple times. Bought anchovies, bought kelp, bought the same fish cakes — and it never tasted right. I think it's the time. These pots simmer from morning to night at bunsik shops, and there's a flavor that only builds over 12 hours that you just can't get in 30 minutes on your stovetop.

Different Fish Cake Shapes, Different Ways to Eat Them

The fish cakes come in all kinds of shapes. Flat squares, spiraled rolls, round balls. The flat ones soak up the most broth. The rolled ones trap hot broth inside, so when you bite in, scalding liquid bursts out. A quick word of warning if you're trying this for the first time: don't take a big bite of the rolled fish cakes. There's hot broth trapped in the center and it will burn the roof of your mouth. I speak from painful experience.

Sundae — Korean-Style Blood Sausage

Korean sundae (pronounced "soon-day," nothing to do with ice cream) is a type of blood sausage made by stuffing pork intestine with glass noodles, vegetables, and pork blood, then steaming it. It arrived sliced into rounds, with liver and organ pieces on the side and a small dish of salt mixed with chili powder — the classic dipping combo.

"Sausage made with blood" might sound intimidating, but this concept exists all over the world. The UK has black pudding, Spain has morcilla, France has boudin noir. Think of Korean sundae as a cousin to those European blood sausages, but lighter and chewier because of the glass noodles packed inside. It's milder and less fatty than most European versions.

Personally, I prefer dipping my sundae in the tteokbokki sauce instead of the salt mix. With salt, you taste the sundae itself more purely. With tteokbokki sauce, it gets coated in that sweet-spicy red flavor and becomes a completely different experience. Try both and figure out which camp you're in.

Bunsik Shop Sundae vs. Handmade Sundae

To be clear, this isn't artisan, handmade sundae. Most bunsik shops serve factory-produced sundae. The handmade stuff is sold at traditional markets — the filling is chunkier, the thickness varies from piece to piece, and the flavor is noticeably different. But honestly? For eating alongside tteokbokki, the regular bunsik shop version is more than good enough.

The liver and organ pieces that come on the side are a love-it-or-leave-it thing. People who love them say the plate isn't complete without them. People who don't won't even look at them. If you're not into it, just say "no offal, please" (busok ppae-juseyo) when you order, and they'll usually give you extra sundae instead. Me, I like the liver but I'll pass on the intestine bits.

One by One, Picking Them Up

Fish cake on a toothpick, pop it in your mouth in one bite. Sundae held up to show the cross-section — glass noodles packed tight inside. Squid fritter lifted up with white tentacles poking through the batter. Picking things up one at a time and eating them — that's half the fun of bunsik. It's not a polite-chopstick-placement kind of meal. You stab stuff with toothpicks and pop it in. That's the vibe.

Bunsik Is Just... Everyday Life

Bunsik isn't something you make reservations for. It's not a place you dress up to visit. It's just always there, somewhere in your neighborhood, and you walk in when you're hungry.

But this humble, cheap food is woven surprisingly deep into Korean life. Pooling coins with your friends after school to split a plate of tteokbokki. Warming your hands with a cup of fish cake broth at a street stall in the dead of winter. Ordering a plate of sundae alone after working late, just sitting there in the fluorescent light. Bunsik isn't just food — it's the backdrop to all those little scenes.

That's what happened to me that night, too. I wandered into a bunsik shop on my way home from work without much thought, cleaned an entire tteoksuntwio set by myself, and walked out. My stomach was full and I felt genuinely good. That's what bunsik does. You go in for no particular reason, eat way more than you planned, and leave in a better mood than when you came in.

If you ever visit Korea, make sure you stop by a bunsik shop at least once. And whatever you do, drink the fish cake broth. That's the real deal.

This post was originally published on https://hi-jsb.blog.