Inside a teaching kitchen south-east of Seoul, I coat a whole chicken – cut into eight parts – in batter and dip the pieces carefully into a bowl of powdered mix until covered in a light, fluffy layer.
A chef watches intently. “Don’t rub it,” he says. “Keep it delicate.”
The chicken, already brined in what I’m told is a secret marinade, goes into a fryer filled with an olive oil blend, heated to 165C. I slowly lower the pieces a third of the way, then drop them in away from myself to avoid splashing. I set a timer for 10 minutes.
This is Chicken University, a sprawling campus with a giant chicken statue at the entrance. It exists to train would-be owners of the BBQ Chicken franchise chain through a two-week residential programme. More than 50,000 people have passed through its classrooms.
This humble dish is relatively simple, and is not even traditional Korean cuisine, but it is part of a national obsession that has gone global, both physically and culturally as part of the K-food wave. The country has been only half-jokingly dubbed the Republic of Fried Chicken.
South Korea has around 40,000 fried chicken restaurants – just a few thousand short of the number of McDonald’s branches worldwide. Most are small, family-run operations. But now, Korean chicken brands operate more than 1,800 stores in around 60 countries, nearly double the number of stores a decade ago. From London to Los Angeles, Korean fried chicken appears on the menu.