The Viral Post That Set the Internet Ablaze
Okay, real talk—I was scrolling through theqoo the other night, you know how it is, 1 AM, sheet mask on, just looking for some mindless entertainment—and I stumbled upon a post that had absolutely everyone in a chokehold. It was titled ‘The person who thinks fine dining is a food culture that should disappear,’ and let me tell you, the comment section was a total war zone. We’re talking 45,711 views and nearly 400 comments in a matter of hours. In the world of Korean community boards, that’s not just a trending topic; that’s a cultural emergency.
The original poster didn’t hold back. They argued that fine dining is essentially a hollow display of vanity, a massive waste of resources, and an elitist gatekeeping of what should be a basic human necessity: food. As someone who has spent a fair share of my paycheck on both ₩300,000 tasting menus and ₩3,000 convenience store kimbap, I found myself leaning in. Is this just ‘yeol-pok’ (an inferiority complex) as some commenters claimed, or does the critic have a point about the direction our food culture has taken here in Seoul in 2026?
“Honestly, spending half a month’s rent on a meal that’s gone in two hours just to post it on Instagram? It’s peak environmental waste and vanity. We need to stop romanticizing overconsumption as ‘art.'”
This sentiment resonated with a surprising number of people. In an era where we are hyper-aware of sustainability and the cost-of-living crisis, the sheer excess of a 12-course meal—complete with imported truffles, gold leaf, and three different types of rare salts—can feel a bit… out of touch. But as with everything in Korea, the backlash was just as fierce as the initial critique.
The “Art” Defense: Is the Plate a Canvas?
For those on the other side of the fence, fine dining isn’t about the calories; it’s about the craft. One of the most common rebuttals in the thread compared high-end gastronomy to the world of fine arts or classical music. If we don’t demand that a symphony be ‘efficient’ or a painting be ‘practical,’ why do we demand that of a chef’s creation? These chefs spend decades honing their skills, learning the precise temperature at which a scallop reaches peak sweetness or how to ferment a traditional sauce for seven years to achieve a specific umami profile.
I’ve been to a few of these spots in Gangnam and Hannam-dong over the last year, and I have to say, there is something undeniably moving about a dish that tells a story. When a chef explains that the herbs were hand-picked that morning from a specific hillside in Jeju, you aren’t just eating; you’re experiencing a moment of connection to the land and the season. Calling for the ‘abolishment’ of fine dining because it’s expensive feels a bit like saying we should close all museums because posters are cheaper than oil paintings.
One commenter put it perfectly: “Fine dining is the R&D lab of the food world. The techniques developed in those ‘expensive’ kitchens eventually trickle down to our favorite casual spots. Without the high-end, the middle-range loses its innovation.” It’s a valid point. Think about how many ‘omakase’ style concepts have popped up for everything from pork belly to coffee lately. That trend started at the top.
The Luxury Goods Comparison: Why Target Food?
This was perhaps the most heated part of the debate. A huge chunk of the 389 comments pointed out the hypocrisy of targeting fine dining while ignoring other forms of luxury consumption. If the issue is ‘vanity’ or ‘waste,’ why aren’t we having this same conversation about the three-hour lines outside the Chanel boutique or the people driving supercars through the narrow alleys of Seongsu-dong? Korea’s obsession with luxury brands is well-documented, yet food seems to be the one area where people feel entitled to police how others spend their money.
“If you’re going to call fine dining a ‘wasteful culture that needs to disappear,’ you better be ready to burn your designer bags and sell your luxury car too. Why is it only ‘art’ when it’s something you can wear, but ‘trash’ when it’s something you can eat?”
There’s a specific psychological trigger when it comes to food. Because we all eat, we all feel like experts on what food *should* be. We don’t all buy $5,000 watches, so we don’t feel as personally offended by their existence. But when a plate of pasta costs ₩50,000, it feels like an affront to our common sense. However, as one user pointed out, the ‘waste’ in fine dining is often less than the waste in mass-produced fast food. High-end kitchens are usually obsessed with using every part of an ingredient because those ingredients are so incredibly expensive.
The Sustainability Sting: A 2026 Reality Check
Let’s talk about the ‘environmental waste’ argument for a second, because in 2026, this isn’t just a buzzword—it’s our reality. The critic in the viral post mentioned the carbon footprint of flying in ingredients from around the world just for a single dinner service. It’s a tough pill to swallow. Do we really need air-freighted French butter and Japanese sea urchin to have a ‘good’ meal? This is where I think the fine dining industry in Seoul needs to do some soul-searching.
I’ve noticed a shift recently, though. Some of the most popular new openings this year aren’t focusing on ‘luxury’ in the traditional sense. They are focusing on ‘hyper-local’ ingredients. They’re making fine dining out of mountain greens and fermented soybeans. This ‘New Korean’ wave is trying to bridge the gap between the high-art aspirations of fine dining and the ethical demands of the modern consumer. If fine dining survives this decade, it’s going to be because it moved away from ‘gold leaf’ and toward ‘sustainability.’
But the core of the anger in that theqoo post wasn’t just about the planet. It was about the social divide. In a world where the gap between the haves and the have-nots feels like it’s widening every day, watching someone vlog a ₩500,000 meal can feel like a slap in the face to those struggling with rising grocery prices. It’s not just about the food; it’s about what the food symbolizes: access to a world that most people will never enter.
My Honest Take: Is It Worth the Hype?
Look, I’m going to be real with you. I’ve had fine dining meals that changed my life—dishes so good they actually made me tear up (I know, I’m dramatic, let me live). And I’ve also had fine dining meals where I left feeling hungry, annoyed, and ₩400,000 poorer, thinking I could have had a better time at a local BBQ joint with my friends. The problem isn’t the existence of fine dining; it’s the ‘performance’ of it.
When we go to these places just to check a box or to prove to our followers that we can afford it, we are stripping the art away and leaving only the ‘사치’ (luxury/extravagance). That’s the part that feels hollow. If you genuinely love the nuances of flavor, the history of the ingredients, and the artistry of the plating, then by all means, save up and go. It’s your money and your experience. But if you’re doing it because you think you *have* to in order to be part of a certain social class, you’re probably the person the original poster was mad at.
“I went to a famous fine dining spot for my anniversary last month. The food was okay, but the table next to us spent the entire time taking photos and didn’t even talk to each other. That’s when I realized the critic might be right—it’s become a theater for the ego, not a kitchen.”
We are currently in a phase of ‘Omakase Fatigue.’ For the last couple of years, everything had to be a ‘tasting menu.’ Beef omakase, sushi omakase, even sundae (blood sausage) omakase. We’ve reached a saturation point where the word ‘fine’ has lost its meaning. Maybe this viral debate is the correction we needed. We don’t need to ‘abolish’ fine dining, but we do need to stop making it the only standard for a ‘good’ or ‘successful’ meal.
The Future of the Seoul Food Scene
So, where do we go from here? I don’t think fine dining is going anywhere. Humans have an innate desire for beauty and excellence, and the kitchen is one of the most intimate places to express that. However, the days of mindless, flashy excess are definitely numbered. The ‘theqoo’ debate proves that the public is no longer impressed by just a high price tag. We want substance. We want stories. We want to know that the chef actually cares about the ingredients and the people eating them.
If a restaurant can provide that, it will survive, even at a premium price. If it’s just a backdrop for a selfie, it’s going to find it harder and harder to justify its existence in 2026. My advice? Don’t let the internet tell you what to value. If a ₩200,000 meal makes you feel inspired and happy, go for it. If you think it’s a scam, stay home and make the best ramyun of your life. The beauty of the 2026 food scene is that we finally have the vocabulary to argue about it.
At the end of the day, food is personal. It’s fuel, it’s art, it’s culture, and yes, sometimes it’s a bit of a flex. But as long as we’re having these heated debates, it means we still care about what’s on our plates. And to me, that’s a lot better than a world where every meal is just a pill or a generic protein shake. Let the debate rage on—I’ll be over here with my spicy rice cakes, watching the comments section with a big bowl of popcorn.
