As an international student living in Korea, there are days when I really miss the flavors of home. For Bangladeshi food lovers like me, it’s not just about taste—it’s about the emotions, the memories, the sense of belonging that certain dishes carry. But the hard part? Most of us don’t know how to make these foods ourselves, and even if we do, finding the right ingredients in Korea is a whole different challenge. There just aren’t enough shops that sell the spices and items we grew up with.
Still, today, my friend Rifat and I decided to try something special—we made fuchka! (Also known as phuchka, panipuri, or golgappa in other regions.) We managed to find ready-made panipuri shells from an Indian grocery store here in Busan. For the filling, we mashed boiled potatoes with chopped onions, green chilies, coriander, black salt, chaat masala, and lemon juice. For the tamarind water, we soaked tamarind in warm water and mixed in salt, sugar, a bit of roasted cumin, and more green chilies. It wasn’t exactly like home, but it was close enough to bring back the feeling.
While we were setting things up in the dorm kitchen, our Korean friend Minjun walked in. He looked at the table full of spices and asked what we were making. I smiled and replied, “This is fuchka—our favorite Bangladeshi street food.”
He laughed and said, “Looks dangerous!” But he was curious, so I offered him one. He took a bite, paused, and then rushed to get water. “Spicy! But interesting…” he said, laughing. That one small moment meant a lot to me—seeing someone from a completely different background try something so close to my heart.
At the same time, I kept wondering—would most Koreans find this too intense? Too unfamiliar? Would they really understand why something like fuchka makes us emotional?
For me and Rifat, that plate of fuchka wasn’t just food. It was a memory, a connection to home, and a reminder of who we are in a place far away. One day, I hope I can share this taste with more Korean friends—not just as a snack, but as a little story of where we come from.
As an international student living in Korea, there are days when I really miss the flavors of home. For Bangladeshi food lovers like me, it’s not just about taste—it’s about the emotions, the memories, the sense of belonging that certain dishes carry. But the hard part? Most of us don’t know how to make these foods ourselves, and even if we do, finding the right ingredients in Korea is a whole different challenge. There just aren’t enough shops that sell the spices and items we grew up with.
Still, today, my friend Rifat and I decided to try something special—we made fuchka! (Also known as phuchka, panipuri, or golgappa in other regions.) We managed to find ready-made panipuri shells from an Indian grocery store here in Busan. For the filling, we mashed boiled potatoes with chopped onions, green chilies, coriander, black salt, chaat masala, and lemon juice. For the tamarind water, we soaked tamarind in warm water and mixed in salt, sugar, a bit of roasted cumin, and more green chilies. It wasn’t exactly like home, but it was close enough to bring back the feeling.
While we were setting things up in the dorm kitchen, our Korean friend Minjun walked in. He looked at the table full of spices and asked what we were making. I smiled and replied, “This is fuchka—our favorite Bangladeshi street food.”
He laughed and said, “Looks dangerous!” But he was curious, so I offered him one. He took a bite, paused, and then rushed to get water. “Spicy! But interesting…” he said, laughing. That one small moment meant a lot to me—seeing someone from a completely different background try something so close to my heart.
At the same time, I kept wondering—would most Koreans find this too intense? Too unfamiliar? Would they really understand why something like fuchka makes us emotional?
For me and Rifat, that plate of fuchka wasn’t just food. It was a memory, a connection to home, and a reminder of who we are in a place far away. One day, I hope I can share this taste with more Korean friends—not just as a snack, but as a little story of where we come from.