When I go grocery shopping these days, I often hear something both familiar and unexpected. At the checkout line, someone might ask, “Is this the right stuff for kimbap?” Not long ago, that word would have sounded out of place in St. Louis. Now, people casually talk about how to make it, where to buy it and which version tastes best.
The change began with pop culture. Shows like “Demon Hunters” spread quickly on social media, and curiosity about Korean food followed close behind. But this doesn’t feel like a passing trend. More students are trying to make kimbap at home, and some local shop owners are quietly wondering whether it might be worth adding to their menus.
When I notice things like this, I think of something I learned while studying economics: new demand always begins with culture. Music opens the ears, food opens the mouth, and before long, the market opens too.
Last semester, I spoke with a local shop owner about the possibility of collaborating. It never went as far as selling anything, but the conversation taught me something important — trade isn’t just about money; it’s the beginning of a relationship. Later, through my school’s invention club, I designed and sold small goods, and what fascinated me wasn’t profit, but watching what people actually valued. Seeing the K-food trend now reminds me of that same lesson. Bringing a new culture into a store isn’t only about adding a menu item; it’s about welcoming a new kind of connection.
The other day, at a nearby café, I overheard someone say after trying kimbap for the first time, “This isn’t just food — it’s an experience.” That line stayed with me. Culture spreads exactly like that. For one person, it’s just lunch; for another, it’s the first memory of a different country.
K-food is no longer a special event. It’s quietly becoming part of daily life here, and as a Korean student living in St. Louis, I feel both proud and a little uncertain. What interests me most, though, is how this change now speaks the language of the local economy. The customer searching for seaweed, the owner experimenting with new recipes, the student writing about it — we’re all part of the same small market.
I’m still a student, and I can’t exactly run a business or make commercial plans, but I’m always curious about how culture and community meet. If any local shop owners reading this ever feel the same, I’d love to talk. Maybe a single roll of kimbap could be the start of something good.
