Seitan Samgyupsal [ Guide]: Vegan Korean BBQ Revolution Explained

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Seitan Samgyupsal: How Koreans Reimagined Pork Belly In 2025

If you ask Koreans what food best represents everyday happiness, most will answer without hesitation: samgyupsal, grilled pork belly. It is the center of countless 회식 (company dinners), 대학 MT (college retreats), and family gatherings. But in the last few years, and especially through 2024–2025, a quiet revolution has been happening at the grill: seitan samgyupsal.

Seitan samgyupsal is not just “vegan pork belly.” From a Korean perspective, it is a bold attempt to preserve the social and emotional meaning of samgyupsal while changing the ingredient at its core. Instead of animal fat and meat, it uses seitan – a high-protein wheat gluten – but keeps the cooking style, side dishes, and atmosphere of a proper samgyupsal meal. The goal is not only to copy the taste, but to protect the ritual.

Why does this keyword matter so much in Korea now? First, Koreans have one of the highest per-capita meat consumptions in Asia, and pork belly is a huge part of that. At the same time, younger Koreans are increasingly concerned about health, climate, and animal welfare. According to local vegan communities, searches for “비건 삼겹살” (vegan samgyupsal) and “세이탄 삼겹살” on Korean portals like Naver and Daum have grown noticeably since late 2023, with spikes around “meatless” campaigns and climate-related news.

Seitan samgyupsal sits exactly at the intersection of these trends. It allows flexitarians and vegans to join the samgyupsal table without being the “difficult” person, and lets meat-lovers experiment without feeling they’ve lost the soul of the meal. When Koreans talk about seitan samgyupsal, we are not just debating flavor; we’re asking whether Korean food culture can evolve without losing its identity.

In this in-depth guide, I’ll unpack seitan samgyupsal from a Korean insider’s angle: how it appeared, how it’s made, where it’s trending, what it means socially, and why it may be one of the most important experiments in modern K-food.

Key Takeaways: What Makes Seitan Samgyupsal Stand Out

Seitan samgyupsal keeps the full samgyupsal experience – table grill, side dishes, ssam (lettuce wraps), and sauces – but replaces pork belly with layered, marinated seitan designed to mimic the bite and chew of actual meat.
Unlike generic “vegan barbecue,” seitan samgyupsal is deeply tied to Korean grilling culture. It focuses on replicating the specific texture and fat-like juiciness of samgyupsal, including the browning, sizzling sound, and even the visual layers.
In Korean vegan communities, seitan samgyupsal became a hot keyword from late 2023 onward, with recipe posts, restaurant reviews, and TikTok-style short videos showing how to get the “기름 튀는 느낌” (oil-splashing feeling) without animal fat.
Seitan samgyupsal is not standardized. Home cooks, small vegan restaurants, and R&D teams at alternative meat startups all experiment with different gluten ratios, oil blends, marinades, and smoking methods, making this a highly innovative, open-source style of K-food.
Socially, seitan samgyupsal solves a real Korean problem: how vegans or health-conscious people can join samgyupsal-heavy gatherings without eating only side dishes. It allows everyone at the table to grill and wrap, preserving the group dynamic.
From a sustainability perspective, seitan samgyupsal dramatically lowers the environmental footprint compared to pork belly, while still fitting perfectly into classic Korean banchan (side dish) sets and soju culture.
Global foodies are beginning to discover seitan samgyupsal through YouTube, TikTok, and vegan travel blogs, but many still see it as just “another fake meat.” Koreans view it more as a cultural preservation project: saving the ritual of samgyupsal for a changing society.

From Pork Belly To Plant Belly: The Korean Story Behind Seitan Samgyupsal

To understand seitan samgyupsal, you need to understand how sacred samgyupsal is in Korea. For decades, “삼겹살에 소주 한 잔” (samgyupsal with a shot of soju) has been shorthand for release after a hard day, reconciliation after conflict, and the most casual but intimate way to bond. When I was growing up, if a boss wanted to cheer up the team, the phrase was simple: “야, 오늘 삼겹살 먹으러 가자” – “Hey, let’s go eat samgyupsal today.”

So when veganism and flexitarian eating started to gain visibility in Korea around the late 2010s, the biggest cultural question was not tofu or salads; it was: “What about samgyupsal?” At first, vegans just skipped the meat and filled up on mushrooms and kimchi. But socially, that felt like standing at the edge of the circle. The grill is where the conversation happens.

Early experiments focused on mushroom samgyupsal, using king oyster mushrooms sliced thickly to mimic pork belly. This is still popular, but mushrooms lack the layered texture and dense chewiness that Koreans associate with real samgyupsal. That’s where seitan came in. Seitan had already appeared in Buddhist temple cuisine (사찰음식) and some macrobiotic restaurants, but it was more of a niche ingredient. Once people realized its protein structure could be layered, pressed, and marinated like meat, the idea of seitan samgyupsal emerged naturally.

By around 2021–2022, you could see scattered references to “세이탄 삼겹살” on Korean blogs and recipe communities. But it was between late 2023 and mid-2024 that the keyword really took off. Korean vegan YouTubers began posting detailed tutorials on how to make seitan samgyupsal with realistic marbling, using oil, rice paper, or even tofu sheets to imitate fat layers. Short-form platforms like Instagram Reels and TikTok (and Korean equivalents) amplified the trend, with sizzling grill shots and side-by-side comparisons with real pork.

Korean media started to notice. Vegan-focused platforms and some mainstream outlets covered plant-based Korean barbecue, often highlighting seitan samgyupsal as the most “shockingly similar” option. Internationally, vegan travel bloggers visiting Seoul began including seitan samgyupsal restaurants in their “must try” lists, describing it as a uniquely Korean take on plant-based meat.

In the last 30–90 days, the conversation has shifted from “Can seitan samgyupsal taste like pork belly?” to “How do we make it healthier, more accessible, and more authentically Korean?” Home cooks now share refined recipes using local ingredients like doenjang, gochujang, and perilla oil in the marinades, rather than just copying Western seitan techniques. Some alternative meat startups are testing pre-packaged seitan samgyupsal slices for home grills and convenience stores, signaling that this is moving from subculture to potential mainstream product.

To get a sense of the broader plant-based context around it, you can look at Korean and global resources like Korea.net, the plant-based coverage at The Korea Herald, or global vegan trend analysis from sites such as The Vegetarian Resource Group and ProVeg International. For Korean-language recipe discussions, communities on portals like Naver and Daum have become informal R&D labs, while international readers often discover seitan-based K-BBQ through blogs like Serious Eats or plant-based trend reports from The Good Food Institute.

Seitan samgyupsal is still young, but its development mirrors a larger shift in Korean food: preserving the core emotional experience while quietly changing what’s on the plate. In that sense, its history is less about recipes and more about how Koreans negotiate tradition in real time.

Inside The Grill: How Seitan Samgyupsal Really Works

When Koreans say “이 집 세이탄 삼겹살 잘한다” (“this place does seitan samgyupsal well”), we’re not just praising taste. We’re judging how faithfully the seitan can stand in for the full sensory and social role of pork belly. That involves several layers: structure, flavor, cooking behavior, and how it fits into the table choreography.

First, structure. Good seitan samgyupsal needs a layered bite. Traditional samgyupsal has distinct strata: crispy exterior, chewy meat, and melting fat. Korean cooks try to recreate this by stacking thin sheets of seitan dough with brushed-on oil or fat substitutes. Some use rice paper soaked in oil to mimic the soft, fatty layer; others mix a bit of tofu or konjac into certain layers for a more gelatinous feel. The whole block is then steamed or baked, cooled, and sliced into rectangular strips resembling actual pork belly.

Flavor is where Korean identity comes in. Instead of relying only on smoke or generic barbecue sauce, seitan samgyupsal is often marinated or brushed with mixtures that taste deeply Korean: soy sauce, garlic, ginger, black pepper, sugar or rice syrup, and sometimes a hint of doenjang or gochujang. Even when served “plain,” many Koreans will pre-season the seitan lightly with salt, pepper, and garlic to ensure it can stand on its own before dipping in ssamjang.

On the grill, seitan samgyupsal needs to brown convincingly. Real pork belly renders fat; seitan does not. To compensate, cooks oil the pan more generously and may add a high-smoke-point oil like canola or grapeseed, then finish with a drizzle of sesame oil for aroma. A good seitan slice will char at the edges, develop a slightly crisp surface, and stay moist inside. If it dries out or becomes rubbery, Koreans will say “글루텐 맛 난다” – “it tastes like gluten,” which is not a compliment.

The social choreography is just as important. With seitan samgyupsal, everyone at the table still gathers around the grill, flips the pieces with tongs, and argues over when they’re perfectly done. You still wrap them in lettuce or perilla leaves with rice, kimchi, and raw garlic. You still pour soju or makgeolli. From a Korean point of view, this is the real success of seitan samgyupsal: it lets vegans, vegetarians, and flexitarians participate in the ritual without being sidelined.

At some mixed restaurants in Seoul, you can now see a split grill: one half with pork, one half with seitan samgyupsal, or even separate grills brought out for vegan customers. Staff are increasingly trained to avoid cross-contamination for those who request it. This kind of accommodation would have been almost unthinkable ten years ago at a standard samgyupsal joint.

Home kitchens are also innovating. Some people pre-grill seitan samgyupsal in an air fryer to get a crispy exterior, then finish it briefly on a tabletop grill for the smoke and visual effect. Others experiment with liquid smoke, smoked salt, or even charcoal-infused oil to mimic the flavor of charcoal-grilled pork without setting up a full coal grill.

In short, seitan samgyupsal is not just a single recipe; it’s a technique and a concept: using wheat-based protein to fully occupy the cultural and physical space that pork belly has long dominated in Korean life, from the grill to the group dynamics around it.

What Koreans Notice First: Insider Cultural Nuances Of Seitan Samgyupsal

From outside Korea, seitan samgyupsal can look like just another plant-based meat variation. But when Koreans encounter it, a whole set of unspoken cultural cues immediately kicks in. These nuances explain why some Koreans embrace it passionately while others react with skepticism or even humor.

The first nuance is the emotional weight of samgyupsal itself. For many Koreans, samgyupsal is tied to memories: first company dinner, late-night talks with friends, or family gatherings in small local restaurants. So when they see seitan samgyupsal on a menu, they’re not just asking “Is it tasty?” but “Can this possibly replace that memory?” This is why some Koreans jokingly call it “마음의 삼겹살 테스트” – a test of whether your heart is ready to accept change.

Another insider point: samgyupsal is closely linked to masculinity and work culture. Salarymen in rolled-up shirts, smoke-filled rooms, soju bottles on the table – that image is almost cliché. Seitan samgyupsal quietly challenges this. When a team chooses a restaurant that offers seitan samgyupsal, it signals that the group is open to different lifestyles and that the youngest or most health-conscious members are being considered. In a hierarchy-heavy culture, this is a subtle but powerful shift.

There’s also a generational divide. Older Koreans often see seitan samgyupsal as “가짜 고기” (fake meat) and may laugh it off, while younger Koreans, especially in their 20s and 30s, view it as a cool, progressive option. Among university students, bringing seitan samgyupsal to a dorm gathering or MT can even be a conversation starter about ethics, climate, and personal choice.

Koreans also pay close attention to how “한식스럽다” (Korean-style) the seasoning feels. If seitan samgyupsal is seasoned too much like Western barbecue or generic soy sauce flavor, people will say “이건 그냥 세이탄이지, 삼겹살 느낌이 없다” – “This is just seitan, it doesn’t feel like samgyupsal.” To pass the Korean authenticity test, it must harmonize naturally with kimchi, ssamjang, and perilla leaves, not fight them.

Another insider nuance is the role of banchan. In many countries, plant-based meats are served as the main focus, with simple sides. In Korea, seitan samgyupsal is judged in relation to the full table: how it tastes with grilled kimchi, whether it balances well with vinegared onions, how it absorbs or complements the garlic-soy dipping sauce. Koreans may even say “세이탄 삼겹살은 김치랑 먹을 때 진짜 같다” – “Seitan samgyupsal feels real when you eat it with kimchi,” acknowledging that the illusion depends on the whole set, not just the protein.

Finally, there’s a quiet pride among Korean vegans and flexitarians about seitan samgyupsal. Many feel that Western plant-based meats often try to copy burgers or nuggets, but seitan samgyupsal is something uniquely rooted in Korean food culture. When they share photos of it on social media, it’s not only about being vegan; it’s about showing that Korean cuisine can innovate in its own language, without just importing foreign concepts.

These cultural layers mean that for Koreans, seitan samgyupsal is never just a nutritional or environmental choice. It is a small but meaningful negotiation with tradition, masculinity, hierarchy, and national food identity, all taking place over a tabletop grill.

Seitan Samgyupsal Versus The Rest: Comparisons, Impact, And Global Potential

When Koreans discuss seitan samgyupsal, we often compare it with other meat substitutes used in similar settings: mushroom samgyupsal, tofu-based barbecue, and imported plant-based meats made from soy or pea protein. Each option has its fans, but seitan samgyupsal occupies a particular niche.

Here’s how it typically stacks up in Korean conversations:

Aspect	Seitan Samgyupsal	Mushroom / Other Plant BBQ
Texture	Dense, chewy, layered; closest to pork belly bite	Juicy but softer; lacks layered chew
Flavor absorption	Excellent; gluten structure holds marinades well	Good but can become watery or too soft
Grill behavior	Browns and crisps; needs oil but visually convincing	Shrinks, softens; visibly different from meat
Cultural fit with banchan	High; seasoning can mimic traditional samgyupsal profile	Medium; often treated as its own dish, not a true stand-in
Perceived “authenticity”	Seen as a serious attempt to replicate samgyupsal	Seen as tasty alternative, not a replacement
Appeal to non-vegans	Higher, especially among flexitarians	Mixed; many enjoy but don’t see it as meat-like

From a global perspective, seitan samgyupsal also competes with Western-style plant-based meats like burgers and sausages. But those formats don’t map well onto Korean dining habits. Koreans don’t gather after work for “burger and soju.” We gather for samgyupsal. That’s why seitan samgyupsal can have an outsized cultural impact compared to its actual market share.

Environmentally, replacing pork belly with seitan can significantly reduce emissions and resource use. While precise numbers for seitan samgyupsal specifically are still emerging, wheat-based protein generally requires far less land and water than pork, and emits fewer greenhouse gases. Korean environmental groups often mention plant-based samgyupsal (including seitan versions) in campaigns that encourage “one meatless samgyupsal night a week” as a realistic goal for meat-heavy households.

Socially, the impact is visible in small but telling ways. In Seoul and Busan, you can find mixed-group gatherings where some order pork and others order seitan samgyupsal at the same table. Ten years ago, a vegan friend at a samgyupsal restaurant would have been quietly nibbling on lettuce and rice; now, they are just as involved in the grilling and sharing. This shift reduces the social friction that often isolates vegans in Korea.

Globally, seitan samgyupsal has strong storytelling potential. K-food fans already familiar with K-dramas and K-pop are naturally curious about “what Koreans really eat,” and plant-based versions of iconic dishes are especially attractive to health-conscious or ethical consumers. Some international vegan restaurants in cities like Los Angeles, London, and Berlin have begun experimenting with “Korean-style seitan pork belly,” clearly inspired by seitan samgyupsal, even if they don’t always use the Korean term.

Its impact also extends to how Koreans imagine the future of their cuisine. When food companies and R&D labs think about exporting Korean flavors, they increasingly consider plant-based versions of classics. Seitan samgyupsal is often mentioned alongside plant-based bulgogi or galbi as a candidate for global expansion. If it succeeds abroad, it could become one of the first globally recognized Korean vegan dishes that still feels deeply rooted in traditional dining rituals.

In short, compared to other alternatives, seitan samgyupsal is less about novelty and more about continuity. It quietly preserves the shape and social logic of samgyupsal while gently nudging Koreans – and now global eaters – toward a different way of filling the grill.

Why Seitan Samgyupsal Matters In Modern Korean Society

For Koreans, the importance of seitan samgyupsal cannot be measured only by sales numbers or restaurant counts. Its deeper significance lies in how it reshapes social inclusion, generational dialogue, and the boundaries of “Koreanness” in food.

First, it addresses a real social pain point. Traditional samgyupsal culture can be exclusionary for vegans, vegetarians, and even people with health conditions. In Korean office life, refusing samgyupsal at a 회식 used to be interpreted as rejecting the group itself. By offering seitan samgyupsal, restaurants and hosts signal that you can participate fully without compromising your values or health. This is especially meaningful for younger employees who want to maintain harmony without sacrificing their beliefs.

Second, seitan samgyupsal reflects a shift in how Koreans think about tradition. In the past, “authenticity” meant strict adherence to ingredients and methods. Now, more Koreans accept that tradition can be about form and feeling rather than specific animal products. If the grilling, sharing, wrapping, and drinking rituals remain intact, many are willing to accept seitan samgyupsal as a legitimate evolution rather than a betrayal.

Third, it contributes to ongoing conversations about climate and sustainability. Korea is a highly urbanized, import-dependent country that feels climate impacts strongly, from heatwaves to air quality. While not everyone is ready to give up meat, seitan samgyupsal offers a concrete, culturally meaningful way to reduce meat consumption without asking people to abandon familiar social practices. Environmental NGOs and youth activists often highlight plant-based Korean barbecue, including seitan samgyupsal, as a “practical climate action at the dinner table.”

Fourth, seitan samgyupsal plays a symbolic role in Korea’s global image. K-food has become one of the pillars of the “K-wave,” but much of the international conversation still focuses on meat-heavy dishes. Showcasing seitan samgyupsal allows Koreans to present a more diverse, future-oriented face: a country that respects its culinary roots while engaging seriously with ethical and environmental questions.

Finally, there is a quieter, more personal significance. For many Koreans who grew up loving samgyupsal but later chose vegan or vegetarian lifestyles, seitan samgyupsal can feel like reclaiming a lost part of their identity. I’ve heard people say things like, “이제 나도 다시 삼겹살 먹으러 가자고 말할 수 있다” – “Now I can say ‘let’s go eat samgyupsal’ again.” That emotional reconnection is hard to quantify, but it is a powerful reason why this dish resonates so strongly.

In this way, seitan samgyupsal is more than a food trend. It is a small but vivid example of how Korean society negotiates change: not by throwing away beloved rituals, but by carefully rewiring them from the inside so that more people can sit comfortably at the same table.

Seitan Samgyupsal FAQ: Korean Answers To Global Questions

1. What exactly is seitan samgyupsal, from a Korean point of view?

Seitan samgyupsal is a plant-based reinterpretation of Korean grilled pork belly, where the meat is replaced by seitan – a protein-rich food made from wheat gluten – but the dining style remains almost identical. From a Korean perspective, the key is not just the ingredient swap but preserving the entire samgyupsal experience: grilling at the table, dipping in sesame oil with salt and pepper, wrapping in lettuce or perilla leaves with kimchi, and sharing soju.

Unlike generic seitan steaks, seitan samgyupsal is shaped and layered to resemble actual pork belly. Cooks often press thin sheets of seitan together with oil or fat-like layers, then slice them into strips that look visually similar to 삼겹살. The seasoning is also tailored to Korean taste: garlic, soy sauce, black pepper, and sometimes a hint of doenjang or gochujang.

Koreans judge seitan samgyupsal on how well it fits into existing samgyupsal rituals. If you can grill it, hear it sizzle, cut it with scissors, and enjoy it with standard banchan without feeling something is “missing,” then it passes the cultural test. So in essence, seitan samgyupsal is Korea’s way of asking: can we keep our favorite social meal while changing what’s on the grill?

2. How is seitan samgyupsal usually made, and what makes it feel like real samgyupsal?

While recipes vary, most Korean-style seitan samgyupsal follows a few common steps designed to mimic the texture and behavior of pork belly. First, wheat gluten flour (or flour washed to extract gluten) is kneaded into a dough, sometimes seasoned lightly with soy sauce, garlic powder, or vegetable stock. This dough is then layered – either by stacking thin sheets or rolling and pressing – with oil brushed between layers to simulate fat.

Some advanced home cooks add rice paper, tofu sheets, or a konjac mixture between certain layers to create a softer, fatty-like texture. The block is then steamed or baked until firm, cooled thoroughly, and sliced into rectangular strips resembling raw samgyupsal. These slices can be marinated or simply seasoned with salt and pepper.

On the grill, Koreans add generous oil to help browning and crisping. The goal is to achieve a slightly charred exterior while keeping the interior moist and chewy. The seitan should be firm enough to pick up with chopsticks, cut with scissors, and wrap in lettuce without falling apart. When eaten with standard samgyupsal accompaniments – grilled kimchi, garlic, ssamjang – the combined flavors and textures create a surprisingly convincing samgyupsal-like experience, even if the taste of pure seitan is not identical to pork.

3. Why are Koreans specifically interested in seitan samgyupsal instead of just eating vegetables or mushrooms at the grill?

In Korean dining culture, especially around samgyupsal, the protein on the grill is central to the social experience. While vegetables and mushrooms are delicious, they are traditionally seen as side players, not the star. If a vegan or vegetarian only eats mushrooms and side dishes at a samgyupsal restaurant, they are physically present but often feel socially peripheral. They’re not fully part of the “main act” of grilling meat.

Seitan samgyupsal directly addresses this. It allows non-meat eaters to have something substantial and grillable at the center of the table. From a Korean viewpoint, this is crucial: everyone gets to flip pieces on the grill, argue over doneness, and share the “first bite” moment. That sense of equality at the grill is more important than outsiders might realize.

Mushroom samgyupsal is popular and beloved, but most Koreans still recognize it as “버섯 구이” (grilled mushrooms), not a true replacement for pork belly. Seitan samgyupsal, with its layered texture and meat-like chew, is perceived as a more serious attempt to occupy the symbolic space of samgyupsal. That’s why it has become a focal point for discussions about plant-based Korean barbecue, rather than just another vegetable dish.

4. Can non-vegans in Korea actually enjoy seitan samgyupsal, or is it only for vegans?

Many non-vegans in Korea do enjoy seitan samgyupsal, especially younger people and flexitarians who are curious about reducing meat without giving up familiar flavors. In mixed groups, it’s common to order both pork and seitan samgyupsal, treating the seitan version as an additional dish to share. This lowers the psychological barrier: people can try it without feeling they’ve “given up” meat.

When non-vegans evaluate seitan samgyupsal, they rarely expect a perfect 1:1 match with pork belly. Instead, they ask: “Is this satisfying in the same setting?” If it grills well, tastes good with kimchi and ssamjang, and pairs nicely with soju, many are pleasantly surprised. Some even comment that after a few rounds of soju and conversation, they forget they’re not eating meat.

There are, of course, skeptics who dismiss all plant-based meats as “fake.” But as seitan samgyupsal improves in texture and seasoning, and as more restaurants present it attractively, curiosity is growing. For non-vegans, seitan samgyupsal often becomes a “sometimes option” – something they choose when they want a lighter meal, to support a vegan friend, or simply to try something trendy and uniquely Korean.

5. How do Koreans usually serve and eat seitan samgyupsal at home?

At home, Koreans typically serve seitan samgyupsal almost identically to pork belly samgyupsal, because the goal is to recreate the same atmosphere. A tabletop grill or electric pan is placed in the center of the table. Seitan samgyupsal slices are laid out on a plate, sometimes pre-marinated, sometimes plain. Around them, you’ll see the usual suspects: lettuce, perilla leaves, sliced garlic, green chili peppers, kimchi, ssamjang, and a dipping dish of sesame oil mixed with salt and pepper.

Families or friends grill the seitan slices together, turning them with tongs and cutting them with scissors into bite-sized pieces. Each person makes their own ssam (wrap): a leaf, a piece of seitan samgyupsal, maybe some rice, kimchi, garlic, and a dab of ssamjang. The rhythm of eating is exactly the same as traditional samgyupsal – fast, interactive, and social.

Some home cooks like to combine seitan samgyupsal with other plant-based “meats,” such as vegan sausages or marinated tofu, to create a full plant-based barbecue spread. Others keep it simple and focus on perfecting the seitan texture and seasoning. Alcohol is often part of the picture too; many Koreans still pair seitan samgyupsal with soju or beer, reinforcing the feeling that this is a “real” samgyupsal night, just with a different main ingredient.

6. Is seitan samgyupsal likely to become a permanent part of Korean food culture?

While it’s always risky to predict food futures, there are strong signs that seitan samgyupsal, or something very close to it, will remain part of Korea’s culinary landscape. First, it solves a genuine cultural problem: how to include vegans, vegetarians, and health-conscious people in samgyupsal-centered gatherings. As long as Korean social life revolves around shared grilling, there will be demand for inclusive options.

Second, the broader trends that support seitan samgyupsal – interest in health, climate concerns, ethical eating – are not going away. Younger Koreans are more open than previous generations to flexitarian habits, and many are proud to see uniquely Korean plant-based dishes emerge instead of relying solely on imported burgers or nuggets.

Third, food industry interest is growing. Alternative protein companies and some restaurant chains are experimenting with ready-made seitan samgyupsal products, indicating they see commercial potential. If convenient, tasty versions become widely available in supermarkets and convenience stores, seitan samgyupsal could move from niche to mainstream, much like instant tteokbokki did over the past decade.

Even if the exact recipes and textures evolve, the concept of a plant-based samgyupsal that preserves the grill-centered ritual is likely to stay. In that sense, seitan samgyupsal is not just a passing trend; it’s part of Korea’s long-term conversation about how to modernize without losing the emotional heart of its food culture.