Temple Stay Part 3: Korean Temple Food & Rituals

Korea Travel • Food & Drink • Temple Stay

This guide explains the flavours, rituals, and mindful eating traditions of Korean temple food, including how temple cuisine is prepared, served, and experienced during a temple stay.

Korean temple breakfast table at Baekyangsa with rice, soup and mountain greens — Dawn temple breakfast at Baekyangsa, where barley rice and mountain greens quietly take centre stage.

A sanctuary disguised as breakfast

There is a particular kind of morning that only exists in the mountains. The sky has not quite decided to become daylight yet, the air feels as if it is holding its breath, and somewhere in the distance a bird you cannot name clears its throat before the humans do.

Baekyangsa temple courtyard with tiled roofs and autumn trees in the Korean mountains

First light in the Baekyangsa courtyard, all tiled roofs, pine trees and that soft mountain air.

If Part 1 reminded me how to inhale properly, and Part 2 taught me to look up long enough to notice how rooftops flirt with mountains, then Part 3 begins in a far less decorative moment. At 5am. In front of a warm bowl of rice.

The sky remains undecided, still smudged with a pre-morning grey. Inside the dining hall, steam curls from pots in slow ribbons. Soybean and toasted grain drift through the space as if they already know they are about to become a memory. It is quiet. Not the pressed silence of a spa or a library, but the gentler sort that hangs between people who mutually agree to be kind to the moment.

This unassuming bowl of rice has no idea it is the protagonist of my day. Or maybe it does. Temples have a certain way of revealing things before you realise you are learning them.

Baekyangsa does not serve breakfast so much as it sets a mood. There is no brunch theatrics, no oat-milk debates, no menu promising “add avocado for extra”. There is only the soft movement of cotton temple trousers, the muted shuffle of socks on wooden floors, and the feeling that even your own footsteps are part of someone else’s choreography.

Even silence feels curated. A deliberate invitation to stop speaking before your thoughts do.

People often think temple food is simply “vegan Korean food without garlic”. That is a little like calling Seongsu “a neighbourhood with cafés”. Technically true. Spiritually inaccurate.

What Baekyangsa offers is nothing less than a worldview disguised as vegetables. The point is not the eating. It is the attention. Your posture. The moment you lift the spoon. The refusal to rush through a square of tofu as if it is a task.

It feels as if someone has turned your senses into tabs along the top of a browser and is asking you, kindly, to keep only one open.

The quiet gravity of Jeong Kwan Sunim

Jeong Kwan Sunim preparing Korean temple food at Baekyangsa hermitage kitchen

Jeong Kwan Sunim in her element, teaching with vegetables, soy sauce and a very quiet kind of authority.

At the heart of all this restrained magic is Jeong Kwan Sunim, the unassuming culinary icon of Baekyangsa’s remote hermitage, Cheonjinam. You could walk past her without realising the world’s best chefs cross oceans to sit exactly where you are sitting.

Netflix’s Chef’s Table introduced her to the world, and since then she has somehow become even more herself. The clip that best captures her essence is this one:

Watch Jeong Kwan’s Chef’s Table clip on YouTube

Assorted Korean temple food dishes including mushrooms, mountain greens and seasonal banchan on a low table

A full temple-food spread: shiitake braised in rice syrup, mountain greens, Lotus root with omija
berry dressing and more lessons disguised as side dishes.

This illustration was inspired by the stories my friend shared about the temple’s seasonal dishes. Visiting in late autumn meant I could not try every dish myself, but the thought of them stayed with me. One day, in the right season, I hope to taste them for real.

Her cooking is monastic in the truest sense. No garlic. No spring onion. None of the shortcuts Korean home cooks swear by. Instead, she works with time, fermentation, intuition, and a sensory ability that feels almost supernatural.

One Michelin-star chef once said he did not come here to learn intensity, but depth. Chefs continue to visit her quietly, reverently, as if arriving at the source. There is even a video of overseas chefs making the pilgrimage to her kitchen:

See international chefs visit Jeong Kwan’s temple kitchen

When she speaks, the room softens. She says temple food looks simple because the complexity lies not in technique, but in clarity of mind. And somehow you believe her. Not blindly, but because she is the kind of person who would never need to exaggerate. Her truth is already distilled.

A language of flavours that feel like teachings

The clarity is not metaphorical, it is literal. You taste it.

Decades-old fermented pastes that have survived more seasons than some of the visitors. Mountain greens seasoned just enough to remind them they belong to themselves. Taro soup so silky you start questioning your relationship with butter. Lotus root that tastes as clean and crisp as the season itself. Barley rice that manages to be toasty and tender without ever having touched a grill. Tofu that feels like a philosophy lesson shaped into a cube. And always, always, a clear broth that quietly anchors the meal.

Then there is the dish that is almost a story in itself. Shiitake mushrooms braised in grain syrup. She often tells the story that lives inside it, but each time it lands differently.

Years after she became a nun, her father visited the temple alone. He worried, naturally, about how she lived without meat or fish. She cooked this dish to reassure him. He tasted it, astonished, and bowed to his daughter. They healed each other in that moment. A week later, he passed away peacefully.

That dish carries that love, that grief, that understanding. When you taste it at Baekyangsa, you do not just eat a mushroom. You inherit a tenderness.

Temple food is not merely nutrition. It is reconciliation.

The discipline that frees you: barugongyang

Barugongyang, the formal monastic meal, turns philosophy into choreography.

You unfold the nested bowls. You eat in silence. You wash them with a single slice of radish. You drink the rinse water. You stack everything back in perfect order. Nothing is wasted. Not food, not movement, not attention.

On paper it sounds strict. In practice it feels astonishingly liberating, as if someone has pressed a reset button on your nervous system. When the meal ends, you feel full in all the ways that matter.

Afterwards we walked along the forest path, the morning air almost velvet. A monk traced a circle in the air with one finger, explaining how Buddhist practice is not linear but continuous. A loop, not a staircase.

Somewhere inside me, a pace slowed. I remembered how to walk, instead of rush.

Why temple food tastes deeper than home food

I once wrote in Korean something that still feels true in English. Temple food often tastes more delicious than home cooking. Not because it is elaborate, but because it is clean. Not in a health-marketing way, but in a spiritual one.

If everyday cooking is about feeding the body, temple cooking feels like it is about feeding the part of you that has been overstimulated, over-notified, over-scheduled.

Perhaps flavour becomes deeper precisely because the environment is stripped back. No clutter. No noise. No ego trying to impress. Just clarity. Just intention. Just the taste of what remains when everything unnecessary is removed.

It mirrors Buddhism itself. When you let go, you experience things differently. Sometimes more intensely, sometimes more gently, but always more honestly.

A stay shaped by silence, stars, and small revelations

Baekyangsa temple buildings nestled in the Korean mountains with tiled roofs and forest backdrop

Baekyangsa sitting quietly in the valley, the kind of place that makes your shoulders drop a few centimetres on arrival.

Baekyangsa as a place is disarmingly welcoming. The rooms are simple and spotless. The bedding holds a faint scent of fresh laundry and pine. Even the cold night air has purpose. It reminds you that mountains have their own climate and their own rules. If you visit in winter, extra layers under the practice clothes are not optional.

That night, walking back to the room, the stars were outrageous. Too many for the sky, almost. The stream nearby murmured as though reading a bedtime story only the forest could understand.

At dawn, I did what I always swear I will not do. I missed the early chanting. I still regret it. A local friend, not a Buddhist at all, had insisted that even non-believers should try the pre-dawn ceremony at least once, for the quiet meditation and the way it steadies your mind. I chose my duvet instead.

So please learn from my mistake. If you visit, try to slip out of the seduction of sleep at least once and experience that calm, sacred early-morning service for yourself. It feels like the kind of memory that settles into your bones.

Later that morning, over tea, a senior monk at the temple spoke about anger, pace, and kindness in a way that was both gentle and unflinchingly direct. “Slow your steps and speech,” he said. “You will find your emotions obey you more.”

He spoke about how right and wrong are often illusions viewed from a single angle. It was not a lecture. It felt more like someone handing you a mirror without asking you to look, but trusting that you will, eventually.

I did not take notes. I did not need to. Some words simply stay.

Temple food beyond Baekyangsa

Illustrated lotus flower tea arranged like a blooming yellow-white lotus on a pale blue Korean ceramic plate

Lotus flower tea, drawn in soft pastel textures, opening gently on a blue Korean ceramic plate.

This illustration of lotus tea appears because it is one of Jeong Kwan Sunim’s most poetic dishes, often shown in documentaries. It wasn’t in season during my late-autumn visit, but it felt too beautiful not to include.

It is not surprising that temple cuisine is drawing global interest now. Writers and photographers have spent years documenting Jeong Kwan Sunim through the four seasons, producing books that sold out almost immediately. Exhibitions in Seoul have explored how her cooking weaves together nature, focus, and human creativity.

Portrait of Jeong Kwan Sunim beside a display about her temple food and philosophy

Temple cuisine gone global, yet she still looks like someone who would simply ask,

“Can you smell the mountain?”

And yet, none of this fame is visible at Baekyangsa. She remains the same woman lifting the lid of a twenty-year-old fermentation jar and asking quietly, “Can you smell the mountain?”

Practical: how to book a temple food stay with Jeong Kwan

How to experience Jeong Kwan’s temple food at Baekyangsa

Official booking: Go through the official Templestay website (English) and search for Baekyangsa, or use Baekyangsa’s own Templestay page. Look for the programme that highlights temple food and Ven. Jeong Kwan.
Programme name: In English it is usually described as something like “Temple Food Practice with Ven. Jeong Kwan” or “Temple Food Templestay”. In Korean it appears as a special temple-food templestay rather than a standard rest stay.
Sample 2025 prices: Recent listings show adult rates around 200,000 KRW per person for Jeong Kwan’s temple-food programme, including one night’s accommodation and meals. Simpler “eco rest” templestay options at Baekyangsa tend to start around 80,000 KRW for adults and 70,000 KRW for teenagers. Always check the current rate on the official page, as prices and inclusions can change.
Booking window: Dates are released in blocks, often month by month. Programmes linked to Jeong Kwan’s schedule can sell out quickly, so it is worth checking in advance and reserving as soon as dates open.
Getting there from Seoul: The quickest route is usually Yongsan Station → Jeongeup Station by KTX , then a taxi to Baekyangsa (travellers report around 40,000 KRW for the taxi, depending on time and traffic). There are also local bus options from Jeongeup or Baekyangsa Station if you prefer public transport and a slower arrival.
What is included: An overnight stay in temple guest rooms, temple-style meals, basic temple activities such as simple meditation or a tea talk, and a dedicated temple food experience based on Jeong Kwan’s practice.
Language: Booking pages and orientation are available in English, but deeper talks are mainly in Korean with interpretation from staff or written guides. Go with curiosity rather than perfectionism.
Alternative options: If the temple-food programme is not running on your dates, Baekyangsa’s regular “rest” templestays are still a beautiful way to experience the mountain, the temple rhythm, and everyday temple meals.

Tip. If the dates you want are not visible yet, save the Templestay and Baekyangsa pages and check back. New sessions often appear closer to the month itself.

The final morning: a bowl that felt like understanding

On the last morning, I lifted the bowl of barley rice again. Just rice. Yet somehow wiser.

The barley was nutty, the laver soft, the bowl warm enough to anchor my hands. I did not pick up my phone. Not because it was forbidden, but because it felt rude. To the food, to the moment, to myself.

Temple food rearranged something inside me. Flavour felt more intelligent. Simplicity felt like a luxury. Eating stopped feeling like consumption and became more like receiving.

Part 1 had given me back my own voice.

Part 2 had shown me where I actually stood.

Part 3 taught me how to taste again.

And now, scrolling through lunch at my desk feels almost disrespectful. Food deserves better. And so do we.