Guobaorou and chili shrimp before a play at Cheonghwawon, Daehangno

A bowl of guobaorou that started at Hyehwa Station Exit 4

The moment I stepped out of Hyehwa Station Exit 4 and turned into the one-way alley toward Sungkyunkwan University's entrance, one thought filled my head: today's lunch had to be crispy, sweet-and-sour guobaorou (Chinese sweet and sour pork), no question.

Right in the middle of Daehangno with a play about to start, I set out to get a proper Chinese meal within a tight 40-minute window. Knowing the restaurant was exactly 166m from Hyehwa Station Exit 4, a 2-minute walk, gave my steps some confidence.

Two false starts: a waiting line and sold-out ingredients

This wasn't my first-choice destination. I'd originally planned to go to a small, well-known restaurant tucked in the theater street alley nearby, but the moment I saw the long line at the entrance, I gave up. With lunchtime running out, a wait of at least 20 minutes would have been fatal for making the play.

Without hesitation I turned and hurried into the next alley, ducked into another restaurant, and hit my second setback: turned away because they'd run out of ingredients.

First floor for solo diners, second floor for window seats — seating at Cheonghwawon Daehangno

Feeling the full force of Daehangno's lunch peak hour as I wandered the alleys, I finally spotted Cheonghwawon Daehangno Branch. Drawn in almost hypnotically by its grand exterior and the striking red Chinese-character signboard, I opened the door and walked in. Inside, the first floor was already packed with university students and office workers enjoying solo lunches. For a second I broke into a cold sweat, worried I'd be turned away again for lack of seats, but a friendly staff member guided me up the stairs to the second floor.

If the first floor was a compact space centered on bar tables and solo seats for lone diners, the second floor was a pleasant surprise — far more spacious and open than I expected. Wide window seats overlooking the Daehangno street and neatly arranged group tables that could easily seat larger parties filled the room.

A window seat happened to be free, and settling into it finally let my nerves relax.

Tablet ordering, guobaorou at 17,000 won and chili shrimp for 39,300 won total

I ordered through the tablet installed at the table. Scanning the colorful dishes on the menu, I decided to treat myself for a hard day's work and ordered guobaorou (₩17,000) together with chili shrimp. Seeing the total come to 39,300 won, I realized it wasn't exactly a light lunch budget for one or two people, but that only raised my expectations.

While waiting for the food, looking down from the second-floor window at people passing by was already satisfying before the dishes even arrived.

How does the guobaorou taste? A texture that changes with every third bite

Soon, freshly fried guobaorou landed on the table first. Steam rose off the golden batter glossily coated in sweet-and-sour sauce, and my mouth watered instantly. The moment I cut into it with the tongs and scissors, a crisp 'crunch' sound traveled straight to my fingertips, telegraphing the batter's firmness and crispness.

I picked up a thick piece with my chopsticks and took a bite. On the first chew, the extreme crispness of the rice-flour batter coating shattered between my teeth.

On the second chew, the chewy, savory rice-flour layer beneath clung to my tongue, and on the third, the thick chunk of pork chewed softly and burst with savory juices. The sauce's tartness hit my nose first, then a sweet, salty flavor wrapped around my whole mouth. Thanks to the sauce's perfect balance countering the richness, there wasn't a single moment of feeling greasy.

Chili shrimp: springy flesh, alternating rhythm with the guobaorou

The chili shrimp that followed had a clear presence of its own too. Big shrimp tossed in a thick, red chili sauce arrived steaming, whetting my appetite.

I liked that the shrimp wasn't wrapped in too thick a batter, keeping its natural springy texture intact. Biting in, the plump sensation of the shrimp flesh 'popping' in my mouth was excellent.

The chili sauce's pleasant spiciness balanced with sweetness, creating an ideal rhythm alternating with the sweet-and-sour guobaorou I'd just eaten.

Why two fried dishes in a row didn't get tiring

I never order two fried dishes back to back at lunch. It's a recipe for feeling heavy or getting sick of it halfway through. But the state of the fried dishes here and the sauces' perfect balance kept me picking up my chopsticks until the very last piece. I found myself nodding at the skill it takes to keep batter from going soggy over time while holding onto both crispness and chewiness.

The nostalgic view of Daehangno street from the second-floor window seat, paired with the hot, crispy Chinese food filling my mouth, was a complete rest in itself, a small performance of its own. All the trouble from being pushed around by waiting lines and turned away for sold-out ingredients in the alleys melted away in an instant.

Before a play in Daehangno, or whenever you're craving refined, high-quality Chinese food, Cheonghwawon Daehangno Branch is a sure answer you can pick without hesitation.

Next time, I've promised myself I'll try the beef knife-cut noodles made with broth simmered for 24 hours, and the shumai crafted by a chef from Guangdong. With that, I finally set down my chopsticks. A perfect lunch.