South Korea

Sit at a Korean barbecue table, coals glowing in the middle, and the meal becomes a hands-on ritual: strips of marinated bulgogi and short-rib galbi hiss on the grill, and you wrap them in a lettuce leaf with garlic, chilli paste and a scrap of rice. Around the grill crowds an ever-shifting fleet of banchan — a dozen small dishes you never ordered, quietly refilled for free — because a Korean meal is really rice, soup and a galaxy of sides, all turning on the magic of fermentation.

Kimchi is the national soul, cabbage packed with chilli and garlic and left to turn alive with sour funk, on the table at breakfast, lunch and dinner alike; its deep cousins doenjang and gochujang anchor the pantry. Bibimbap arrives spitting in a hot stone bowl, rice and vegetables and a raw egg to be mixed through with a scarlet spoon of chilli paste, while street stalls griddle chewy tteokbokki rice cakes in sweet-hot sauce. Wash it down with a green bottle of soju or cloudy makgeolli, and don't expect an early night.