Spicy Korean Soup at Boon

 It was a late Friday evening when my friend Peter and I decided to head to Koreatown on West Bloor. The streets were packed, and Toronto’s nightlife was in full swing, but food was what everyone had their eyes on. Lines of people stretched outside multiple shops and restaurants, making me feel as if I’d been transported back to the ramen shacks of Japan. We arrived at the hotspot, Buk Chang Dong Soon Tofu, only to find a line out the door. Inside, the restaurant was packed, with sizzling hot plates and stone bowls on almost every table. Even though it wasn’t particularly cold for an October night, we clearly weren’t the only ones craving a warm, hearty meal.

After half an hour of waiting, a waiter swiftly ushered us to our table. We ordered almost immediately and got our food just as quickly. At a place like this, you come for the food, not the service. With a packed house and people lined up outside, the staff are focused on feeding hungry customers, not curating a dining experience. With that in mind, our attention turned to the aromas and flavors surrounding us.

The menu is relatively small, with classics like Korean bulgogi and bibimbap, but the true star here is the tofu soup—after all, “Tofu” is in the restaurant’s name. You can get creative with the toppings in your scalding hot, spicy tofu soup. Whether it’s seafood, vegetarian, or beef, there’s a protein option for everyone. Plus, you can choose your spice level depending on your tolerance. Minutes after ordering, we were served bowls of purple rice in hot stone bowls. The scorching bowls kept the rice hot and even created a crispy layer at the bottom—a delightful treat for later. Alongside the rice came three banchan: bean sprouts, kimchi, and sweetly marinated beans. While the kimchi clearly wasn’t homemade, the beans were flavorful, balanced with just the right touch of sweetness—maybe even a hint of maple syrup. Before the soup arrived, I could already picture how well these refreshing sides would pair with the hot, spicy broth.

As more customers poured into the restaurant, my stone pot of soup finally arrived. The pot, filled to the brim with chunks of tofu and a hearty serving of vegetables, looked like molten lava. Before diving in, I cracked the raw egg provided and let it cook in the broth. Some people prefer to let it poach, but I like to mix it into the soup to speed up cooking and create a soft, silky texture—kind of like a Chinese egg-drop soup.

The ongoing dilemma with tofu soup is one I always face: do you pour the rice into the pot or scoop the soup onto your rice? For me, the right move is to layer the ingredients and tofu over the rice, and sip the soup as I go. With my first spoonful, the flavor hit—a seafood-based broth, maybe with beef or pork, fused with a hefty dose of gochugaru, the Korean spice powder. The spice always hits the back of your throat with the first sip, sending a wave of heat down your spine, but it’s the kind of shock that’s both comforting and energizing. The tofu and vegetables soak up the broth, creating new layers of flavor in each bite. Pair it with a fresh bite of banchan, and you’ve got a hearty, nutritious, and deeply satisfying meal.

By the time I reached the bottom of my stone pot, with not a single grain of purple rice left, I felt calm and completely content. The warm broth had heated me from the inside out, and the spice still tingled on my cheeks and tongue. This is the kind of experience I came for. At a place like this, it’s not about the service; it’s about the culinary journey. You come to sweat, to feel the spice, to watch the steam rise from your bowl, and to experience something special—even on a warm night.