15 Korean Snacks Available on Amazon, Ranked by Flavor

Like so many Korean imports such as K-pop, Korean fried chicken, “Squid Games,” and the (now universally recognized) finger symbol for “I love you,” Korea’s snack foods enjoy an increasing influence on global culture. And thanks to Amazon, H-Mart, and other Asian groceries, American audiences can test drive the routinely cutely labeled, brightly colored packages seen in K-dramas and on social media.

Like the aisles of American supermarkets, the snack foods of Korean culture inform the everyday delight of on-the-go eating. Deciphering the contents of the inviting bags, boxes, and cartons of Korean snacking items proves as kaleidoscopic as learning another language altogether. So, to assist in translating the most tempting goodies calling out from grocery lanes, I taste-tested 15 chips, crackers, cookies, and other offerings to ensure you don’t bring home a dud. Based solely on taste and sustainable craveability, here are over a dozen Korean goodies ranked from least likable to the most likely to wind up in my Amazon cart on the regular.

After ripping open a handful of foil bags, I noted how most Korean chips are thinner than the Doritos and Lays I’m accustomed to. Many of the K-style chips even make Pringle’s waiflike tokens look dense by comparison. Therefore, as I dipped my greedy forefinger and thumb into Wide Ramen Snacks and took in the thick, wavy, ridged chip’s girth, my anticipation fluttered at the possibility of something uncommon. But before I was able to appreciate any textural pleasures from the spicy variation of Wide Ramen Snacks I selected, the odd, dull, bitter flavor of the so-called “treat” took hold and didn’t let go.

Heavy without enjoyable give or textural complexity, Wide Ramen Snack breaks apart on the tongue into disconcerting shards and tastes of a burnt paper bag and ash. Even the minor zip from the spicy dust failed to liven the chip up past its dead-on-arrival entrance, and the rank snack took plenty of swigs of soda water to wash away the single chip’s path of destruction.

Much like the Asian Kit Kat market, Sun Chips boasts at least two Korean offerings outside of its stateside series. Garlic Baguette and Hot Spicy remain the only Korean Sun Chips currently available, as far as my in-person and virtual shopping showed me. I opted for the Hot Spicy bag with the hopes of its contents delivering an adequate heat level. 

A somewhat regular Sun Chip consumer, I rarely venture outside of the “Original” designation, mostly due to the lackluster selection, so the potential of an exciting Sun Chip bag intrigued me. However, I failed to locate even a crumb of heat during my short time with Korea’s Sun Chips. In fact, I detected more sugary notes than any kick and quickly relinquished the bag to my home’s communal snack drawer.

Made of wheat like the Sun Chips I most often grab while relegated to sad Subway lunches, the chip itself didn’t crumble in the iconic pleasing way of the American variation. It ultimately doesn’t live up to Sun Chips’ name and wilts when compared to the original.

In what I’m afraid might be my most unpopular opinion in this rundown, Turtle Chips (and their flavor descendants) never swayed me into their ranks. Despite their popularity and widespread availability, the corn chip (in both form and flavor) fails to capture my affection in any way and, instead, only brings to mind other, greater chips I wish I could trade them for.

Admittedly innovative in design, Turtle chips opt for an airy, corn chip folded repeatedly over itself as opposed to a cylinder or triangle. The result looks nearly anatomical and further confuses the chip’s nomenclature. Though the wavy layers do provide a pleasurable structure, the overall flavor reminds me of America’s underwhelming Bugle, but the spicy variation of Turtles does fulfill the promise of a lingering heat. Best in a snack mix, or alongside a bouquet of other chips, Turtle crackers (like top-hat adorned turtle mascot) feel underwhelming compared to their Korean snack classmates.

One of many Orion Corp items featured on this list, its bag, denoted as “Hot,” like Sun Chips’ output, also arrives shockingly sweet on the palate. But, the Swing Chips’ ridges and the structural integrity of the potato chip save the snack from wandering into the outer realms of this article.

While, overall, Swing Chips’ hot variety remained pleasant for the duration of time the red bag and I spent together, the erroneous announcement of the spice level regretfully made me anticipate something other than what I placed atop my tongue. Like a houseguest who asked to bring a pet but showed up at my doorstep with a toddler, had I not expected a spicy prick of warming seasoning salt, my embrace of Swing Chips may have been more immediate. But the jolt of a commanding spark of sugar sunk it to the middle of the pack. Neither abhorrent nor amazing, Orion’s Swing Chips represents a midsection of Korea’s snack offerings.

A treat I most closely associate with nostalgia, the puck-shaped confection reminds me of Korea’s answer to Hostess treats — or more specifically, a blatant rip-off of Moon Pies, which date back to 1917. Compact, handheld, and somewhat of a Korean classic, the Choco Pie premiered in 1974. Like the personal-sized cake from Chatanooga, Tennessee, both treats consist of a soft graham cracker cake coated in a thin chocolate shell, encasing gooey marshmallows.

The craggy, rough tops of Korea’s Choco Pies remain the sole visible distinction I can discern at a glance, as Moon Pies’ surface looks as smooth as a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. But the interior of both cakes remains sticky, dry, and overtly sweet. Still, the tug of nostalgia won me over in the end, and my bite of Choco Pie turned into an entirely eaten trifle, though the remainder of the box will probably haunt my cupboard for many months to come.

Far from a heavyweight, Choco Pies fulfill a chocolatey, sweet slot more than they occupy the winner’s circle. But if the craving strikes, the snacks suffice just fine.

Poteau Cheese Tarts, like movies starring Paulie Shore, cocktails with bright blue coloring, and shopping online, make me admit how some pleasures persist despite the knowledge of their low-brow, tawdry appeal. Poteau Cheese Tarts, though visually analogous to Ritz Cheese Sandwich Crackers, the experience of consuming a Poteau Cheese Tart feels more analogous to indulging in Cheetos, caving into a can of Cheez Whiz, or polishing off a sleeve of Oreo Cookies.

Distinctly unhealthy and nearly hedonistic, Poteau Cheese Tarts taste fried and dissolve so speedily, despite their layers, that my brain refused to process the first cracker’s demise before killing a second, and then a third in between my jaws. Thankfully, like their American counterpart, Poteau’s are packaged in sets of four, as if to suggest a limit to their audience’s allowance. They also somehow taste considerably more artificial than the cracker stacks I’m accustomed to, and were therefore even more alluring.

Tteokbokki, amongst the Korean late-night dining scene, functions as something of a nacho or poutine dish for folks who find themselves hungry in the wee hours and need a quick, hefty dish to soak up an evening’s worth of beers (and/or soju). Now a flavor not unlike America’s “pizza” designation to chips and crackers, rosé tteokbokki includes cheese, usually mozzarella or cream, and fuses food from the cultures into one indulgent dish.

’88 Seoul attempts to capture the essence of one of Korea’s most beloved dishes into a hallow, rigatoni-shaped chip, coated in flavored dust. Though the chewiness of tteok noodles remains impossible to attain in chip form, ’88 Seoul chips manage to embody the spirit of the sweet and savory union of gochujang and sugar. Still, more candied than the Western chips I’m drawn to, ’88’s attempts neared the quintessence of its promise, which remains more than I can say for nearly half of Kettle Chip’s catalog.

As an extratextual note, though I could not locate the significance of the eponymous “’88,” I found the animated woman on the bag to bear a striking resemblance to the 1989 songstress, Taylor Swift. 

Not to be confused with “bing-su,” Korea’s shaved ice, Bing Bing steals visual cues from a classic ice cream cone but can be found among the cookies, chips, crackers, and other dry, prepackaged snacks. A thin, brittle wafer cone houses a waxy-flavored puck (chocolate, banana, strawberry, or in this case, green tea), for a quick high of texture and sugar.

Neither offensive nor desirable, Bing Bing sits just outside the treats I foresee myself succumbing to again. Though I appreciate the inclusion of the wafer cone, the dense candy bit, like the ice cream it emulates, fails to reach the bottom of the cone, leaving the experience mismeasured and anti-climatic. I wish the interior layer wasn’t a pasty, flavored white chocolate. And, rather, it took influence from dehydrated candy or space food and made the experience of consuming a Bing Bing sensorally crunchy and otherworldly, instead of wading in between two incongruous mouthfeels.

Though I never picked up a canary yellow package of Ppushu Ppushu before this project, I knew the snack was after my heart when I spied the mischievous cartoon caricature wielding a mallet that adorns the bag. As a mixed-race Korean kid of the ’90s, I spent numerous afternoons in my Korean bestie’s living room eating uncooked ramen noodles and watching “Days of Our Lives.” Ppushu Ppushu capitalized on this specific corner of Korean youth laze and created a snack food for those of us too idle to turn on the stove.

Ppusshu Ppusshu translates into “crush crush” and the design of the chip models itself after the conjoined noodle à la Top Ramen, but thankfully sports a bit more give once between the teeth. The seasoning, which the brand asks its audience to sprinkle into the bag before shaking, also cutely mimics its instant noodle idol, and though the “bulgogi” or Korean sweetly marinated beef dish flavor veers a tad sweet for my taste, the control of the DIY-packet allowed me to control the intensity to my liking as I ate.

Though you can’t judge a book by its cover, you can (sometimes) estimate the value of a snack food based on its exterior parcel alone. And Korean’s Kancho Choco Biscuits, enclosed in a Hello-Kitty-cute box with an anthropomorphized, eye-lash adorned wafer winking at shoppers, convinced its way into my cart with little hesitation. Like Korea’s answer to Japan’s Hello Panda treats, Kancho also marries the satisfaction of a cookie with the quick hit of gratification of a chocolate bar. The snack encases soft milk chocolate into a crunchy biscuit shell, stamped with adorable, edible designs.

In no way complex, Kancho Biscuits understands the simplicity we search for while cruising for a fast sugar high. Enjoyable to handle and consume, the thin cracker creates an ASMR-worthy crumble that quickly gives way to unassuming chocolate cream. Eating more than three miniature biscuits ensures a dry-mouth spell, but accompanied by a beverage of choice, the cookie hybrid soars to the upper echelon of the K-snack aisle.

The most pricey item in my basket by a whopping $5, HBAF almonds come in a variety of flavors including honey butter, garlic bread, tteokbokki, and even toffee nut latte. I panic-purchased the hot and spicy chicken almond partially due to my affinity for Korea’s rendition of the mouth-warming dish, and to match the other hot snacks I stashed away in my cart.

Though printed nowhere on the bag, a quick Google search informed me that HBAF is an acronym for “healthy but awesome flavor,” and if the bag I opted for is any indication, the moniker follows through on its promise. Coated in flavor but dry-roasted, the spicy essence runs no risk of sullying your fingers or dusting your shirt with embarrassing almond dandruff the way most nutty snacks do and the almonds themselves break apart nicely without sharp shards. The spice level on the nuts exceeded ninety percent of other Korean wares promising heat (2x Spicy Buldak Ramen still takes the cake), so I’d warn against tossing an entire handful into your open mouth before sampling a single almond to test its potency. Dimensional but lingering spice tingled on my taste buds, not unpleasantly, for many minutes after finishing a serving of HBAF, reminding me of my discovery.

For fans of Japan’s Pocky, the Godzilla-sized cookie sticks from Hapi fulfill Korea’s slot for a straw-like biscuit doused in frosting. About four to five times larger than a Pocky stick, Frosted Cookie Sticks come individually wrapped in three per bag, and their girth resembles the size of a human index finger.

Unlike the delicate delight of Pocky, Frosted Cookie Sticks seem like the perfect thrill for amped-up Generation Zers in search of a hyperbolic treat. The cracker breaks apart easily, and the frosting finds the ideal balance between a skimpy, lithe layer and a dense, overwhelming shell that (in the cookie crunch variety) includes crunchy bursts of chocolate wafers. 

Not only rewarding on its own, but Korea’s alternative to a comparatively prissy Pocky would also play well in a milkshake, sundae, dirt cake, or another over-the-top dessert. Also available in peanut and the equally enticing and disconcerting “popping candy,” I’d gladly keep a sleeve of Hapi’s Frosted Cookie Sticks stashed away in my glove compartment for especially hard days.

The startlingly enthusiastic cartoon chef mascot covering the O! Karto bag may not possess the charming qualities of many of the other Korean snack icons, but the odd, toque-adorned caricature cooks up a formidable bag of French fry-themed chips.

Roughly the size and shape of a McDonald’s fry, O! Karto’s makers smartly decided to hallow out the chips inside, creating a manageable, gratifying bite without dominating the palette or producing dry mouth. Dusted in a light cheese, fans of Pringles’ sour cream and onion or cheddar will appreciate the pricks of salt and lingering flavor of O! Karto’s familiar, but well-played entry into the snacking-canon. The rectangular tubes also can be found in chili, barbecue, and grilled chicken flavors, and all somehow seize the inescapable, ineffable bliss of chowing down on french fries, combined with the portability of potato chips.

Anyone who grew up familiarizing themselves with the cereal aisle will recognize Jolly Pong’s puffed wheat morsels as a Korean analog to the ’90s puffed wheat breakfast competitors Sugar Smacks and Golden Crisps. Like the airy cereals of my childhood, Jolly Pong’s pieces are roughly the size of a pinkie nail and golden brown, with dots of deeper chocolate tones speckling the low-key treat.

Unlike America’s sugar-laden breakfast brands, Jolly Pong awaits its consumers in the aisles with crackers, cookies, chips, and candy. Instead, Jolly Pong offers a dry, un-milked, softly sweet little treat as an alternative to the otherwise overwhelmingly savory snack lanes in H-Mart and other Korean groceries. Less coated in sugar than what I can conjure of Sugar Smacks or Golden Crisps (perhaps because the Korean treat isn’t meant to be added to milk), Jolly Pongs offer a slightly toasted, almost coffee-like bite at the finale of their quick, but purposeful time in my mouth. Like many all-time-great snack foods, my hand dove repeatedly into the mustard-colored bag before my mind registered its whereabouts.

Having the title of being the best shrimp chip I’ve ever eaten would be akin to being the prettiest dress Nicole Kidman has ever worn — meaning my mouth has met the delicate crumbles of as many bags of shrimp-flavored chips as style icon Kidman has donned gowns. And somehow Yes! Chips! Garlic shrimp chips soared to the top of the pile with one quick crunch.

Possessing a puffed, airy texture as opposed to Japan’s Oh!, a classic fry-like cracker from the brand Calbee, Yes!’ recipe developers know the importance of a meaningful crunch married to an ethereal morsel. Light in weight but confoundingly packed with flavor, I’ll now search for Yes!’ chips before pawing any other. Like the brand’s crustacean mascot, I felt my eyes turn to hearts as I crunched a handful of the porcelain-colored chips long after my assignment ended.

Classicists might rebuff the puff for its populous appeal because it is decidedly less shrimpy than the original snacks. But the intense and gratifying garlic overtones intermingle with the fishy notes that refuse to fatigue the palette like many competitors.

Though familiar with the aisles of my local H-Mart, I tended to remain committed to my small handful of snack items and wandered into the multi-colored lane of temptation with a mostly clean slate. Though I had casually sampled perhaps two or three of the items listed, I relegated my haul to items I could locate on Amazon and eliminated any unavailable on their website.

No item that required assembly or cooking (like instant noodles) was included in this short rundown, and all of the consumables also must be a product of Korea — not just a snack available widely in the country and in Korean grocery stores stateside. If a label produces multiple flavors, I opt for the variety most in line with my overall taste — usually the spicy or hot rendition. From there, I ranked the snacks based on how much I enjoyed them as I ate but also how often I would return to their open package after my initial test.