Chef Roy Choi talks Kogi food truck, Korean BBQ tacos, and why fine dining is too expensive

Cookbooks have always meant more to me than a list of recipes — they're storytelling objects. They carry memory, culture, voice, and visuals and they help us create memorable moments with the people we love.

That's the spirit behind Cookbook LIVE, an LAist live event series co-produced with the James Beard Foundation, that I've had the joy of hosting. Over three evenings, we brought together top cookbook authors and food-lover audiences for nights of culinary connection and exploration.

To close out the series, I sat down with James Beard Award winner and L.A. icon Roy Choi in November. His newest book, The Choi of Cooking — his first in over a decade — reimagines some of his go-to dishes with a lighter, more veg-forward twist. It's a book that reflects where he is now: still rooted in the flavors that made him a chef, but thinking about how we eat for the long haul.

During our conversation, Roy walked us through some of his favorite recipes and opened up about the journey that shaped him: growing up in kitchens filled with his mother’s "future food”, finding cooking later in life, surviving New York's toughest restaurants, and building Kogi into something cosmic and communal. It was an evening full of honesty, laughter, and real talk about food justice, access, and the myths we still cling to about chefs.

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Below, I've pulled together a handful moments in the conversation have stuck with me — moments that resonated long after we left the stage.

Roy Choi in his own words

On his journey into cooking

Chef Roy Choi and LAist's Gab Chabrán discuss "The Choi of Cooking" before a sold-out crowd at Cookbook LIVE

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"The beginning of my chef career — entering the hardest kitchens before I even knew how to cook.

I found cooking a little bit later in life, in my mid-20s. A lot of cooks get into the kitchen very young. I grew up in a restaurant, but I wasn't really focused on being a cook. I was just in the restaurant as a restaurant kid.

I didn't really get into it until my late 20s, and so I felt like I had to make up time before I even knew how to cook, I was going to jump into the hardest top kitchens in the world and just figure it out on the fly.

Those kitchens were in New York City .... in 1997, I worked in the number one, number two and number three kitchen in New York City. Four stars on all restaurants. And I was not ready for that at all.

By the time I was done with those kitchens, I was just at a point where I should have been when I entered. But it built my palate, it built my work ethic, my technical skills and my sensory aptitude of everything."

On growing up in his parent's kitchen and "future cooking"

"My mom cooks for like 300 people and there are three of us in the room. She doesn't know how to alter the recipe . . . the recipe's built for 50 pounds of chicken. So she's still doing it to this day.

I grew up always in a house that smelled like cooking all the time. There was always food on the stove or on the table or in the laundry room. But that food wasn't for eating, it was for the future.

My mom was a futurist. Everything she was cooking was for the future, and what I was eating in the moment was from the past.

It never stopped. It was relentless — almost like maintaining a sourdough starter or working a 24-hour shift . . . soy sauce steeping, kimchi fermenting, garlic being roasted. On another level when you're 16, 17 and you bring friends over — you gotta explain it.

With a beef bone broth soup . . . it takes three days to cook that soup. You have to decide on Thursday that you're going to eat it on Sunday. You have to think of the soup today."

On starting Kogi and what it unlocked

Roy Choi, left, hands out food from his Kogi BBQ truck in Maywood in January 2024.

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"We started from a drunk night. It was a drunk night eating tacos in Koreatown, and my partner said, 'What if we put Korean barbecue in this? It'd be delicious.' And that's how it started."

When we started Kogi, when we were out on the streets, it was all of the ladies of the lot. That's why my name is Papi Chulo. All the tías embraced me . . . Kogi wouldn't exist if we didn't get the pass from the tías.

To me, Kogi is very cosmic. It never gets old. We've been around 17 years now . . . In 17 years, it's never felt like it needed to change. There are not many foods that live within this lexicon of timelessness . . . I've been very fortunate to crack the code on one of them."

On food justice and the reality of price

The chef's new book "The Choi of Cooking"

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"We still have to figure out why so much food goes to waste and why so many people are hungry . . . we have to move the priority of that dilemma upwards... build, like, a TikTok eating culture around the disparity in food justice.

I would like food to be a lot more affordable. The chef world is getting out of control. $42 for a pasta is ridiculous; a pasta without lobster shouldn't be $42 just 'cause it was handmade.

Price is the number one coded message within the disparity within food. It's the hidden thing. It's the secret message, the secret handshake and the dirty secret that no one wants to talk about. If you charge $42 for that pasta, it's going to just automatically exclude a whole sector of society and close the door on anyone being able to affect change in the future because they'll never be exposed to it."

On the fallacy of the restaurant chef

"A myth about being a chef or a restaurateur . . . that we got our shit together is a big fallacy.

You guys write about [chefs] like they're gods . . . like they're elves . . . the word 'genius' is thrown around a lot around chefs. That's so untrue, man. Chefs are hardworking people. A lot of chefs that you think have everything put together are literally figuring it out as you see them.

I don't believe that we're perfect, that we're geniuses and that we're gods and otherworldly. It's a job and a profession that requires you to get down on your knees, on your elbows, fingers in the dirt and really cook. You're more a sailor than you are a god or an elf."