Made in Korea's Sunda kanji vs Makgeolli scene makes more sense than you think

In Made in Korea, a cross-cultural drama set between India and South Korea, food becomes an easy way to read unfamiliar spaces.

There is a scene in it that shows Shenbagam “Shenba,” played by Priyanka Mohan, having a meal with some acquaintances in South Korea. One of her hosts, Jun-jae, proudly presents Shenba with Makgeolli, calling it “Korea’s traditional drink.” A curious Shenba sips the drink from a bowl, frowns and exclaims, “Kanji?!” and asks Jun-jae, “Sunda kanji?” He responds with a confused “Kanji?” and she smoothes it out with a quick, “Nice,” half polite, half playful.

The line draws a laugh, yet it opens up a deeper conversation about how food travels, adapts, and sometimes mirrors itself across regions.

A coastal drink meets a rice wine tradition
Sunda kanji, widely known in parts of Tamil Nadu, especially along the coast, is a fermented rice drink associated with fishing communities and working households. It is filling, lightly sour, and designed to suit a humid climate. The phrase “sunda kanji soru”, which appears in a film song, reflects its place within everyday food culture rather than as an occasional preparation. It is tied to labour, heat and sustenance.

Makgeolli belongs to a different setting. It is a traditional Korean rice wine, brewed using rice and a fermentation starter called nuruk. The result is cloudy, mildly sweet and mildly alcoholic, usually served in bowls. It carries a strong association with social drinking, agricultural life and seasonal rhythms.

How did this connection even begin?
To understand why a bowl of Makgeolli can remind someone of sunda kanji, you have to go back nearly 2,000 years, to a story that still shapes how Korea and India look at each other.

Korean historical texts such as the Samguk Yusa speak of a young princess who arrived by sea and married King Kim Suro of the Gaya kingdom in 48 AD. She is known in Korea as Heo Hwang-ok, and in many Indian interpretations as Suriratna. She is believed to have come from a distant land called “Ayuta”, which several scholars associate with the Indian subcontinent, often linking it to Ayodhya.

Over time, other readings and regional traditions have tried to place her origins further south, including in parts of Tamilakam. In some of these accounts, she is referred to as Chembavallam, a Tamil name sometimes linked to coastal regions known for seafaring. These interpretations are debated, but they persist because they line up with something else historians agree on: there were active maritime routes connecting South India with East and Southeast Asia.

Trade did not move spices and textiles alone. It also carried techniques, habits, and food practices. Fermentation, especially, travels well. It needs grain, water, and time; things every agrarian society already has.

Where the overlap begins
At first glance, the connection between the two drinks may seem coincidental, yet research on early links between Tamilakam and Korea points to a broader pattern. A study on Korean–Tamil cultural similarities notes: “Koreans consider rice as a staple food. They distribute, as the Tamils would do, sweets made up of rice, such as Adhirasam, on events such as the birth of a child, housewarming ceremony, etc. Other items such as Oorugai (Kimchi), Kozhukattai (Songpyeon), Sesame cake (Yeotgangjeong), Adaidosai (Kimchi-jeon), Sweet pongal (Yaksik) are very similar among the Korean and Tamil cultures.” (Arokiyaraj Selvaraj, Korean–Tamil Language and Cultural Similarities, ResearchGate)

This comparison places both drinks within a larger food system built around rice, fermentation, and ritual use of grains. While the techniques and outcomes differ, the underlying approach to food shows clear points of connection.

Language, memory, and taste
Linguistic studies have also pointed to structural and phonetic parallels between Tamil and Korean, particularly in agglutinative grammar patterns and certain sound formations. While these do not suggest a direct linguistic lineage, they add another layer to the conversation about long-term cultural contact.

Food often holds on to these connections more stubbornly than language or records.

Back to that bowl
So when Shenba tastes makgeolli and says “Sunda kanji?”, it does not come out of nowhere. It comes from a shared grain, a shared technique, and centuries of movement across the sea.

One is tied to the Tamil coast and working lives. The other belongs to Korean brewing and social drinking. Put them side by side, and they tell two different stories. Take a sip, and for a moment, they feel like they come from the same place.