Bon Appetit, Your Majesty Review: A Feast of Food and a Famine of Story 

Korean Drama Name: 폭군의 셰프 (The Tyrant’s Chef )

Where To Watch: Netflix ← *Click for direct link*

Average Rating: 8.6/10 (Mydramalist)

My Rating: 7.0/10

One Sentence Description: A feast for food lovers and a frustrating experience for anyone hoping for a deeper story beneath the cooking. 

Trailer:

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Disclaimer: This review is 100% my opinion — I’m not here to hate, just to share my thoughts! Also, SPOILERS AHEAD, so proceed with caution if you haven’t watched yet. Watch it, come back and let’s see if you agree. Let’s keep the discussion respectful and fun! 💕

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Simple Description

Bon Appetit, Your Majesty is about a female chef who gets sent back to the Joseon era during the reign of a tyrant king who seems determined to kill everyone around him. After losing her one ticket back home, she does everything she can to find it. What she doesn’t expect is to not only fall in love with the very king she’s trying to avoid, but to somehow end up with the fate of Joseon constantly landing in her hands… and on her dinner plates.

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⚠️Length Note: This post includes a detailed (and long) story breakdown. Want to skip straight to the review? Jump to the Review

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The Review

The Good

The Food Was the Real Main Character

I think we can all agree that the biggest carrying factor of this show was the food. Every dish looked incredible and the cooking montages were filmed so well that I genuinely found myself wishing I had my own copy of the Mangunrok so I could time travel and try everything. Whether it was the preparation, the ingredients, or the final presentation, the show knew exactly how to make every meal feel special.

The reactions helped too. Watching Yi Heon and everyone around him completely lose their minds over Ji Young’s cooking never got old. It added a lot of comedy and charm to scenes that could have otherwise just been people eating. Honestly, it makes sense that the drama leaned so heavily into the cooking aspect because it was easily one of its strongest elements. The director showed up ready to cook and thankfully remembered to feed the audience too.

Written by a Lover King

Even though I figured out fairly early on that Yi Heon was the one who wrote the Mangunrok, it didn’t stop me from loving the reveal. I thought it was such a creative touch to make him the book’s original author and reveal that all of the recipes were inspired by meals Ji Young cooked for him. More importantly, the drama didn’t forget about the book after introducing it. We constantly saw Yi Heon updating it throughout the story, adding new dishes and memories as his feelings for Ji Young grew.

What could have easily been a simple time-travel device became one of the most romantic parts of the entire show. The Mangunrok wasn’t just a cookbook anymore, it was a record of his love for her. By the time we reached the ending, the book felt less like a magical artifact and more like a love letter written across time.

The Bad

A Cooking Show Wearing a Historical Drama Costume

Even though I praised the cooking (and still do), it genuinely felt like the writers cared about nothing else. The historical setting wasn’t a plot, it was a backdrop. A cute little stage prop. A decorative plate under Ji Young’s dishes. The entire premise is that she gets trapped in the Joseon era and has to figure out how to survive, but that storyline gets swept aside almost immediately so she can keep cooking and Yi Heon can keep eating.

The historical plot was so lazily handled that whenever the actual story tried to take centre stage, it became boring. Prince Je San would show up with his “serious” political tension, and I’d find myself waiting for the next cooking montage. Which is wild, because Ji Young literally time‑traveled to change history and somehow the history part was the least interesting thing happening.

What Villain Arc?

Speaking of Je San, his entire approach to overthrowing the king felt like it was written on the back of a napkin five minutes before filming. His supposed master plan was to use the truth about Yi Heon’s mother to push the king into becoming the tyrant history remembered him as, yet he spends most of the drama doing very little. Instead of feeling like a calculated mastermind working toward a long-term goal, he often felt like a character who only made plans when the plot conveniently handed him an opportunity.

Take the cooking competition, for example. The moment Yi Heon decides to gamble the future of Joseon on Ji Young’s cooking skills, Prince Je San suddenly treats it as the perfect chance to make his move. But that decision alone should have been enough to spark criticism of the king’s rule. It felt less like Je San was actively driving the story and more like he was reacting to whatever the writers needed him to react to.

Then comes the extremely rushed ending that gave him victory for all of five minutes before plot convenience says no more. The political side of the story was so underdeveloped that despite them slowly leading up to it all series long, it seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute everyone is relieved to not be killed, the next they’re all dead. 

Then there’s his motivation. Even by the end of the drama, I wasn’t entirely sure who he was supposed to be in relation to Yi Heon. An uncle? A distant royal relative? And more importantly, why was he so determined to take the throne for himself? He claimed Yi Heon was unfit to rule because of the chaos surrounding the chaehong system and his increasingly erratic behaviour, but it always felt like there was more to it than that. The drama keeps hinting at deeper ambitions without ever clearly defining them.

As I always say, I’m not interested in digging through vague implications to build a character’s motivations myself. If a simple conversation or flashback could have clarified why he wanted the throne, then the writers should have included it.

Why Did Yi Heon’s Mother Die?

Then we reach the biggest mystery in the drama: Yi Heon’s mother. When the truth finally comes out, we’re told that nearly everyone was involved in her downfall. The Dowager Queen. Court officials. The people around the palace. Yet even after the reveal, I still wasn’t entirely sure why everyone hated her so much in the first place.

What exactly did she do that warranted such extreme punishment? Why was she considered such a threat? And if the people around her hated her enough to poison and dispose of her, why was her son allowed to survive and eventually become king? Didn’t they expect him to want revenge— like he did? 

These questions are technically answered with broad explanations, but never with enough depth to feel satisfying. The drama treats her death as the emotional core of Yi Heon’s entire story, yet never develops the circumstances around it enough for the reveal to truly hit.

What makes this frustrating is that there was actually a compelling political storyline buried underneath all the cooking. A king haunted by his mother’s death. A royal family full of secrets. A prince plotting rebellion from the shadows. Those are strong ingredients for a great historical drama. The problem is that the show never gives those ideas the same attention it gives a bowl of soup.

What Was Up With the 100 Girls?

Speaking of Yi Heon’s mother, we find out pretty early on that the king is infamous for taking 100 women every year (or every few years—I honestly forgot) because he’s “woman-obsessed”. Naturally, this is presented as one of the reasons people view him as a tyrant. Then later, we’re told he was actually doing it because of what happened to his mother.

And that’s where I got lost. What do the 100 girls have to do with his mother’s death? Why is this the solution? 

What exactly did taking 100 women have to do with avenging his mother? The connection never felt clear. Then the drama hints that the women are actually being sent to Ming as part of some arrangement involving the emperor, but that isn’t fully explained either. So by the end, I still wasn’t entirely sure what the chaehong system was accomplishing or why Yi Heon was so committed to it. I read a few comments of people saying that he was a womanizer and the 100 women were for him. But then you see how nervous and soft he was to Ji Young, and that falls flat. So, I don’t really think anyone knew what was going on with that.

Once again, the drama introduces something that sounds interesting, then leaves it half-developed because it’s more interested in showing us another cooking scene. Usually, when a drama gives its male lead morally questionable actions, there’s a moment where he explains himself. Maybe the audience doesn’t agree with him, but at least we understand his reasoning. Here, that never really happens. The fact that Yi Heon is regularly taking 100 women and being a tyrant is just left hanging in the air, and I guess we’re supposed to overlook it because he’s a tragic king who misses his mother.

Who Was Yi Heon to the People?

Which leads into another issue: who exactly was Yi Heon to the people of Joseon?

Historically, he’s remembered as the king who carried out the purge and was eventually killed because of it. The drama constantly reminds us that he’s supposed to become a tyrant, but we rarely get to see how the public actually viewed him. If he was truly going around taking 100 women at a time, why wasn’t Prince Je San using that to rally support against him? Why wasn’t there more public resentment? The drama tells us Yi Heon is feared, but it rarely shows us why.

His entire character is built around his obsession with avenging his mother, yet when the moment finally comes, he’s talked down surprisingly easily. Ji Young gives him a speech about love and the promise he made to her, and suddenly the man who’s spent years preparing for revenge changes course. Then there’s the scene with his maternal grandmother. Somehow, he immediately believes she has regained her senses long enough to deliver his mother’s final message, and that alone is enough to stop him. It all felt a little too convenient.

Yi Heon’s characterization is honestly all over the place. No wonder the most interesting thing about him was the purge itself. The only trait that remained consistent throughout the drama was that his first solution to every problem seemed to be violence. He was always ready to kill someone, threaten someone, or cut somebody’s arm off.

Also, I read a few comments claiming that Yi Heon was loosely inspired by a real-life king who committed all sorts of horrific acts and… whose idea was that? If that’s true, it’s a really strange creative choice. When you’re borrowing from a real historical figure known for causing genuine suffering, turning them into the male lead of a romance-comedy feels a little strange. Historical fiction can absolutely reimagine people and events, but I think there’s a difference between reimagining history and romanticising it.

The drama already struggles to explain why Yi Heon does half the things he does, so if he’s meant to be inspired by a king who was genuinely infamous, it only makes the disconnect more noticeable. The show wants us to sympathise with him, root for his romance, and celebrate his happy ending, but history doesn’t get a happy ending. The people affected by those real events certainly didn’t.

Maybe that’s a controversial take, but it felt like an odd choice to build such a lighthearted romance around someone who may have been based on a figure remembered for the exact opposite (if true).

Unbelievable Love

You guys know I value honesty, right?

I may get some hate for this, but I need to say it because it sets up not only this point, but several others later on.

Please still love me after this.

I love K-dramas as much as the next person, but one of the biggest weaknesses I keep running into is how often romances struggle to actually sell that the couple is in love. There! I said it. I feel free now. I don’t know why, but sometimes it feels almost impossible for two actors to convincingly portray romantic chemistry. I only started noticing this after getting into Chinese dramas. They know how to sell that. While watching this, I was also watching Pursuit of Jade, and the difference in chemistry between the two couples felt massive. When I don’t believe the romance, the entire story starts to wobble.

Take this drama. I didn’t feel even the slightest spark between Ji Young and Yi Heon. It was hard to believe Yi Heon wrote a whole cookbook for her, risked his kingdom, and did who‑knows‑what to time travel when their relationship barely felt connected. Their bond was basically:

• She likes to cook.
• He likes to eat.

That’s it.

Even the way the story forced them together was lazy. She drags him around, insults him, and as punishment he… makes her his chef? A job she loves? He threatens to make her “beg for death” and then immediately gives her a high‑ranking position and unlimited kitchen access? Somewhere along the way, we definitely lost the plot.

The fact that he was willing to abandon his lifelong mission, risk everything, and eventually devote his entire existence to finding her again should have felt romantic. Instead, it felt hollow because the foundation wasn’t there. I understand that cooking and shared experiences can bring people together, but when a character is willing to go to those extremes, I need to feel a deeper emotional connection between them. I’ll get into this more in my What I Would Do section, but the relationship needed more substance before asking me to believe the lengths Yi Heon went to for her. 

The Romance Problem

And then there’s Ji Young. This is where I can’t tell whether it was the directing or the performance, but she often felt far less invested in the relationship than Yi Heon did. Again, this isn’t hate toward the actress. It simply felt like the drama never convinced me that Ji Young was as in love with him as he was with her. When she worried about him finding the Mangunrok, it felt less like “I don’t want to leave the man I love” and more like “I don’t want to leave my job.” The emotional weight never quite landed.

Not only that, but she had absolutely no reason to love him. Even if we ignore the smaller things he did to her, she still knew exactly what kind of man he was in history. He was a tyrant, a womaniser, and widely considered unstable. That doesn’t magically get swept under the rug because he enjoys her cooking. It was genuinely hard to believe in their love, and Ji Young’s side of the romance made it even harder. What exactly was she attracted to? Trauma can help us understand someone’s behaviour, but it doesn’t justify it and it definitely doesn’t make someone dateable. What’s appealing about a king who potentially takes 100 women at a time for himself?

Then there’s the womaniser angle. How was that even possible? Aside from the drama verbally telling us he was obsessed with women, he never acted like it. How does a supposedly woman‑obsessed king suddenly turn into a shy, gentle, flustered man around a chef he initially thought was unhinged? I thought we were getting an enemies‑to‑lovers arc, but we got nothing. By the time Ji Young finally confessed her feelings, it felt less like the natural conclusion of a romance and more like the script reminding us that this was supposed to be a love story. 

Some dramas rely on “the leads must date” as the entire foundation of the romance instead of actually building a believable emotional connection. And that’s exactly what happened here.

This Show Was Too Unbelievable

I’m going to try to explain this without sounding contradictory because, yes, I know this is a time-travel drama. Obviously it’s unrealistic. That’s not what I mean. My issue was that even within its own world, the story constantly asked me to believe things that didn’t feel earned.

Every major problem somehow ended up in Ji Young’s hands. Political disputes? Ji Young. International relations? Ji Young. Royal family conflicts? Ji Young. The future of Joseon? Apparently Ji Young. At some point, it stopped feeling like she was trapped in a dangerous historical period and started feeling like the entire kingdom was incapable of functioning without her and her dishes. Then there’s the fact that she almost never loses.

Consort Kang spends most of the drama plotting against her, yet rarely scores a meaningful victory. Every obstacle exists just long enough to create tension before Ji Young overcomes it. And whenever something bad does happen to her, it usually feels less like a consequence and more like an excuse to give Yi Heon another dramatic moment.

The drama keeps telling us how dangerous the palace is, but it never really lets Ji Young suffer a major defeat. Then we have the political side of things. The show constantly implies that nobody likes Yi Heon. Half the nobles seem to be secretly working with Prince Je San, conspiracies are happening everywhere, assassination attempts are common, and people are openly questioning the king’s rule.

So how was Yi Heon completely unaware of almost everything? It honestly felt like he was living in his own little bubble while the rest of the kingdom was following Prince Je San. What made it even harder to believe was the fact that Prince Je San ultimately lost.

Yi Heon, The Tyrant?

Another thing that made Yi Heon difficult to buy into was how inconsistent the drama was about his reputation. The show repeatedly tells us that he’s unstable, dangerous, and on the path toward becoming a tyrant, yet we rarely get to see that side of him in action.

Since I already mentioned Pursuit of Jade, I might as well bring it up again. One thing I appreciated about that drama—and a lot of historical C-dramas in general—is that if a character is feared, the audience actually sees why. The male lead isn’t just known for being ruthless; we watch him make ruthless decisions. People fear him because he’s earned that reputation on-screen. With the ML in POJ, he openly kills, intimidates, and commands fear, and the audience understands exactly why people tremble around him. 

With Yi Heon, it often felt like the opposite. Characters constantly talked about how terrifying he was, but outside of a few threats and moments of anger, we rarely saw the level of cruelty, instability, or obsession that the story kept insisting was there. If he’s supposed to be a king whose first instinct is violence, then show me that. Let him make harsher decisions. Let him cross lines. Let me understand why the people around him are so afraid.

Instead, it felt like he was dangerous because the script said he was rather than because his actions consistently supported it. And that hurts the romance too. If this is a romance, then Ji Young should’ve been the only person who could calm him down or see the softer side of him — the way POJ handles it. But here, the drama never commits to either direction, leaving his characterisation feeling hollow and inconsistent. 

As it stands, Yi Heon often felt caught between two different versions of the same character: the terrifying tyrant everyone talked about and the surprisingly reasonable man we actually spent most of our time watching. The drama never fully committed to either version, and because of that, neither one felt completely believable.

Maybe I’ve just watched too many historical dramas, but I’m reaching my limit when it comes to watching one or two people defeat dozens of trained soldiers because the plot says they should. Je San had the numbers, the planning, the influence, and apparently half the palace on his side. On paper, he should have won.

Instead, plot convenience stepped in and saved the day. And if Yi Heon really had so few allies, wouldn’t it have been incredibly easy for everyone to simply frame him for everything? The drama wanted me to believe he was isolated, feared, and surrounded by enemies while also somehow surviving every major threat thrown his way.

How Did He Time Travel?

The fact that the drama completely brushes past Yi Heon’s ability to time travel is so ridiculous that it’s funny. It’s like the writers reached the finale and collectively decided: “Here’s your happy ending. Just shut up and take it.” Because the second you think about it, absolutely none of it makes sense. Ji Young had the Mangunrok. The book was established from the beginning as the reason she traveled through time. The story spent twelve episodes connecting the book to the time-travel mechanics.

If Ji Young needed the book to travel, what did Yi Heon have? A wish? A prayer? A coupon? The power of true love? The drama never even attempts an explanation. And that’s what frustrated me most. Not because I needed a scientific answer, but because the story spent so much time establishing rules only to ignore them when it wanted a happy ending. 

Some stories are beautiful because the characters can’t be together. In another drama (which I won’t name), the girl goes back in time, falls in love with a prince, dies in the past and wakes up in the present, leaving her true love behind. What made that ending so powerful was the fact that he couldn’t follow her even though he desperately wanted to. He didn’t magically appear in front of her like, “Shh, don’t ask questions.” That’s what made it beautiful. A happy ending doesn’t need to be forced. Especially not this forced. LOLL.

He Didn’t Seem That Into Consort Kang

This isn’t a major complaint, but it did leave me scratching my head. For a man who was supposedly wrapped around Consort Kang’s finger, he sure managed to unwrap himself pretty quickly. The drama repeatedly tells us that Kang used his feelings for her to manipulate him into making terrible decisions. Ji Young even explains that much of his reputation as a tyrant came from Kang’s influence over him. Yet the moment Ji Young enters the picture, Consort Kang almost feels like yesterday’s news. I would’ve liked to see that transition happen more gradually. Show Yi Heon recognising the manipulation. Show him struggling to separate genuine affection from toxic attachment. Show Ji Young helping him understand that love isn’t supposed to be built on fear, control, and emotional games.

Instead, it feels like he simply swaps one woman for another and moves on. It’s not a huge issue, but it feels like another example of the drama introducing an interesting idea and then rushing past it before fully exploring it.

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What I Would Do

The Romance Should Have Been the Story

I feel like the biggest way this drama could’ve improved is if the romance actually delivered on everything it hinted at. Like I mentioned above, I would’ve completely shifted the tone of the series. Instead of a light-hearted romantic comedy with historical elements, I would’ve leaned into a darker romance with moments of warmth and humour sprinkled throughout. The biggest change? Yi Heon would actually be insane.

Not in the watered-down way the drama presents him. Not cartoonishly violent, not “he yelled once so he’s scary,” but genuinely unpredictable. A king people are terrified of. A king who lashes out, makes cruel decisions, and has become consumed by his obsession with avenging his mother. And what softens him — what pulls him back from the edge — is Ji Young’s cooking and his belief that she was sent by his mother. What makes Ji Young different isn’t that she’s magically special because she’s the female lead. It’s that she’s the first person who actually sees the man beneath all the madness. 

At first, even Ji Young’s motives would be selfish. She believes the only way to get home is to change history, which means changing Yi Heon. She doesn’t approach him because she’s attracted to him. She approaches him because she sees him as the key to returning to her own time. Then something unexpected happens.

The more time she spends with him, the more she realises that beneath all the stories, all the fear, and all the violence is a lonely man who genuinely has nobody. Consort Kang manipulates him. The court fears him. Prince Je San wants to use him. Everyone around him benefits from him remaining unstable. Ji Young becomes the first person who actually talks to him. Not as a king. Not as a tyrant. Not as a future historical figure. Just as a person. Their connection wouldn’t rely on dramatic declarations or forced kisses.

I’d also make Consort Kang’s role much larger. Rather than simply manipulating him politically, I’d have her actively keeping him unstable. Maybe she’s secretly drugging him on behalf of Prince Je San. Maybe she’s feeding him herbs that cause paranoia, hallucinations, or violent mood swings. When Yi Heon claims to hear voices or loses control, he actually is experiencing those things. Because he trusts her, he never questions it. 

Then Ji Young accidentally disrupts that cycle.

One day he misses a dose. Maybe it’s because she accidentally feeds him something that counteracts the herb. Maybe it’s because she unknowingly replaces something. Whatever the reason, for the first time in years his mind becomes clear. Naturally, he assumes she’s the reason. That’s when the food becomes more than food. It becomes comfort. It becomes safety. It becomes one of the only things grounding him.

From there, the relationship practically writes itself. Instead of falling in love because the script says they should, they slowly become each other’s safe place. He opens up about his mother, his fears, and his growing uncertainty about whether he’s actually becoming the monster everyone believes him to be. Ji Young opens up about her burnout, the pressure of her career, and why she stopped loving the thing she once loved most: cooking (I get into this below).

The meals stop being competition dishes and start becoming personal. Simple meals. Homemade meals. The kind of food that carries memories. And that’s where the romance grows. Not through dramatic declarations but through quiet moments. Sharing food. Sitting together in silence. Looking forward to seeing each other at the every meal. The small moments that slowly become impossible to live without.

Then when Yi Heon eventually decides to abandon revenge, risk everything for her, and spend time searching for a way back to her, it actually means something because we’ve watched that love grow. And yes, I’m going to say it. The romance needed more tension.

Not necessarily explicit scenes or anything over the top, but these are adults. They should act like adults in love. Too often K-dramas settle for one or two pecks and expect that to carry an entire relationship. Some of the most romantic stories I’ve watched barely show anything physical until the end, yet every scene throughout is overflowing with chemistry because the emotional tension is there (Look at you again, POJ — Seriously, go watch it.).

That’s what was missing here. I needed to feel the longing. The anticipation. The sense that these two people genuinely couldn’t stay away from each other. Because if Yi Heon is willing to change his lifelong revenge plan for her, and Ji Young is willing to leave everything she knows behind for him, then I need to believe that love with my whole chest.

Unfortunately, I never did.

A Villain Who Isn’t Forgotten

The biggest problem with Prince Je San is that the drama treated him like a major threat without ever allowing him to feel like one. He spent most of the story lurking in the background, making vague plans, and then suddenly became important near the end. By the time his rebellion arrived, everything felt rushed. In my version, Prince Je San would practically be running Joseon from the very beginning.

Because of Yi Heon’s instability, many nobles would already look to Je San for leadership. He’d be respected, trusted, and viewed as the reasonable alternative to an increasingly unpredictable king. On the surface, he’d appear calm and capable. Behind the scenes, however, he’d be orchestrating everything.

Every terrible decision attributed to Yi Heon would actually trace back to him. Every rumour. Every scandal. Every unnecessary act of cruelty. Je San wouldn’t just want the throne. He’d be carefully building a case for why the king should lose it. That way, when Ji Young arrives and slowly begins helping Yi Heon regain control of himself, Je San immediately recognises the threat she poses. Suddenly the king is becoming harder to manipulate. Suddenly people are seeing a different side of him. That’s when Ji Young becomes the real target.

Instead of spending the series reacting to events, Je San would actively move the story forward. He and Consort Kang would spend the entire drama trying to remove Ji Young from the equation while simultaneously preparing the public for Yi Heon’s downfall. Most importantly, Je San wouldn’t just be manipulating nobles. He’d be manipulating the people.

His plan wouldn’t rely on five nobles whispering in corners. His plan would be simple: expose Yi Heon during one final violent episode and convince the kingdom that the king is too dangerous to rule. Then comes the birthday celebration. The event that should have changed everything.

Je San uses Yi Heon’s maternal grandmother, Ji Young, and the truth about his mother as weapons. He deliberately pushes every emotional trigger he can find until Yi Heon finally snaps. And this time? It works.

Ji Young is kidnapped. The grandmother is screaming for revenge. The king completely loses control and begins killing officials left and right. The people watch in horror as the tyrant they feared becomes real before their eyes. Everything Je San spent years preparing finally comes together. The only thing he didn’t calculate? He dies too.

Ji Young manages to escape captivity, injured and barely conscious. She finds Yi Heon in the middle of the chaos and manages to beggingly whisper for him to stop. She passes out and he’s ready to stop. Only… in the corner of his eye, he sees prince Je San smile.

Only then does Yi Heon understand. Yi Heon kills Je San. Consort Kang kills herself. The palace collapses into chaos. But by that point, it’s already too late. The damage has been done. The people have witnessed exactly what Je San wanted them to witness. Their king covered in blood. Their king consumed by rage. Their king proving every rumour true. It’s messy. It’s tragic. It’s devastating.

And that’s exactly why it works.

A Tragedy, Not a Redemption

One thing I actually liked about the original concept was the idea of a tyrant king. The problem wasn’t that Yi Heon was unstable. The problem was that the drama never committed to why.

In my version, like I mentioned above, he really would be suffering from paranoia, hallucinations, and violent outbursts. The difference is that there would be an explanation. Consort Kang. Because he trusts her more than anyone else, she’s able to secretly drug him for years. The herbs cloud his judgement, fuel his paranoia, and slowly destroy his ability to tell reality from fiction. Every story the kingdom tells about his cruelty would have a grain of truth behind it. Not because he’s inherently evil. Because he’s being manipulated.

Meanwhile, Prince Je San takes advantage of the chaos. Every terrible order. Every unnecessary punishment. Every cruel political decision. The king receives the blame while Je San quietly strengthens his own position. This allows Yi Heon to remain a tragic figure rather than simply becoming a monster. 

Because if I’m being honest, I don’t think a genuinely murderous tyrant deserves a grand love story. If Yi Heon were truly responsible for every horrible thing he was accused of, the romance becomes much harder to sell— especially if Ji Young knew the horrors. This version allows him to be feared while still remaining sympathetic. 

A Tragic Ending with Meaning

Unlike the drama, I wouldn’t give him a happy ending. When Ji Young returns to the future, the story wouldn’t magically bend itself to reunite them.

A year or so later, the people finally rise up. They demand justice. They demand punishment. They demand the death of the tyrant king they’ve spent years fearing. 

The tragedy is that they’re wrong. The audience knows it. Ji Young knows it. But history doesn’t. The lies have already become truth. Yi Heon is sentenced to die anyway. And the most heartbreaking part is that he doesn’t fight it. 

Not because he wants to die. Not because he’s given up. But because after losing Ji Young, he’s alone again. The woman who saw the real him is gone. The kingdom hates him. His reputation is ruined. His enemies are dead. There’s nothing left to defend. So he accepts his fate.

History remembers him as a monster. Ji Young remembers him as a man. And that’s where the story ends. Not with a miraculous reunion. Not with unexplained time travel. But with two people separated by history itself.

His final thoughts aren’t about revenge or power. They’re about her. They’re about the only person who ever saw him clearly. And somewhere in his final moments, he promises that if another life exists beyond this one, he’ll find her there; this time, as a better man.

To me, that’s far more beautiful than simply having him appear in modern-day Seoul because the plot wanted a happy ending.

A Better Ending That Doesn’t Insult the Audience 

Having Yi Heon travel through time through “the power of love” had all of us rolling our eyes. It was the narrative equivalent of shrugging and saying, “Whatever, here’s your happy ending.” So obviously, that’s gone. In my version, he stays in the past and dies, just like I mentioned above.

So what happens to Ji Young?

She returns to the present and eventually learns that Yi Heon died alone, carrying the weight of a reputation he never managed to escape. She discovers that history still remembers him as a tyrant and a monster, while the truth of who he really was dies with him. Nobody knows the man she knew. Nobody knows the sacrifices he made. Nobody knows how hard he tried to change. And that’s what breaks her heart. 

But I still love a full-circle ending, so here’s how I’d leave everyone satisfied.

A year later, Ji Young visits a reconstructed Joseon palace with a friend. As she walks through the grounds, memories flood back to her. Every hallway reminds her of a conversation. Every courtyard reminds her of a meal. Every doorway reminds her of someone she lost. 

Eventually her friend wanders off, leaving Ji Young sitting alone on a bench. She’s quiet for a while, staring at the scenery before someone sits beside her. Then she sighs, wipes her eyes, and the person asks if she’s okay. She says she is, but admits she’s missing someone. He asks if it was an old love. She freezes.

The voice sounds familiar. Painfully familiar. Slowly, she turns her head. We never see his face. Instead, the camera stays on Ji Young as her expression changes. Shock. Confusion. Recognition. Relief.

Then her eyes begin to fill with tears.

And finally, she smiles.

Cut to black.

The end.

We never see who she saw. We never get confirmation. We’re just left with possibility — the most powerful ending of all. 

Give Ji Young Her Own Emotional Journey

One thing I think the drama missed was the opportunity to let Ji Young and Yi Heon heal each other. Leads connect best when they help each other heal. In the original drama, Ji Young’s life in the present was too perfect. She had no wounds, no struggles, nothing for Yi Heon to understand or relate to. That robbed their relationship of depth. 

In my version, Ji Young is still an incredible chef, but she’s completely burnt out. She spent years chasing perfection, winning competitions, and building a career that looked impressive from the outside. Somewhere along the way, cooking stopped being something she loved and became something she was expected to be good at. She forgot why she started. Getting sent to Joseon would force her to rediscover that.

Instead of being impressed by elaborate gourmet dishes, Yi Heon would fall in love with the easy meals. The simple recipes. The comfort food. The dishes she makes without overthinking them.

For the first time in years, somebody would love her food for what it means rather than what it achieves. And through that, Ji Young would slowly remember why she fell in love with cooking in the first place. 

At the same time, she’d help Yi Heon find peace with the grief he’s carried since childhood. They would become each other’s safe place. He teaches her how to love cooking again. She teaches him how to live again. 

And because both of them are healing something deeper than romance, their relationship would feel earned rather than inevitable.

Make Consort Kang a Tragic Villain

I know I’ve already talked about Consort Kang a lot, but I think she’s the character with the most wasted backstory potential in the entire drama. In my version, she wouldn’t truly belong to Prince Je San or Yi Heon. She’d belong to herself.

Everything she does would be motivated by survival. She grew up learning that beauty was valuable, but only as long as somebody more powerful found it useful. She learned that trust gets women killed and that love is often just another form of control. So she adapts.

Her backstory would be harsh. She’d represent the reality of women in Joseon: limited options, limited freedom, and limited safety. She claws her way to the top because she has no other choice. She’s not someone you excuse, but someone you pity. She manipulates. She lies. She uses people before they can use her. Not because she’s evil for the sake of being evil, but because she genuinely believes it’s the only way to survive.

Her relationship with Yi Heon would be especially tragic because she’d recognise his loneliness and exploit it. She’d know exactly how desperately he wants to be loved and would use that weakness to maintain her influence over him. Not because she enjoys hurting him but because losing her position means losing everything. When Ji Young arrives, Consort Kang immediately recognises the danger. Not because she’s jealous of another woman. But because Ji Young threatens the entire system Kang spent years bleeding for.

Ji Young earns trust naturally. She earns affection naturally. She earns influence naturally. Everything Consort Kang has, she had to claw her way toward. Ji Young becomes the embodiment of everything Consort Kang could never have: genuine affection, effortless talent, and the king’s unmanufactured attention. That’s why she’d hate her. Not out of petty jealousy, but because Ji Young represents a life Kang never had the chance to live.

By the end, she’d be the kind of villain you can’t forgive but can’t fully hate either. The kind of character who makes terrible choices but leaves you wondering if you would’ve survived any differently in her position.

To me, that’s far more interesting than simply making her the evil consort standing in the way of the romance. She’d be a tragic figure — a woman who wanted what only men were allowed to have, and who paid the price for reaching too high.  She’d also represent something much bigger: what happens when a woman is forced to survive in a world that was never built for her in the first place.

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Final Thoughts

In the end, this drama was nothing but a waste of time. I read a comment that said to watch this with food and on 1.75x speed, and honestly, I 100% agree. There was nothing particularly interesting about the drama outside of the cooking itself. Story-wise, there was so much here. There were so many directions this could’ve gone. I mean, my version is just one of dozens of ways this drama could’ve become something special.

I think the problem lies in the fact that the writers (or directors, or someone in the room) relied way too heavily on the cooking aspect and treated the actual story like an afterthought. It felt like they threw the plot together five minutes before the deadline and hoped the food shots would distract us. And yes, the cooking montages were great, but once I sat down and imagined a version with an actual plot, real character development, and a cohesive tone, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. This drama had all the ingredients to take our breath away. Not as a romance comedy, but as a dark romance with real emotional weight.

Then we have the fact that Yi Heon may or may not be based on a real historical tyrant, which makes everything worse. Why are we watching a man who may have been responsible for real historical suffering laugh, flirt, enjoy meals, and get a happy ending? It’s tone‑deaf. It’s insensitive. If he really was inspired by someone responsible for horrific things, it adds a layer of discomfort that the drama never seems interested in addressing.

And don’t even get me started on that half‑baked, microwaved ending where Yi Heon timetravels simply because he was “determined enough.” It perfectly sums up the drama as a whole. Instead of earning its emotional payoff, it simply throws one at us and hopes we won’t ask questions. By that point, I wasn’t even surprised. When a drama cares about nothing but the cooking, everything else ends up undercooked. 

At this point, if I want to watch beautiful food shots with a historical backdrop, I’ll just put on an actual cooking show, throw on a hanbok filter, and call it a day. At least then I won’t have to watch a perfectly good storyline get tossed out like kitchen scraps.

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And that’s a wrap! I think I missed writing reviews so much that I kind of overdid it with this one haha. But I did have a lot to say so… 😊

Exciting news though! I’ll finally be posting reviews once a week again 🥳🥳🥳🥳. I’m quitting my current job so while I’m on the look for a new one, I can focus more of my time in bettering the blog and being more consistent. More exciting news, I’m almost at 1,000 views a month!!

I’m so grateful to be able to write these reviews and I really hope you all enjoy them. I know I have a lot to say and write a lot, but it’s also very freeing writing this blog. I’m so excited to get back into it and have more people to share my thoughts with.

Next week, I’ll be reviewing a prince/princess drama that recently came out. My favourite actress is the FL so I’m excited to finally write a review on a drama with her in it. Unfortunately, the review won’t give it the highest praise.

Anyways, I’m so happy to say, see you next week! 💕

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