I am a British cat. Outside the window, early evening darkness settles with rain, a bus stop, and a slick wet road. But beyond the windowsill, inside this house, there are the smells of kimchi, a tube of gochujang, lines from a Korean drama, and a red delivery box. To me, “Korean culture” isn’t a grand word, but a collection of small changes: The human hand mixing sauce into rice The speed of eyes tracing subtitles each night The unfamiliar scent of snacks from a delivery box And sometimes,...