My heart sinks when Park Geun-hye’s aide tells me he has prepared 24 pages of briefing notes for our lunch, containing responses for every question I might contemplate asking the South Korean presidential candidate.

Official Korea is a formal place, where greeting, eating, drinking and even sitting are governed by hierarchical Confucian traditions. I had tried to explain to Park’s people that Lunch with the FT is more of a conversation than an interview, but my pleas for informality did not coincide with Park’s highly choreographed aspirations to become leader of Asia’s third-largest economy.

If she wins the conservative Grand National Party’s nomination later this month, Park will become the first woman to have a serious chance of becoming South Korea’s president at the end of the year. And in this tough campaign, nothing can be left unscripted.

Perfectly on time, Park glides into the restaurant with Yoo Seung-min, her chief economic lieutenant. She carries her folder of briefing notes. She is immaculately groomed, the collar of her cream blouse rising neatly over the jacket of her tailored beige trouser suit and not a strand of her lightly permed hair – which is much commented on in the local press – out of place.

To fit in with her schedule, we meet in a drab private room off the Korean restaurant at the Holiday Inn, not far from Seoul’s National Assembly. Confucian tradition dictates that she gets the chair that commands the best view, over the offices and apartments outside. But, as she sits down, Park directs the waiter to pull the blinds to shut out the light. So much for Confucius. The waiter, flustered at finding himself under the direction of political royalty, struggles with the shades.

Indeed, 55-year-old Park has a mysterious effect on Koreans. She is more than a politician – she is a political “princess” who personifies many of Korea’s achievements but also much of its suffering. Winning the country’s presidency in December would be the climax of a lifetime in politics.

She was nine years old when her father, Park Chung-hee, seized power in a military coup in 1961, the start of almost 20 years of iron rule that saw Korea industrialise at an astonishing pace. The period was also marked by authoritarianism as her father imposed draconian controls on society and had dissidents imprisoned and tortured. Growing up in the presidential Blue House, the young Park Geun-hye often overheard discussions of technology’s importance to economic growth, and went on to study electronic engineering at university. When she was 22 and spending a year in Paris, a phone call changed her life. While her father was giving a speech in 1974, a bullet meant for him killed her mother. Park returned to Seoul and took over the role of first lady.

“I was shocked, of course – it was very painful for me but at the same time the order was too tall for me not to accept it,” Park says when I ask her how she coped with the loss of her mother and being thrust into such a public role. “I wrote in my diary at the time that busy bees don’t have time to be sad,” she says, as the first item from a Korean set menu – a nutty-tasting black sesame porridge – is brought to the table.

Lengthy meals are the norm for Korean business lunches, with plate after plate of sizzling, spicy food coming in quick succession. The now-recovered waiter serves us jellyfish noodles, followed by sashimi and a plate of fatty pork to be rolled in cabbage. As the dishes keep arriving, Park tells me about the five years she spent as first lady, the period between her mother’s death and her father’s assassination by his disgruntled spy chief at a drunken party.

When she was told of her father’s murder she responded with the unemotional pragmatism that is her trademark as much as it was his. “I was awoken in the middle of the night by my father’s chief of staff. My first thought was, ‘How could this happen?’ but my first question was ‘Is the border secure?’” says Park in her soft voice. The South had long been concerned about communist North Korea taking advantage of moments of chaos. “I think this was part of my life – always being aware of national security – so it was a natural response,” she says.

Being her father’s daughter is both her biggest strength and her biggest weakness, and makes her a divisive figure. While Koreans know that President Park’s support for companies such as Daewoo and Samsung turned the country into the manufacturing powerhouse it is today, many still bristle at his cold-heartedness. This was a man who watched his wife being shot, then immediately carried on giving his prepared speech.

But now, as the economy slows, Koreans are looking for some of the old Park Chung-hee magic, without the menace. And, after five years under Roh Moo-hyun, a talkative president who loves nothing more than to stir up controversy, Park Geun-hye’s mild-mannered poise holds some appeal.

Given her family history, Park says she was destined to become a politician. “If I had been born into an ordinary family and if my parents hadn’t passed away in that way, I wouldn’t have had to go into politics,” she says, watching the next round – plates of sizzling beef and bite-sized pancakes – being set down before us. I am beginning to feel very full and we are only halfway through the meal.

After her parents were killed, Park lived as a near-recluse for almost 20 years, until she heard her country calling. “In 1997 we had a financial crisis as part of the wider Asian crisis and I felt I had to come back and work for the people,” she says.

The birdlike Park nibbles at her food. Throughout the meal her dark lipstick stays perfectly intact (although she keeps blotting her nose with the oil-absorbent papers used by pimply Korean teenagers to combat shine).

I had hoped that, as the meal progressed, Park would loosen up. But there is no room for going off-script. Park is striving to be the first female leader in a country where women are still woefully under-represented in business and politics. But she is optimistic. “Korea is quick to change, very adaptable,” she says. “There is a Korean saying that when the hens are crowing and the cocks are silent, something is wrong in the house, but nobody has even dared to mention that [in relation to me]. I think that’s a good sign.”

With the economy shaping up to be the key election issue, Park has launched a manifesto based on “Parkcherism”, her version of “Thatcherism”, to show the electorate that women can be strong leaders. One of her campaign publications even features the cover of Time magazine showing a 1979 drawing of Britain’s Iron Lady. “The situation at that time – when Britain was the sick man of Europe – was quite similar to the situation in Korea right now. The British economy was losing vitality and illegal strikes were rampant. But Margaret Thatcher, regardless of popularity, did what she was supposed to do.”

Park defeated five men to become leader of the Grand National Party. But now the party is again divided, between Park and her rival for the conservative ticket, Lee Myung-bak, the former Seoul mayor. In the early days of the primary race, Lee had a 20-point lead in the polls over Park, but allegations about dodgy real-estate and business deals have fuelled speculation about Lee’s honesty. This month’s primary could go either way.

In this exceptionally personal campaign, nothing is off-limits. Park has been filmed in a leotard doing exercises at her home, and she once went on a “date” with the millionth visitor to her Cyworld (the Korean version of MySpace) page.

Park has never married – she says the tumultuous events of her twenties meant she never had the chance – and her camp is trying to promote her as a pure candidate, in the hope of stepping up her profile from political princess to virgin queen.

Unfounded rumours about a secret love child have recently been lobbed at her (she denies it). Before that, Lee made a dig at her single status, asserting that people without children are not qualified to talk about education policy. Park responded that those who had not completed military service – Lee was exempted because of bronchial problem – were not equipped to talk about national security.

Park met Kim Jong-il in Pyongyang in 2002, and the strategy of engagement with North Korea is now broadly accepted. “This is the only way we can induce North Korea to open and eventually become a more responsible member of international society,” Park says as we receive a soup with rice balls, which comes from the North Korean city of Kaesong.

“By doing so we can achieve peace but we have to do it in a principled way and there are certain red lines that must not be crossed.” She is talking from her notes, adding that the Roh government failed to impose conditions on the aid it gives to the North – but she isn’t able to tell me exactly how she would attach strings.

After some stilted end-of-interview chit-chat, Park puts her Thatcheresque handbag over her arm and leaves. She is on her way to tell Seoul’s taxi drivers about her plans to cut taxes on fuel, in an effort to dispel the perception that she is out of touch with ordinary people.

I, meanwhile, talk to just one taxi driver, who is taking me back to the office. Does he think Park could be the next president? “No way,” he exclaims as we hurtle into the traffic. “She’s a woman.”

Anna Fifield is the FT’s Korea correspondent

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Lee Won restaurant, Holiday Inn, Seoul

Sesame porridge
Jellyfish noodles
Sashimi
Grilled pork
Soft tofu
Kimchi pancakes
Skewered mushrooms
Grilled beef
Rice-ball soup
Fruit
Persimmon tea

Won 168,000 (£90)