Let me start by saying: I am fully aware that writing this review is the gastronomic equivalent of publicly announcing the location of buried treasure. LittleFatty is already popular enough to trigger mild panic in anyone who forgot to make a reservation, and here I am basically handing out a treasure map. But integrity matters… and so does orange chicken. So here we go.

First things first: there is a time limit — yes, even during the week. The kind of time limit that gently whispers, “Savor your food, but also… hustle.” Honestly, it adds a thrilling, almost competitive sport element to dinner. Can I finish the best meal of my week before the invisible buzzer goes off? Spoiler: yes. Enthusiastically.

Now, let’s talk cocktails, because the bar program deserves its own standing ovation. The Paloma? Possibly the best in town — and I’ve done the “research,” meaning I’ve consumed enough Palomas across Los Angeles to qualify for some sort of citrus-based diploma. The woman behind the bar is a true artist. Not the “I bought watercolor pencils during lockdown and now I have an Etsy shop” kind of artist — I mean the obsessive-alchemist, every-glass-a-masterpiece kind. Watching her mix a drink is like watching a tiny, beautiful opera where the main character is tequila.

Is it loud inside? Yes. Will you care? Absolutely not. The noise is part of the ambiance — a cheerful, chopstick-clattering soundtrack that prepares you emotionally for the incoming parade of comfort-food glory.

Speaking of glory, let’s get into what you’re actually here for: the food. We have favorites. Deep loves. Craveable classics that we would protect with our lives if the restaurant suddenly turned Hunger Games-style competitive.

• The egg rolls: Crispy, golden tubes of happiness.
• The shaking beef: Tender, savory, basically a love letter from the kitchen to your taste buds.
• The green beans: The vegetable that finally convinced me vegetables can be rebellious and delicious at the same time.

But the true headliner — the Beyoncé of the menu — is the orange chicken. This is not your sad food-court orange chicken. This is orange chicken that has achieved spiritual enlightenment. It’s perfectly crisp, bright, citrusy, a little sweet, a little tangy, and basically the reason I’m writing this long-winded love letter. Best I’ve ever had? Yes. Best I’ll ever have? Probably. Am I okay with that existential truth? Also yes.

We’re already planning our return. And possibly the return after that. If you see us there again… no you didn’t.