Tiny Thai

Tiny Thai bases up at 27 Chandler Street, its brick-and-mortar space serving as its hallowed home zone. Their Pad Thai works in layers—springy rice noodles coated in a tamarind-based sauce that lingers between tart and just sweet enough, scrambled egg folding into the mix, green onions charring at the tips. Pickled radish sneaks in a quiet depth, bright and briny, before the crunch lands: peanuts crushed to a fine dust, bean sprouts still crisp, lime cutting through it all like a final exclamation. It’s balanced but far from timid, every bite hitting sharp and clean.

Drunken Noodles shift into something looser, messier, built for urgency. The Mama noodles pull deep into a chili-garlic sauce thick with heat, winding between blistered bell peppers and wilted Thai basil that collapses into the spice. Pad Ka Pow hits in waves—garlic and red onion softening in the oil before the heat drops, Thai chilies and stir-fried bell peppers pushing everything forward. It burns, it soothes, it resets—the basil folding in at the last second, right on cue. On the side, crisp spring rolls crack apart in a snap, while crab rangoons fold rich and sweet inside their golden shells. Thai iced tea swirls with condensed milk, lavender lemonade hums floral and tart, and Thai iced coffee pours thick and heady, dark enough to cut through the heat. Everything has a place, everything has a reason—Tiny Thai doesn’t waste a move. The truck still rolls out for events and catering, proving that some things belong on the road just as much as they do in a kitchen.