Little Pepper: Tucked Just North of Laguardia Airport is the Best Szechuan Food in NYC

I SHOULD SAY UPFRONT: This is a love letter, not really a review. The restaurant has not compensated me in any way, has no idea I’m writing this, and as far as I know, doesn’t have any idea who I am other than that guy who picks up a very, very large take-out order every few weeks with a big, stupid grin on his face.

To refer to Flushing, Queens as NYC’s true “Chinatown” is almost a cliché at this point. For years there’s been an open-secret elbow in the ribs from any New Yorker about how “in order to get real authentic Chinese food, you’ve got to take the 7 Train to Flushing”. It’s true, the neighborhood is one of the Queen’s most diverse areas and has no shortage of exciting, delicious local spots to try. But truth be told, the best Szechuan food in New York  hasn’t been in Flushing for nearly two decades. 

Sixteen years ago Little Pepper was there, in downtown Flushing, among all the dumpling spots, Chinese food courts, street food stalls, and hot pot restaurants with their entrancing aromas floating into the streets. The competition is fierce in Flushing for numerous reasons, mostly due to it’s skyrocketing popularity in recent decades, and in 2004, Little Pepper relocated to the historically industrial and much more residential neighborhood of College Point to the Northeast. 

I first heard of Little Pepper from a few friends in the city, who I’ll affectionately refer to as “old” New Yorkers. People who have been in the city for a decade or two, who remember when Little Pepper was still a small stall just getting started in Downtown Flushing. Now that Little Pepper had moved, paying them a visit always seemed more a matter of “if” than “when”. Weren’t there so many other spots closer to us that we needed to try? Especially living in a city without a car for so many years, it seemed like an ever-distant Holy Grail we’d pick up food from if we were ever casually hanging out just north of Laguardia Airport, or under the Whitestone Bridge. Unless you’re a public transportation sadist and you can endure a 20 minute bus-ride after riding to the last stop on the 7-Train, driving is—by far—going to be the easiest way of getting there.  

If there were any restaurant in NYC that might be worth that kind of commute, it would be Little Pepper. Of course, I say this as a Szechuan-Superfan who had totally fallen in love with the cuisine ever since I first poked my head above ground in Flushing. I’ve been drawn like a moth to the flame of Szechuan cuisine’s very spicy, mouth-numbing flavors for years now, but Little Pepper is where a puppy-love story became a dedicated, long-term relationship. 

My partner and I had our first date five years ago over dumplings. Since then, they’ve become something of a ritual for us, something we almost inevitably get on a date out. Little Pepper’s dumplings in chili oil are so good we have to eat the entire container before we pull out of our parking space with our take-out. It immediately satiates the deep, intense yearning after an hour of build up between wondering which perfect dish you’ll get this time, and waiting patiently for the hot paper bag wrapped in plastic to land in your hands. 

Blistered green beans waft the absolutely maddening smell of garlic and hot chilis, giving you an earthy grounding before you dig into the rest of your meal. While most of the entrees come with white rice, you would be wise to pair them with their Scallion Fried Rice, cooked with so many scallions the rice has actually turned green. This adds another layer of fantastic flavor to any of the dishes you could pair with it, of which there are many. 

Little Pepper has become known around the city for many dishes, some of them more foreign to US eaters like the delightful preserved “thousand year” old eggs, to the more seemingly familiar things like Chicken in Chongqing style. At first, the dish may appear like one of your more Americanized Chinese Dishes with lots of small bits of fried chicken, but this absurdly spicy and addictive dish has a long and rich history as a street food in the Chongqing District of China. If you make it to Little Pepper, be warned, this dish is just sort of weaponized capsaicin and is not for the faint of heart. Or, at least have a cold beer or glass of milk on hand. 

Once you’ve fire-bombed your tongue halfway to hell, a cold dish like the Crispy Cucumbers with Smash Garlic provides a much needed relief that brings you back down to earth. The unassuming cucumber provides the cooling crunch while forming a perfect backdrop for the garlic and low-grade chili oil to show off their flavors. But no dish at Little Pepper can match the healing powers of the Beef Noodle Soup, whose slow cooked bone broth fills the lobby with it’s appetizing aroma. 

Beef Noodle Soup is ubiquitous at Chinese restaurants in Flushing, and varies wildly from one spot to the next. Sometimes the noodles are thick like udon noodles, or thin like a rice noodle for pho, I’ve even seen places use curly egg noodles. Sometimes the broth has clearly come from a carton from a mega-restaurant supplier, and I’ve seen beef in all different kinds of cuts, anywhere from thick chunks of steaks to ground beef. At Little Pepper, the noodles are hand pulled and chewy. The broth cooks all day, pulling every ounce of flavor from the thick cut bones. The beef is cut in thin, rare slices, that almost melt in your mouth with just a hint of chewiness. The ginger and aromatics float up from the bowl and clear your sinuses and fog your glasses. The noodles here are the real show stopper, and the same hand pulled noodles are used in the Cold Noodle Dish, if you’d like a deeply-flavorful encore. Every element of the dish works together so well, it may ruin any other restaurant's soup for you. I crave this soup like no other, and I’m convinced it will heal whatever ails you. It’s certainly what I want any time I’m feeling even moderately under the weather.

The crown jewel of Little Pepper lies in the humble Braised Fish in Chili Broth. Perfectly poached white fish in a broth so flavorful you’ll want to hoard it in bulk for a rainy day. This dish reminds you of everything so beautiful with szechuan cuisine; a symphony of flavors playing off each other, highlighting some, balancing others. The depth of the broth, the tingle of szechuan peppercorns,  the spark of ginger, the bright flame of the hot chilis, and the rich flavor of the fish all round out the dish. Every moment is a delight—up until we’re fighting over the last flake of fish and drop of chili broth. This dish, and the Beef Noodle Soup, are the dishes that keep me trekking all the way to College Point from my apartment in Crown Heights at least once a month

Little Pepper feels like a choose-your-own-adventure in which every end of the labyrinth is a reward. I have yet to strike out with a single dish, even the preserved eggs that bothered my sheltered American palette at first, but now I find myself ordering every other time I go. I have much more to try, like the scallion pancakes I hear so much about. Patrons rave about the Dan Dan Noodles as well, a classic Szechuan dish served with minced pork that has been calling out to me for months now. I write this article from an area of the country that's a few hundred miles outside their delivery windows, so I have some waiting to do. I’ll be twiddling my thumbs and submitting myself to cheap substitutes until I can get back to the best Szechuan food in New York City.