3 Little Pigs Chi Review

Ray Varghese Madathil

It was the second snow of the season, and I was craving something spicy to warm myself up. It soon clicked to me: what better choice than hot chicken?

I trudged through the snow-covered streets to a spot just off campus on 57th Street, perhaps better known to the student body as the location of Seoul Taco and Noodles Etc. 3 Little Pigs is the new kid on the block, sharing its kitchen space with Seoul Taco. 

3 Little Pigs is the brainchild of Henry Cai. Think Panda Express, but elevated, serving a curious combination of Americanized Chinese classics: Char Siu (Cantonese barbecue pork), fried chicken sandwiches, crab rangoons, and even their own take on the iconic Italian beef, which they call the Hot-pot Beef. 3LP, as it is often stylized, started out of a humble shared kitchen in Humboldt Park during the pandemic. Priding himself on customer interaction and providing a unique, somewhat “underground” experience, Cai would emerge from the faceless industrial building with brown paper bags filled with food, even including handwritten messages and drawings on the bags. Now, 3LP has come far from its Instagram origins, with three locations in Chicago, an out-of-state presence, as well as features on Munchies, Eater, Barstool Sports, and a plethora of other national media. 

The restaurant was empty when I entered, likely on account of the liberally blanketed streets and still-falling snow outside. I placed my order at the electronic kiosk, opting for the Chicken/Pork Combo Box with garlic butter rice, hot chicken, and their highly regarded Char Siu. Before long, I was back in my dorm with my food, ready to “pig” out.

I opened the box to something of an onslaught; I found myself assaulted on three fronts. First, I was somewhat surprised to see the color of my fried chicken. Rather than the fiery red characteristic of Nashville-style fried chicken, the chicken was an intriguing yet unexpected deep golden brown. Immediately following this was the assault on my olfactory system; after popping open the top of the box, I was hit with the aroma of green onion, which was scattered liberally over the garlic butter rice. At that moment, if I had closed my eyes, I would have envisioned a steaming bowl of noodles in front of me, generously topped with green onion. The finishing blow? The puddle of orange grease which escaped the takeout container, pooling on the table.

I started with the garlic butter rice. Topped with crispy bits of garlic, it was buttery (go figure) and seemed to me likely made with refrigerated rice, as I surmised from its dry texture. Certain bites were satisfyingly clumpy and flavorful, while others were a little too dry for my taste. The toasted garlic evoked nostalgic memories of Domino’s pizza crust. I thought it was alright, likely still suitable for those who aren’t big fans of powerfully garlicky dishes. 

Now on to one of Cai’s famous signatures: the Char Siu. Cai’s rendition was an interesting one, consisting of a more liquid sauce that stained the pork beetroot-red, as opposed to the typical thick but set glaze, a result of the American barbecue influence. The Char Siu’s strength lay in its char and the selection of cut. Cai opts for pork butt, preferring it for its higher fat content, which was apparent in each satisfying, unctuous bite. The pork was satisfyingly tender, with the layers of fat interspersed between the crisply charred exterior and meat melting in my mouth. 

Now onto the fried chicken. It came topped with Chinese pickles and jalapenos, as well as drizzled with lemon pepper ranch sauce. But I suspect they gave me the wrong item, because for a “hot chicken”, it was extremely lacking in spice. I discerned no spiciness or chilli flavor, though I appreciated the bright, lemony flavor provided by the ranch, which helped cut through the greasiness of the dish. The chicken was crisp, though not of the super craggly, crunchy variety. The Chinese pickles brought the typical kick of tart brininess you would expect from any pickle, complementing the chicken well. If I were to return, I would opt for some of their more unique flavors, such as the dry chilli lemon pepper. 

Overall, is 3LP worth the hype? Not really. Is it good? Sure. Is it terribly unique or memorable? No. It offers exactly what it claims to: satisfyingly greasy Chinese-American fast food, served in decent portions, good for a take-out meal or to fulfil some of the more outrageous immigrant fantasies, like dipping an Italian beef sandwich in a cup of chilli oil.