Making your way through South Coast Plaza — the sleek consumer cathedral in Costa Mesa, a sort of mall of malls — past Uniqlo window displays and Pop Mart blind boxes, there's a good chance you'll eventually land at Tiny's, the new casual restaurant from Chef Sang Yoon.
The burger shack-meets-Asian convenience store is the latest from Yoon, best known for Father's Office, the Los Angeles institution where he's spent two decades running one of the city's most uncompromising kitchens — no substitutions, no exceptions.
Tiny’s marks Yoon’s first venture into Orange County — a deliberately accessible entry point for a chef who has spent decades at the top of L.A.'s gastropub scene.
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Tiny's is the place Yoon wanted to exist as a kid.
Inside, you're greeted by shelves stocked in the style of a konbini, the beloved Japanese convenience corner store, with cilantro-flavored Doritos from China, elote-flavored Turtle Chips from Korea and, for the purists, the requisite Japanese Kit-Kats and Pocky too.
At the counter, a friendly employee greets you beneath a letterboard menu anchored by Yoon’s signature 30-day dry-aged beef burger. Starting at $9 for a plain burger, up to $12 for the Tokyo Dog dressed in bonito flakes and furikake, there's also salt and vinegar tots, french fries, miso mac 'n' cheese and soft serve that runs from Straus vanilla to Pineapple Dole Whip, available as a swirl, cup, cone or float. That's the menu, streamlined by design.
Chef Sang Yoon's cheeseburger and Tokyo Dog at Tiny's, his new fast-casual concept inside South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa
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Grid Vongpiansuksa
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Courtesy Tiny's Burger
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For Yoon, the son of Korean immigrants who grew up between two worlds, the idea of opening a burger stand with a konbini was about tapping into the happy place of his memories: after school with friends, trying out the latest snacks to hit the market to Friday nights with the entire family celebrating after a long week of grinding it out with burgers and chili fries.
"The corner burger stand is where life happened. ... What if those two of my favorite things were under one roof?" said Yoon.
Tiny, Yoon's spaniel, who's become the store's mascot.
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Courtesy Tiny's
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Inspiration for the name Tiny’s came from a somewhat unlikely place: Yoon’s beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Yoon describes her as appearing extremely cute and friendly, but in reality, she was actually sassy and judgmental. Illustrations bearing Tiny’s "don't mess with me" vibe can be seen throughout the restaurant.
“People would rather hear this from a sassy, cute dog than me. So I decided that we should channel Tiny. And let this belong to her," Yoon said.
The cheeseburger itself is simple: a thin patty topped with melted American cheese and Tiny's signature sauce — a blend of Kewpie mayo, caramelized gochujang, ssamjang and tomato — finished with pickle chips and a bed of lettuce.
What sets it apart is what you can’t see, the same 30-day dry-aged chuck Yoon has used at Father’s Office for over 25 years.
“I still don’t think there’s any product superior to that for the purpose of a hamburger,” he said.
The spread at Tiny's includes the cheeseburger, miso mac 'n' cheese, chicken nuggets, tater tots, fries and a jammy egg sando — a konbini staple in Japan.
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Grid Vongpiansuksa
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Courtesy Tiny's Burger
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The nuggets ($10) had a crispy, craggy exterior finished with visible seasoning crystals, a small but deliberate touch, and came with a fresh herbaceous dipping sauce. As for the chili fries ($8), the chili itself was sufficient as an L.A.-style chili (think Tommy's), but since Lao Gan Ma chili crisp was promised in the name, I was expecting that distinctive, crunchy, fermented kick — but left wanting more of it. It felt more like a whisper than a statement.
The miso mac 'n' cheese ($6) was a highlight of the meal, especially for someone who doesn't usually order mac 'n' cheese. Fresh ridged elbow pasta with a proper chew in each bite, and salty morsels of miso folded into a tight cheese sauce had me picking up forkfuls until it was mostly gone. Consider my position reconsidered.
Encouraged, I went back and ordered a Dole Whip ($7). The electric, tangy flavor, paired with the soft creaminess, served as a suitable exclamation point for my lunch that day.
With Tiny's, Yoon has built his most personal restaurant — accessible in price, but uncompromising in intention.
Could mall food now be on a new trajectory? Perhaps we've finally transcended corn dogs at Hot Dog on a Stick and cinnamon rolls at Cinnabon.
After dining at Tiny’s, all signs point to yes.
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