Wèi Giant

Rooted in Orlando

Kristine Young’s story begins in New York, raised by a mother (Nancy Ma) who immigrated from China in a family where restaurants weren’t just work—they were survival. After 9/11 destabilized the economy and upended their livelihood, the family moved to Florida, settling first in Naples. It felt stifling, with little sense of the culture or community they knew.

Then came a trip to Orlando. They ate at Little Saigon. Walked through Dong-A Grocery. Almost immediately, they recognized something they hadn’t felt in years: belonging. The entire family fell in love and never left, eventually putting down roots in Winter Garden.

That was 20 years ago.

What followed was an education no culinary school could replicate. Kristine spent years working in some of Orlando’s most formative kitchens—Kappo, Domu, and Tori Tori—absorbing not just technique, but the ethos of building something real in this city. She paid attention. The experience sharpened her understanding of what she wanted for her own future, and just as importantly, what she didn’t.

“I don’t think people realize how powerful their time and energy are,” she says. “If you’re a good employee, your business is going to want to keep you.”

That clarity came slowly, earned over years. She stayed long enough to learn. Then she left to build something of her own.

A Mother, A Menu

Eight years ago, Little Giant began quietly. No rollout. No branding push. Just a mother and daughter with a simple idea: Nancy’s cooking and Kristine’s creativity deserved to be shared.

At its core, Little Giant is a conversation between them. Nancy cooks the way she always has, instinctively and precisely, without measuring or shortcuts. Kristine translates that into something the public can access, shaping menus, building moments, deciding what makes it out of the kitchen and into the world. The menu doesn’t follow trends… it follows craving.

On any given night, that might mean a Rou Jia Mo, a Chinese “hamburger” that becomes something richer and more layered in their hands. Deep-fried croissant dough shatters at first bite, giving way to cumin-spiced lamb, fermented red bean paste, and a bright hit of cilantro. It’s savory and sweet, soft and crisp, familiar and completely unexpected at once.

“We kind of just have fun with it,” Kristine says. “We keep adding until we’re like, OK, this is good.”

Their pantry reflects the immigrant experience directly; when they first arrived in Orlando, specialty Chinese ingredients barely existed here. Nancy improvised with southern vegetables, found workarounds, built dishes from what was available. That ingenuity is still present in every menu. You can taste the resourcefulness.

Nancy’s influence runs through everything. Her palate leans toward restrained, light dishes. Think Buddhist cooking, with the deep patience of a long soy braise. Kristine then pushes it somewhere unexpected. Together, it’s 50/50, always.

But ask Kristine which dish she can never replicate, and she doesn’t hesitate. The dumplings. She laughs saying it, but the frustration is real yet entirely rooted in love. Nancy’s skins never break. The belly of each dumpling (the pleated curve of the wrapper) is shaped by decades of muscle memory no recipe can capture. “She doesn’t hide the recipe,” Kristine says. “It’s very simple. It’s just her hands.”

Then, after a pause: “I think people don’t realize how much of it is her cooking. I’m just translating it, making it available. It’s really all her.”

Meals In Motion

These days, Little Giant exists in motion.

Pop-ups appear, then disappear, happening only when the time and the craving strikes. Catering slots fill quietly. Private cheffing is booked without promotion, passed along by word of mouth. Kristine still works the floor at Edoboy, still the same person who might walk you through a sushi menu one night and serve you something entirely different the next.

When Little Giant does surface, you’ll know. The announcement comes as one of Kristine’s signature illustrations, intricate and hand-lettered, instantly recognizable if you’ve seen one before. The kind of post that gets screenshotted, texted, saved. Because if you know, you go.

For all its roots in Mills 50, Little Giant still traces back to Winter Garden in quiet but meaningful ways.

It’s there in the conversation that started it. In Nancy, who still calls it home. In the way people from the same community find each other across cities, connected by food. Some of the most interesting things happening in Orlando aren’t confined to one place—they move, they travel, they pull you with them.

Kristine is embedded in the Orlando pop-up world in a way that goes beyond Little Giant. She speaks about other restaurants, pop-ups, and food trucks with the warmth of someone who genuinely believes the scene is bigger than any one name in it. “Everyone can do their own thing and support each other,” she says. “That’s really cool.”

It is. And it’s the kind of perspective you only have after helping build it.

Little Giant isn’t a place you stumble into on your way home. It’s one you hear about. One you wait for. One you drive for. And if you’re lucky, it might just find you first.