Since I started writing these reviews, I’ve had plenty of feedback from restaurant recommendations to critiques of my writing style. One recurring comment, voiced most bluntly by my girlfriend’s mom, was: “Why haven’t you written a single bad review?”
She questioned my credibility, arguing if every place I visit is “perfect,” then none of them really are. Let me be clear, these reviews aren’t Yelp rants or takedowns. They’re recommendations. If you see my name attached to a restaurant in this paper, consider it your cue that it’s worth your time.
I don’t write about places I wouldn’t send my friends to.
To drive this home, I figured it was time to write about my favorite spot in Gainesville. I’ve eaten here over 50 times as a UF student. I’ve seen the menu and decor change, and I’ve dragged just about every friend I have through its doors. You could say I’ve become part of the furniture.
Still, in the interest of transparency and keeping my girlfriend’s mom happy, I’ll include my praise and the occasional unbiased observation. So, with my credibility questioned and my intentions made clear, let’s begin a review of a true Thai treasure: Tup Tim Thai.
Tup Tim Thai is tucked between a McDonald’s and a Marriott, and flanked by Hass Kitchen and the rebranded Biscuits & Burgers, formerly known as Bagels & Noodles. Inside, every inch of wall space is covered in colorful art of elephants and vibrant scenes. TVs loop footage of Thai street food, pulling your attention from conversation to craving. From the decor to the ambiance, this place doesn’t just serve Thai food, it drops you into it.
You don’t find Tup Tim Thai. It finds you. It starts with a craving. You yearn for something spicy, something saucy, something that makes your nose run a little and heats up your soul. Or maybe you're like me, and you wander in with a friend freshman year, starving and clueless, willing to try something new.
The first time I visited, I ordered five appetizers, sushi and fried rice. I drank Thai iced tea until my stomach growled at me in satiety. The next time, I came back with friends. Then roommates. Then friends of roommates. Then family. Then dates. At one point, I brought an entire group project here. We didn’t get much done, but we all left satisfied. I actually had to drop that class.
This place doesn’t just feed you — it gathers you. It becomes part of your weekly vocabulary. Tup Tim Thai on Tuesdays very quickly became a “thing” within my circle.
Some of the staff know me. I don't say that to flex. OK, maybe a little, but I say that more as evidence that this place sticks with you. It’s not in an over-the-top, “We memorized your order” kind of way, but in a warm, familiar way that makes you feel like you belong even if you just sat down.
Everything feels intentional. The menu is massive but never overwhelming. The decor borders on chaotic but never cluttered. It’s Gainesville’s version of organized Thai chaos, and it works. It’s the kind of place where you're just as likely to overhear a first date as you are a post-exam rant. Everyone comes here for something, and whatever it is, they find it.
And now, let me show you what I’ve found.
Panang Curry
I told you this was my favorite restaurant in all of Gainesville, and this dish is the reason why. I didn’t even try the panang curry until I had already made my way through every other curry on the menu, thinking I knew Thai flavors well enough to leave it for last. Big mistake. As someone who’s known among friends for making Thai curry from scratch, this one floored me. I nearly dropped my spoon but dropped my jaw, if only to fit more of it into my stomach.
I asked — no, begged — the manager to sit with me and break it down ingredient by ingredient. He did, kindly — and maybe a little nervously — while I took mental notes. He didn’t just tell me what was in it; he told me where they got it.
The curry paste? Locally sourced. The best stuff, he said, comes from Chun Ching Market just north of the restaurant. I went the next day.
I tried multiple times to replicate what they made here. But no matter how precise I was, I could never quite summon the same warmth, the same balance of sweet coconut milk and the sharp tang of kaffir lime.
The curry is rich and smooth with a slow-building heat that never overwhelms but lingers lovingly. It’s full of crisp green beans and tender bell peppers that still hold their shape, all of it wrapped in the signature nutty, subtly spiced panang paste. It’s the kind of dish that humbles you, especially if you’ve ever claimed you could “probably make this at home.” You can’t, trust me. I’ve tried.
Drunken Noodles
This is another dish I’ve attempted to make at home many times with many failures. The first time I tried, I assumed the name “drunken noodles” referred to the six different sauces brawling for attention in the pan. I figured someone had to be drunk to toss oyster sauce, fish sauce, chili paste, sugar and soy sauce — both light and dark — into one dish and still call it food. But as I later learned, the name actually nods to the dish’s fiery heat, not its sauce-soaked chaos.
Some say it’s the ultimate hangover cure. Others argue that you need an ice-cold beer while eating it, just to make it through. Whatever origin story you subscribe to, one thing is certain: This dish reaches its peak at Tup Tim Thai.
The noodles come out perfectly blistered and chewy, absorbing the sauce like they were built for it. Crisp bell peppers and Thai basil cut through the heat with a peppery sharpness that sticks to your ribs. There’s a kind of harmony in the chaos with the punch of garlic, underlying sweetness and its slowly building spice that refuses to let go. It’s a dish that wakes you up and slaps you across the face, then hugs you and apologizes until you’re sweating and grateful.
I’ve eaten drunken noodles all over town. No one touches Tup Tim Thai’s version. It doesn’t hold back, and that’s exactly what makes it worth coming back for. And if you can’t handle it, you can adjust the spice level to your tongue, however weak it might be.
Thai Spicy Basil Fried Rice
No matter how much I order, there’s one constant on my table here: the Thai Spicy Basil Fried Rice. Whether I’m eating it for lunch, dinner or a post-midnight craving I’m trying to disguise as a meal, this dish always makes the cut.
Fried rice is one of those comfort foods that rarely disappoints. This version doesn’t just meet expectations, it absolutely bodies them. The rice is wok-tossed to a perfect smoky crisp, coated in a savory blend of soy sauce and fish sauce, with just enough heat to remind you that the word “spicy” isn’t there for show. You get all the usual suspects — onions, bell peppers and fresh Thai basil — but it’s balanced in a way that makes each bite feel new and unfamiliar.
What I love most is its versatility. It’s a dish that plays well with others. Scoop a spoonful into your curry for an extra layer of texture, mix it into your stir-fried pepper chicken or just eat it straight and let it stand on its own. There’s no wrong way to eat it, except not eating it at all.
Don’t forget to dunk a bite in the restaurant’s signature yum yum sauce. It adds a creamy, tangy kick that somehow ties it all together without stealing the spotlight. It’s one of those sides that doesn’t feel like a side; it feels essential. If you left without ordering it, you might need to turn around and try again.
Lad Na
This was a new dish for me. Until recently, I had no idea what it actually was. But like I said, I’ve pretty much eaten everything else on the menu, so I figured it was time to take on the mystery. I expected noodles, but what arrived was more of a soup.
Still excited, I dipped my spoon beneath the murky film of broth and lifted what I can recall as an impossibly thick liquid that I’m not sure I could accurately describe. It’s not quite soup, but it’s not syrup or honey either. It lives somewhere in between, or maybe off the map entirely. If I had to name it, I’d go with tasty goop.
The noodles soaked up the liquid more than I expected, and the flavors were absolutely there. It also turned out to be one of the spicier dishes I’ve tried, but the goop seemed to trap the heat on its way down. The spice didn’t hit all at once. I was more like it tripped walking into my mouth, said a polite hello and slipped away quietly, too embarrassed to stick around. I decided to review this dish specifically to show that there are still surprises even for a regular.
Closing remarks
Fifty-plus visits in, Tup Tim Thai still slaps. One week, it’s the panang curry reminding me I’ll never be able to cook a dish like this, no matter how many times I raid Chun Ching Market. The next visit, it’s a goopy, spicy bowl of what-the-hell-is-this that ends up tasting like comfort and chaos in equal measure. And of course, there’s the drunken noodles — fiery, saucy and built to make your forehead sweat in the best possible way.
This place has been a quiet staple of my Gainesville life. It’s a place that somehow manages to feel like both a hidden gem and everyone’s favorite spot. Whether you’re showing up for your first Thai iced tea or your 40th order of basil fried rice, the truth stays the same: novelty.
Now, in the interest of balance, and to satisfy those out there still concerned about my credibility, I’ll admit that Tup Tim isn’t without its critics. Some say the service can be a bit slow during peak hours. Others have mentioned the occasional inconsistency between visits or that the spice levels aren’t always calibrated to expectations (“mild” can sometimes still translate to “grab the milk”). And yeah, the decor leans a little chaotic, but that’s part of the charm.
Here’s the thing. None of these quibbles outweigh what this place does right. The food hits, the portions are generous and the flavors are real. If you’re looking for a restaurant that feeds your stomach and becomes part of your college lore, Tup Tim Thai more than earns its place on the map. Try it for yourself, but maybe don’t go at 7 p.m. on a Friday unless you’re ready to wait a little for greatness.
And if that’s not enough to convince you, just go. Like I said at the start, if my name’s attached, that should be reason enough.
Aidan Ragan is a UF computer science senior.
Aidan Ragan is a UF computer science senior.
