09/04/18 4:33pm

King Benfareremo says, “We do not mix,” but peanut butter and chocolate belong together.

Since we are apparently in the Dog Days of September, I decided it was as good a Tuesday as any to splash around in the fountain at the Unisphere and then pay a visit to the Lemon Ice King of Corona.

Lemon may be the King’s claim to fame, but I opted for something less traditional, some might even say sacrilegious, a super cup of peanut butter. It’s not the peanut butter itself that was blasphemous, but rather the fact that I also ordered a small chocolate, with the intent of breaking the King’s edict against mixing flavors.

The culinary King of Queens doesn’t need to abide by the two foot high sign that reads, “WE DO NOT MIX,” I thought smugly to myself.

“Enjoy, boss,” the dude behind the counter said as he handed me both. I wonder if he knew that I was going to slink away to Spaghetti Park to commit a cardinal sin and concoct an ungodly Italian ice speedball?

The King’s spumoni is a much better combo.

Once there I ate a bit of the peanut butter ice which is as good as everyone says it is, with bits of peanut and and peanut butter flavored chips, and a bit of the chocolate. The chocolate couldn’t stand up to the peanut butter. That didn’t stop me from plopping the small chocolate ice atop the jumbo peanut butter one and digging in. The combo was good, but not great, largely because the peanut butter ice is so much better than the chocolate one.

“Should have got a spumoni, I mused to myself. That combination of pistachio, chocolate, and almond mixed by the King’s minions is one that works just fine. Which goes to show you that even culinary royalty needs to follow the rules sometimes.

The Lemon Ice King Of Corona, 52-02 108th St., Corona, (718) 699-5133

07/02/13 10:30am
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The spread at Park Side.                    Photo: Max Falkowitz /Serious Eats

Even though I am as Italian-American as the cuisine I always feel somewhat out of place at Park Side, the 30-year-old red sauce temple overlooking Corona’s bocce court. Granted I’ve only been twice, but both times I’ve felt as if I were relegated to the children’s table at a family Thanksgivng. Perhaps it is too much for a pezzonovante like myself to expect to dine on the main floor.

A few weeks ago I dined there with some food writer pals, including Max Falkowitz, editor of Serious Eats New York. I showed up in a summer weight suit, sporting a tie and cuff links. My dining companions were neatly dressed, but I seemed to be the sole standard-bearer of Italian-American swag. Even without the disparity in our attire the truth is I still would have felt out of place. The glitzy Marilyn room calls to mind my Uncle Carmine’s house were it eight times bigger and filled with strangers. (more…)