At Eddie's Sweet Shop in Queens, the way malt, milkshakes and sundaes are made is almost exactly the same as in the 1960s.

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In this T series, author Reggie Nadelson (Reggie Nadelson) revisits the New York institutions that have defined cool for decades, from historic restaurants to anonymous diving.

Now it’s easy to find bananas and fudge or banana caramel ice cream in local deli shops, but the taste I missed in my childhood, and it’s hard to trace, just ordinary bananas. No chocolate, no nuts. It tastes only of cream, banana and sugar, and it is sweeter and deeper than the sum of its parts. At Eddie's Sweet Shop in Forest Hills, Queens, as I remembered, it seemed to have a touch of nostalgia.

Eddie's is often described as the longest surviving ice cream shop in New York. It is a beloved community institution because of its frozen desserts and the fact that it has remained almost unchanged since the southern Italian immigrant Giuseppe Citrano bought it in 1968. The Rego-Forest Preservation Council, at least in the late 1940s, when the German-American William Witt opened Witt's Ice Cream, there was probably a soda fountain located in the metropolis. The living room in the two-story red brick building at 105-29 Avenue. But it was Citrano that created Eddie's position. Obviously without Eddie, Citrano's son Vito often joked that his father must think that if he did not write his name on the door, if customers complained, they would not be angry with him. It is said that Citrano and his father created a slogan: "Take your children to the place where your grandparents eat ice cream."

Unsurprisingly, Vito (taken over in the early 2000s) and his wife Angelina (now owning and operating the store) aim to keep Eddie as it is. Even the metal boat-shaped dishes of banana chips are retro, and some can be traced back to the early days of the store.

In fact, Eddie's entire interior design is reminiscent of a bygone era—or the pharmacy in Thornton Wilder's 1938 play "Our Town". On the left when you enter is a long marble counter with a wooden rotating stool. Along the wall behind it is a carefully crafted wood with mirrors and slots for printing cards with the names of ice cream flavors: butter pecan, maple walnut, cherry vanilla, vanilla fudge, mint slices. On the ledge, large glass jars are filled with syrup, there is an old-looking green metal machine for making malt and milkshakes, and an enameled refrigerator. According to Vito, “It’s at least 80 years old. But it still works.” The original ceiling was made of pressed tin, the floor was hexagonal green and white tiles, and opposite the counter was a huge glass-door wooden box filled with colorful candies. "In the 70s, we made our own chocolate," Vito said. "But we are too busy."

At the back of the space-however, due to the pandemic, Eddie's currently only open for take-out-are small tables and slightly rickety wire chairs, and some stalls. On a sunny afternoon, when my friends Jolie and Gary Alony and I arrived, they had the beloved community pharmacy Thompson Chemists in SoHo. People of all ages were eating ice cream with some kind of face With a look of ecstasy, cream was applied to a little girl's nose.

The menu has a lot of research, as if it is an old text. Possible orders include milkshakes, malt, floats, and some of New York’s best custards—the ones that only add a little soda to milk and syrup. Naturally, I started with some banana ice cream, but then I decided that I should also try some other flavors, plus my choice of caramel, hot fudge, pineapple, butterscotch, walnut (original or syrup) or chocolate sauce.

In addition to banana ice cream, there is an absolute knockout. In my time, I may have eaten hundreds of gallons of coffee ice cream-many of them during the pandemic lockdown-but Eddie's is the best I have ever eaten. Like everything else here, from syrup to whipped cream, it is made on-site. It has a deep and subtle taste: creamy but not too strong, sweet and not greasy, but not caused by too much sugar Strange aftertaste. Vito will not launch new flavors casually, but is willing to try them. "If you want Rocky Road, we can add marshmallows and nuts to your chocolate ice cream," he told me. "The fact that my son Brandon, who is often behind the counter, is a master bartender, which is a bit exaggerated, but he may make up to a million combinations."

Joseph, the youngest of Vito's two sons, often makes ice cream and toppings in the kitchen downstairs (he even soaks raisins in real rum). When Vito told me about his children, he smiled. He himself has worked with his father and grandfather (also called Vito) since he was 12 years old, and said that his father showed him the meaning of hard work. After graduating from university, Vito worked in the financial industry for a while, but soon returned to the family business.

I came to Eddie's with Alonys because Gary was born in Rego Park, a block in Eddie's, and he has always liked the history of the area. "In 1976, my friends and I started exploring Forest Hills," he said. They will ride bicycles to the station square, where there are old hotels and shops. "We are too young to participate in the big concerts held by the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel in the stadium in the 1960s. They went to Forest Hill High School. But we happily rode Forest Hill Garden, where there are magnificent Tudor-style mansion, for a group of 13-year-olds, this neighborhood feels tight. There is no better way to rest than to stop at Eddie’s house."

In 1988, Gary met Julie. She is a girl from the Upper East Side of Manhattan eating ice cream at Serendipity 3 on East 60th Street and the long-lost Rumpelmayer's in the St. Moritz Hotel. However, when Gary took her to Eddie's house when they first dated, she was persuaded. They are now in their 50s and they have been married since 1991.

Julie said, “I think it’s so romantic to sit at a small round table for two and share a banana, coffee ice cream, chocolate syrup and homemade whipped cream.” “Gary was so excited, he ordered. Milkshake." She recalled with a smile that when she was growing up, Manhattanites often referred to people in Brooklyn and Queens as "bridge and tunnel people." "Then they have the 718 number," she said. "But it turned out that that date was the best. At Eddie's, I fell in love with my Bridge and Tunnel husband."