Twin Luncheonette one of the true staples of Corona, Queens NY

Artwork Kyle Green

This piece is dedicated to my father, Leon, and my uncle, Leo—two men who helped make the Twin Luncheonette one of the true staples of Corona, Queens. They owned a soul food restaurant, and I remember it like it was yesterday.

Leon (L) and Leo (R)

Back in the 1980s, when my father first told us he was opening a place of his own, the excitement in his voice made us believe we were stepping into something special. And he wasn’t just opening any restaurant—he was bringing a soul food spot to Corona, New York.

If you knew Corona in the 70s and 80s, you know it was like a mini Harlem. Black-owned businesses were everywhere. We had libraries, daycare centers, and community spaces named after our heroes—Malcolm X, Langston Hughes, and the great Dorie Miller. It was a beautiful place to grow up, full of culture, pride, and unity. That’s why it meant so much that my father and uncle opened the Twin Luncheonette right there in the heart of our neighborhood.

If you ever stepped inside their restaurant, you would remember the laughter before you remembered the food—and the food was unforgettable. Their personalities filled the room before the steam did. They worked two jobs while running the business, just to see it thrive. Morning rush hour meant people running in for eggs, grits, toast, and their favorite side dishes. Sundays—though they only opened for a short time—still brought a crowd, especially churchgoers. It was a gathering place for the elders, a space where people sat down to talk about good times and the issues facing our community.

The Twins Luncheonette wasn’t just run by two men—it was lifted by family. My mother, Aunt Juanita, Aunt Joyce, my cousin Leo, Kevin, and other family members were all part of the staff who believed in the vision and helped bring it to life every single day. They weren’t just helping in the restaurant; they were building something rooted in love, commitment, and community pride.

We also cannot forget Ms. Ann, one of the most loyal waitresses you could ever meet. She knew the customers, their families, their stories—she was part of the heartbeat of the restaurant. And behind the scenes was Ms. Vanessa, the cook whose hands and skill helped define the flavor of the Twin Luncheonette. Her food brought people in, but her consistency kept them coming back. Everyone who worked there contributed to transforming the Twin Luncheonette from a business into a family-oriented staple that people still talk about today.

We had real leadership back then—people like Counsilwoman Helen Marshall—who walked through those doors and supported local businesses like ours. But having a family business also gave us a front-row seat to the challenges Black-owned establishments face, even in their own neighborhoods. I remember one afternoon when my father and I stood outside during the lunch rush.

Two doors down was a Chinese takeout spot. While we offered fresh food displayed proudly on a steam table—macaroni and cheese, smothered chicken, collard greens, cornbread, green beans, fried chicken wings, burgers made to order—they served customers through a tiny glass opening, like feeding someone through a cage. It bothered my father deeply. “It’s insulting,” he would say. “I’m serving good food with love, but I have to compete with a place that treats our people like animals.”

People would even come over showing spoiled chicken wings with yellow bones and grease that smelled like it hadn’t been changed in days. Yet folks still lined up there. It wasn’t just about food—it was about mindset. My father and uncle had a loyal clientele, especially during lunchtime, but the struggle wasn’t just business competition. It was the challenge of keeping our dollar circulating among us.

Brother Kyle Green

Brother Kyle—one of Corona’s finest artists, respected by everyone who knew his work—designed the front gate of the Twin Luncheonette. His mural wasn’t just artwork; it was a statement, a reflection of who we were as a community and what we stood for. It showed that when we circulated our money among one another, we strengthened each other. We took care of each other. And to this day, we honor Brother Kyle for that phenomenal work, a gift that made the Twin Luncheonette even more memorable.

Fast forward to today, and if you visit Corona, you’ll see how much has changed. Gentrification has swallowed many of the stores that once gave the neighborhood its identity. We had a strong Caribbean presence too—restaurants like Twin Luncheonette, Goodies, and Spice Right. They all had great food, great service, and deep roots in the community. Yet many did not survive. Meanwhile, those same Chinese and Arab-owned restaurants serving cheap food behind glass windows are still standing.

So the question becomes: How do outsiders come into our community and outlast the businesses run by the very people who live there? In other nationalities’ neighborhoods—Arab, Chinese, Greek, Italian—you will rarely, if ever, see Black-owned restaurants thriving there. But in our community, anyone can set up shop and flourish, even at the expense of those who built the neighborhood.

This isn’t to say Black-owned restaurants can’t succeed—many do. But we shouldn’t have to compete so hard in a neighborhood that is ours. My father and uncle taught us the entrepreneurial spirit and the pride of ownership. They taught us the value of building something with your hands, serving your people, and creating a place of comfort and culture.

Our hope is that anyone reading this understands how much work we must do to rebuild a sense of unity and economic strength. Businesses can’t thrive when our dollars constantly leave our community. Gentrification only wins when we stop supporting one another. If we want our neighborhoods to flourish again, we have to recommit to circulating our dollar, uplifting our own, and remembering the legacy of places like the Twin Luncheonette—and the artists like Brother Kyle Green who helped make it shine.

We have to do better, and we can.