In the world of Pittsburgh-area chain restaurants, Kings Family Restaurant is undeniably the B-Team, the Scottie Pippen to Eat ‘n’ Park’s Michael Jordan (or more appropriately, the Bobby Bonilla to ENP’s Barry Bonds). While Eat ‘n’ Park has the cachet of a rich, half-century history filled with rollerskates and drive-ups, strawberry pies and smiley cookies, Kings, well, doesn’t. And it’s not just a perception thing, either: Eat ‘n’ Park employs over 8,000 employees at its more than 75 locations throughout Pennsylvania, Ohio and West Virginia; Kings can boast just 3,000 workers at its 35 restaurants in PA and OH.

For the most part, it is the ubiquitous Eat ‘n’ Park that milestones a Pittsburgher’s life, from the smiley cookie excitement of the knee-high to the post-football game space-wasting of suburban high school teens high on Superburgers to the innumerable senior citizens making the daily trip to the Soup ‘n’ Salad Bar as they clock the days to their ultimate demise. I’m pretty sure I’ll end up back there in retirement, and I’m certain I won’t be alone.

But I don’t feel this way about Kings--the place just doesn’t feel “essential.” This isn’t to say the restaurant sucks, or even that it’s a failed carbon copy of some flawless original. Quite the contrary: Kings has sort of thrived in the underdog role, finding little ways to differentiate the chain (Eat ‘n’ Park specializes in pie; Kings does ice cream), and even finding time to take a few stabs at the big boys—note the recent addition of the “Frownie,” a pissed-off chocolate answer to the omnipresent smiley. Long story short, I’m sure the descendants of the restaurant’s roly-poly red-striped founder, Hartley King, are making out just fine.

I don’t know if it was an appreciation for this underdog role, a 16-year old “too old for this” attitude towards Eat ‘n’ Park, or something else, but at my high school in the winter of 1998, Kings was the man. It seemed an evening basketball game didn’t go by where I wasn’t in a group of at least 20 wasting a waitress’ time while we sucked back innumerable free refills of raspberry iced tea. And we were usually washing down the tea with Kings’ specialty, Tons of Fun for Everyone.

A mountain of ice cream 24 scoops tall (well, it’s like five tall; but it’s got 24 in the pile), Tons of Fun for Everyone is a $20 tribute to American excess. To the captain of the football team, it was a challenge to finish alone. To the cheerleaders, it was a great way to celebrate the end of the season (and thus the end of seasonal anorexia). And to a high school kid hell-bent on blowing the disposable income built up over summers and weekends—ie. me—it was a promised land. Tons of Fun represents a significant high school memory, and thus holds a special “Pittsburgh-ness” for me.

It’s that memory—and a great excuse to be gluttonous—that inspired me to tackle this beast and pay tribute to it here. But, even at 50 pounds heavier than my 1998 self, I wasn’t equipped to go it alone. With that in mind, I recruited a crack team of seasoned eaters, all raised on the same ridiculous Italian supermeals as me: my brother, Dr. Burgher, and two cousins, “Dr.” Vinny Londino, and his brother, “Little” Greg Londino. Here, we chronicle the emotional rollercoaster of Tons of Fun that, at times, lived up to the dish’ name. Of course, it all started as we felt…

Anticipation

Unfortunately, the guys had to feel this emotion a little longer than they might have liked: As I have for pretty much every “live” post I’ve done for the site, I forgot my camera. After a quick trip to the next-door Giant Eagle for a disposable camera (thus the Superman hair in the pictures), Little Greg was so excited that he literally ran to Kings, where he had a table before the rest of us arrived. While (being 16) he had an excuse, the rest of us weren’t acting much more mature. We were immediately transported back to being bumbling, scene-making 16-year olds. And we made a pretty immature decision: When our waitress asked us what flavors of ice cream we wanted in our monstrosity, we told her, “everything!” So when it arrived, we felt …

Intimidated

I mean, look at this thing (right). The plate’s about five inches high, and even from five feet, it just SMELLS like diabetes. It looks like it’s too much for us to handle, but we dig in, and the mixture of euphoria and consumption power makes it start to seem like we’ll be able to handle it. But then, suddenly, we start to feel …

Well, a Little Strange

Now, you see, when we ordered “everything,” we’re not just talking about chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. Because Kings sort of specializes in ice cream, they’ve got 20 flavors, ranging from rocky road to peppermint stick to pumpkin pie; and the toppings, from whipped cream to pineapple chunks to peanut butter, are just as varied. And when they mix, well, watch out.

Vinny wound up with a mouthful of chocolate … and lime sherbet. And I got peach … with peanut butter. With each moment, the mess became more mixed, the flavors less distinct. Soon, we were tasting “brown,” “um, fruitymeatypeanut,” and “don’t eat that part.” Luckily, we all had started to feel …

Sort of drunk

I know it sounds stupid. I don’t know if it was some kind of world record sugar high, or the onset of lactose intolerance, but we all got down to acting as if we’d just completed a keg stand or two. We all existed in a knee-slapping hysteria, laughing at pretty much everything that happened, from the disgusting flavors to the “Frownie” brain teasers on the backs of our placemats. We kept eating, and were slobbering and laughing all over the table. We were officially making a scene, and tables of families around us were asking the waitresses to move their seats. Our elder statesman, Dr. Burgher, was starting to feel bad about the whole thing, but fortunately, all four cousins were feeling …

Horrible

About 20 scoops in, we’re all staring at a soupy, horrible mess. We’re full, we’re sugar sick, and, well, it looks like we’re not going to be up to the challenge. We’re trying to gross each other out, sucking the stuff through straws, getting it on our faces, anything to stall from eating the stuff. It’s looking like we’re too old for this, and we’re looking for a hero. And we found one:

Little Greg absolutely took over. The kid went nuts, securing MVP status, slurping up the last of the plate, and saving face for the rest of us. Along the way, it became clear that for some reason--Tons of Fun is still a game for a 16-year old. He’s at his ice cream-eating peak. As I watched him, I realized something: I do not miss being in high school. At all.

And we drove away happy. We swore we wouldn’t eat the thing again, but we definitely had the fun the dish promised.

---Greg