As the V Line reaches its terminus along the vast, terrifying stretch of Queens Boulevard that dominates Rego Park, we find it poetically pleasing that it resumes the Russian atmosphere of its starting point in Brighton Beach. Our second favorite Uzbek kebab restaurant, Cheburechnaya, is at 63rd Drive, but our favorite, Café Arzu, is at 67th Avenue.

Katz’s, the Carnegie, and the 2nd Avenue Deli are the pride of Manhattan, but Ben’s Best still belongs to Rego Park. Get off the V at 63rd Drive, walk past Wiggles strip club, and there you are.

This far along the V, you can tempt death crossing Queens Boulevard, wander for blocks alone on the sidewalk, and pop into several houseware stores and travel agencies. Or you could go to Ping’s, a citadel of classic Cantonese food that makes even doubters delight and shout, “This is why I love Queens!”

It’s not much of a secret anymore, but it would be madness to get off at Elmhurst Avenue and not eat at Chao Thai, a Thai restaurant nearly as good as Woodside’s legendary Sripraphai.

Roosevelt Avenue’s riches are almost impossible to exhaust: It's a glorious land of tacos, papusas, Colombian hamburgers, Himalayan soups, late-night arepas, and fried chicken. But the last time we looked, there was only one place on “Rosey” to get guinea pig. And that’s Hornado Ecuatoriano.

Northern Boulevard, in Astoria, isn't exactly what you think of as a great restaurant neighborhood. (If you love big-box stores and car dealerships, though, it's nirvana.) But work your way down a couple of blocks and, hidden next to a vacant lot, is what might be the last freestanding classic railroad-style diner in New York City. It's called, fittingly, the New York Diner and is blissfully un-self-aware.

Steinway Street is where the gastronautic joys of Queens really begin. We hope it won’t seem perverse of us, then, to choose a non-ethnic, non-hole-in-the-wall restaurant for Steinway Street. You walk past a number of them, as well as the Museum of the Moving Image, on the way to Cup.

Dreary, desolate, bereft of even the corner delis that make other postapocalyptic industrial zones livable, Long Island City doesn’t offer you much to look at as you walk from the four or five blocks from the Ely Avenue stop to Manducatis. But that’s the beauty of the V train: It drops you in barren areas that are home to supremely warm and welcoming restaurants.