The Mafia Cookbook

I like to cook. I've always liked to cook. That is, as long as I didn't have to cook, I liked it. It was when I was made to cook that I hated it, because if I didn't do it they'd either fire me or, later, fire at me.

I learned to cook the hard way. In the Army I was a GFU (general flake-up), so I was constantly on KP. The mess sergeant went out of his way to show me different recipes to cook.

After the Army I got married and divorced and married and divorced and, in the early Fifties, I worked as a saucier in one of the classiest restaurants in Cleveland.

After six months I figured I had the experience to cook anywhere, even the Big Apple, my hometown. So I stole a car and drove back to New York. (I couldn't very well drive the stolen car that had taken me to Ohio.)

Anyway, I worked in different diners and restaurants around the city, cooking food and making book. Through my bookmaking partners I got an application to join an exclusive club: the Mafia. Its members let me slide into their club because of my cooking. They said they would "learn" me the rules and regulations as time went on.

Now, mobsters love to eat. They eat while planning crimes and they eat after committing crimes, and when there are no crimes, they eat while waiting for them to happen. And mobsters are picky. They know what they like, and when they like it, they eat all of it. And then more. Look at the stomachs on these guys the next time the television shows one of them being escorted into court in handcuffs. These are some serious eaters.

My cooking for my mentor, my rabbi, my compare, Tommy Agro, came in handy, as T.A. was constantly on the lam. Tommy A. and his crew were forever traveling to different apartments in different states to lie low, and we'd always leave in a rush and I wouldn't even get to pack my pots and pans and knives. "Leave them, Joe," was T.A.'s familiar refrain. "We'll buy new ones." Despite these culinary hardships, lamming it was a good experience. I was perfecting my craft.

The members of my new club ate a lot of veal and an awful lot of pasta. But that didn't stop me from experimenting with dishes. I'd never tell the crew what I was cooking if it wasn't a recipe from the old country. They wouldn't have eaten it (and they might have shot me). But once they were licking their chops, I'd let them in on the fact that they were wolfing down Mandarin pot roast or steak au poivre, and I never received a complaint.

I cooked for the club for about ten years. Then I had a terrible accident. I kept walking into this baseball bat and iron pipe. Some of my pals were trying to see if my head was harder than those two instruments. It was, but just barely. Because of this experience I was enticed to join another club on a sort of double secret probation. This club was called the FBI. The guys in my new club asked me to spy on the guys in my old club, who had tried to kill me. I had no problem with that. Revenge, like my chicaudia insalata, is best eaten cold.

When it came to food, the members of my new club were no different from the members of my old club. They all ate like they were going to the chair. You don't have to eat that way with the recipes included here. You just have to enjoy them. Because they've been tested on the worst of the worst and the best of the best. And they've all passed with flying colors.

•

Menu: Pasta Marinara, Veal Marsala

Setting: Tommy Agro's apartment, Hallandale, Florida, 1974

People present: Joe Dogs, Tommy "T.A." Agro (Gambino soldier), Louie Esposito, Skinny Bobby DeSimone, Buzzy Faldo (Gambino associates; T.A.'s Florida crew)

Tommy Agro was down from New York, on the lam from an extortion bit handed up by a federal grand jury. He had blown town in a hurry, and he was nervous. And when T.A.--moody on a good day--was nervous, I liked to stay traditional. It only upset him more when I experimented in the kitchen. So veal and pasta were just the trick. Tommy sat down to a pinochle game with Esposito, DeSimone and Faldo while I headed for the stove to whip up a pot of my special marinara sauce. This is a classic. Just throw in a littl'a this, a littl'a that and you got yourself a sauce to die for (you should pardon the expression).

[recipe_title]Pasta Marinara[/recipe_title]

[recipe]2 or 3 cloves garlic, crushed and chopped fine[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 cup olive oil (extra-virgin or virgin preferred)[/recipe]

[recipe]1 28-ounce can peeled tomatoes (Progresso Pomidori Pelati con Basilico or Pope brand preferred), chopped fine[/recipe]

[recipe]1/2 teaspoon garlic powder[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 teaspoon dry mustard[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 teaspoon pepper[/recipe]

[recipe]2 tablespoons crushed dried basil[/recipe]

[recipe]1 cup chicken stock[/recipe]

[recipe]Pasta (your favorite)[/recipe]

In small saucepan sauté garlic in olive oil until garlic dissolves (do not brown or burn). Add chopped tomatoes, stir and simmer for 5 minutes. Add remaining ingredients (except pasta), stir and let simmer over low heat for 25 to 30 minutes. Serve over pasta. Serves 4 to 6.

[recipe_title]Veal Marsala[/recipe_title]

[recipe]1/2 cup flour[/recipe]

[recipe]1-1/2 pounds veal (scaloppine cut), pounded thin[/recipe]

[recipe]6 ounces (1-1/2 sticks) butter, melted (clarified preferred)[/recipe]

[recipe]1 pound mushrooms, cleaned and sliced[/recipe]

[recipe]3/4 cup Florio sweet marsala wine[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 cup Grand Marnier[/recipe]

[recipe]Juice of 1/2 lemon[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 teaspoon white pepper[/recipe]

Flour veal on both sides. Shake off excess flour and set veal aside. Heat butter in frying pan (do not burn). Sauté mushrooms in butter for 2 to 3 minutes, until lightly browned. Remove with slotted spoon and set aside. In same pan, sauté veal on both sides, lightly, over low to medium heat. Remove veal and set aside. Pour wine into saucepan and stir. Add Grand Marnier, stir and ignite to burn off alcohol. After flame dies, put veal back in saucepan. Stir in lemon juice and pepper. Simmer for 3 to 5 minutes. Pour sautéed mushrooms over veal. Serves 4 to 6.

I sat back and watched everyone eat. They were gobbling up the food as if it were their last meal. After dinner they leaned back and made vulgar noises while I went to the kitchen to make some coffee.

"What the hell is this?" I screamed, running out of the kitchen with a jar of pickles. Inside, nestled among the gherkins, was a human finger. I threw it on the table and everyone laughed.

"Oh, that's Frankie's finger," Tommy Agro said at last. "He used to tend bar for me. Whenever I open up a new joint, I put that jar behind the bar, where all the people who work for me can see it. Then I put up a small sign that says this is Frankie's finger. It's here because he stole from his boss. That way, any _______ who works for me will think twice before stealing. If I catch him a second time, he loses his hand. So far I got only one of those. It's home in my freezer in New York. Want me to bring it down next time I come, Joey?"

"Marrone, no!" I shook my head and edged back into T.A.'s kitchen, on the lookout for any more body parts.

•

Menu: Chicaudia Insalata (dandelion greens), Panacotte (greens and beans)

Setting: Little Dom Cataldo's safe house, Brooklyn, New York, 1975

People present: Joe Dogs, Dominick "Little Dom" Cataldo (Colombo hit man), Frank and Lino (members of Little Dom's crew)

Two hours earlier, Little Dom Cataldo and I had been scrunched down in his car, waiting for the carrier to come out of the loan office with the satchel. To look at Little Dom you'd never believe that the guy had murdered more than ten people.

"I put him in Boot Hill" was one of Little Dom's favorite expressions. It wasn't brag, just fact. Little Dom, who bore a passing resemblance to the actor John Garfield, did have his own private burial ground (a hill along the Taconic Parkway, 20 miles north of New York City). But we hadn't capped anybody tonight. This had been a straight boost, $143,000 in drug money. The beauty part was, we'd ripped off a wiseguy whose capo had banned drug dealing. So who was the guy going to run to?

Anyway, now we were back in Little Dom's safe house in Red Hook, Brooklyn, divvying up the cash. It was me, Little Dom, Frank and Lino. Everybody was hungry. Little Dom had told me he was tired of the "same old garbage." His heart was still racing, like it did whenever he nailed a big score, and he didn't want any meat. No problem. I decided on something light--a fresh salad with a nice vinaigrette and a vegetable casserole. As usual, his kitchen was stocked. The only thing I had to do was send Lino out for the dandelion greens.

[recipe_title]Chicaudia Insalata[/recipe_title]

[recipe]1 bunch dandelion greens[/recipe]

[recipe]1/2 cup olive oil (extra-virgin or virgin preferred)[/recipe]

[recipe]1 teaspoon chopped garlic[/recipe]

[recipe]1 tablespoon red wine vinegar (or lemon juice)[/recipe]

[recipe]1 small red onion, thinly sliced[/recipe]

Wash greens and pat dry. In a bowl, add remaining ingredients to greens and toss. Season to taste. Serves 4.

[recipe_title]Panacotte[/recipe_title]

[recipe]1 head escarole[/recipe]

[recipe]4 whole cloves garlic Olive oil[/recipe]

[recipe]1/2 teaspoon crushed red-pepper flakes (optional)[/recipe]

[recipe]1 16-ounce can cannellini beans with juice (or about 1 cup dried beans, presoaked and cooked)[/recipe]

[recipe]Salt and pepper, to taste[/recipe]

[recipe]2 cups cubed stale bread[/recipe]

[recipe]1/2 cup freshly grated parmesan[/recipe]

Wash and tear escarole. In skillet, slowly sauté garlic cloves (whole) in olive oil. Allow garlic to cook slightly. Add crushed red pepper and escarole and cook about 15 minutes over medium heat, until tender. Add beans with juice and bring to boil. Taste for seasoning and add salt and pepper if needed. Put bread cubes in casserole dish with 1/4 cup parmesan and escarole-and-bean mixture. Sprinkle remaining parmesan over top. Bake in oven preheated to 375° until slightly browned (about 20 minutes). Serve with crusty Italian bread.

"Joey, did I ever tell you about the time I popped that big fat Lucchese family guy?" Little Dom asked between delicious bites. "I hated this_______, he owed me big for a long time, and I talked his own right-hand man, Johnny was his name, into conning him into meeting me in a parking lot in Queens.

"Anyway, after I whacked him, Johnny says to me, 'What're we going to do (concluded on page 155)The Mafia Cookbook(continued from page 118) with this fat pig now?' And since he got the guy there for me to whack, it's only fair I help him get rid of the body. So we stuff him into my trunk and drive to Boot Hill. I told Johnny that we gotta dig deep, five or six feet, because the lime I use to cover the body smells, even through the ground. When we were finished, I drove my car close to the hole, and we threw the fat man in.

"Then I said, 'Damn, Johnny, I forgot to take his watch off, his ring and his dough. No sense in burying them.' So Johnny jumps in the hole to get the stuff and I shot him, too. I put the lime in, then the dirt, then the grass seed. But I had a lot of dirt to spread around, because I had a two-story job there.

"Ha-ha, that's funny, Joey."

Little Dom Cataldo really cracked himself up.

•

Menu: New York Strip Steak Florentine with Sautéed Mushrooms

Setting: Tommy Agro's apartment, Hallandale, Florida, 1976

People present: Joe Dogs, Tommy Agro, Skinny Bobby DeSimone, Louie Esposito, Buzzy Faldo

It was T.A.'s coming-out party. He'd just done eight months and this was his first night back in Florida. He'd asked me, Skinny Bobby, Louie and Buzzy over, and I'd told him his wish was my culinary command. Like any guy fresh from the joint, he wanted steak. (Tip for would-be compares: If any guy wants to join your crew and tells you he's just out of the joint, take him to dinner. If he orders anything but steak or lobster, he's lying and probably a fed.)

[recipe_title]New York Strip Steak Florentine with Sautéed Mushrooms[/recipe_title]

[recipe]3-1/2 tablespoons butter[/recipe]

[recipe]2 teaspoons olive oil (extra-virgin or virgin preferred)[/recipe]

[recipe]2 pounds mushrooms, cleaned and sliced[/recipe]

[recipe]Salt and pepper, to taste[/recipe]

[recipe]2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives (or 1 tablespoon dried crushed chives)[/recipe]

[recipe]3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley[/recipe]

[recipe]3 cloves garlic, sliced paper thin with single-edge razor blade, or crushed and chopped fine[/recipe]

[recipe]1 shallot, chopped fine[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 cup cognac[/recipe]

[recipe]Juice of 1/2 lemon[/recipe]

[recipe]5 New York strip steaks, 8 ounces each[/recipe]

Heat butter and olive oil in large frying pan over medium to high heat. When hot, add mushrooms and 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring or tossing occasionally. Add chives, parsley, garlic and shallot, stirring them to blend in for 7 or 8 minutes. Add cognac and lemon juice. Allow to simmer for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Taste for seasoning. Broil steaks to your preference (rare is best) and pour mushrooms over steaks.

"Joey, these mushrooms are so good," Tommy said in the calmest voice I'd heard in years. The joint must have done him good.

"You gotta be careful with mushrooms, though, Tommy." Skinny Bobby always had to put in his two cents. "Some of them are poisonous."

"Yeah, I know," I said, "I lost my first wife that way."

Tommy was seriously taken aback. "Geez, Joey, I didn't know that. You never said nothing."

By this time I was almost in tears. "Yeah, I lost my second wife, too. From a crushed skull."

"Marrone," Tommy said. "What happened? Car accident?"

"Nah. She wouldn't eat the poison mushrooms."