The Mafia Cookbook

by Joseph Iannuzzi

  “Oh, Your Honor, I know all about computers,” I said. “I hijacked truckloads of them in my time!”

  So, you see, the recipes in this book have been tasted by some very important people. Some were Mafia wise guys with big bellies, and many others were the rich, the beautiful, and the famous.

  A couple of the recipes came from friends, and a couple came from great chefs. Try them, you’ll love them. I know that all the people I’ve cooked for over the years do, and they’d welcome me back into their homes at any time for another party.

  Mangia! Buon appetito!

  —Joe Dogs

  It was late 1983 when I first started going to a club called Night Life, on the west coast of Florida. It was a nightclub-restaurant sort of place. The type of joint that a person of my character would hang out in and call his home away from home. It had that kind of atmosphere. I was hiding out from the Mob, waiting to go to trial against them, so I was supposed to be nice and quiet.

  “Don’t let anyone know who you are and where you’re from, Joe, In fact, just keep your mouth shut! Try not to speak at all.” The FBI agent said it with a smirk on his face. Yeah, I was supposed to be quiet, but you know what happens when you put a kid in a room full of toys and candy and you tell him not to touch anything or don’t eat the candy. . . . Naturally!

  So I showed a little effort and made a move on the owner of this joint and it capitalized. Irving, the owner, was paying me rent, so to speak, as we say in New York. His rent for my presence was to be $25,000 a year, to be paid at intervals of three months. Irving had already paid me my first installment and the second was due shortly. For these monies I was to see that no riffraff created any problems at the club. If a problem occurred while I was out of town, then it was to be handled when I was around. Quiet. Low-key? Well, it’s all how you looked at it. My biggest problem that I could foresee was keeping the Feds from finding out, which I later saw as no problem at all.

  That’s where I met Belinda, the exotically beautiful bartender. She told me that Irving wanted to know if I had a recipe for a good Italian tomato sauce, and if I did, would I be kind enough to give it to him.” “Sure, honey,” I said, “I’ll let you have it.”

  I mean, like, I was shaking the guy down for about $500 a week. The least I could do was to try and help him improve some of his food. Not that it was that bad. It was nightclub food. You know, like quick stuff made to order. Things like that.

  “Tell him this is an old family recipe and not to give it out to anyone. Make him understand that I said it’s a ‘recipe to die for’ and he’ll guard it with his life, worrying that his eternal ending might be near, should anyone get hold of it,” I said to Belinda, laughing.

  Tomato Sauce

  1/4 cup olive oil (extra-virgin preferred)

  3 or 4 cloves garlic, crushed and finely chopped

  1 small shallot, finely chopped

  1 (28-ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes (fine-quality Italian plum preferred), chopped, with liquid reserved

  6 leaves fresh basil, chopped

  1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

  6 ounces pork, boned; or 1 pound Italian sausage

  6 ounces beef, whole; or meatballs (see recipe, page 188)

  1 (28-ounce) can chicken stock or broth (approximately)

  1 (6-ounce) can tomato paste

  1/3 teaspoon dry mustard

  1 tablespoon dried crushed sweet basil

  1 teaspoon Accent (optional)

  In a large saucepan heat olive oil and sauté garlic and shallot until limber (about 1 or 2 minutes); don’t brown. Add chopped tomatoes without juice from the can (set juice aside) and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add fresh basil, pepper, and the juice from the can of tomatoes and stir. Cook for an additional 10 minutes, then stir again while adding the meats and two-thirds of the stock to the saucepan. Cook until it comes to the boil, then add the tomato paste, mustard, basil, and Accent and stir until well blended. Cook, covered, for 3 to 4 more hours at a simmer, stirring occasionally and adding more chicken stock if sauce gets too thick.

  Skim grease from the top of sauce as it’s cooking. Note: In this recipe there is no salt needed.

  If Italian sausage is used, par-cook it on a flat pan in a 350°F oven with 1/8 inch of water on the bottom of pan. Bake for 30 minutes. It will finish cooking when added to the sauce. For meatballs, follow the same procedure. Discard the pork and beef, if using, at the end of the cooking time. Makes 4 cups sauce.

  In April 1984 I was finally going on the first trial, I was as nervous as a snake in a belt factory. I had totally lost my appetite, but the FBI agents who were baby-sitting me didn’t. They were famished. I mean, like they always wanted to eat and drink. Hey! Why not? The government picked up the tab.

  “Hey, Dogs, what’s for dinner? I’m hungry as hell,” Agent Doss said. “Why don’t you make a nice appetizer, and I’ll order a pizza for tonight. Just tell me what to pick up at the store.” Agents Richard Bennett and Gunnar Askiand were also guarding me that evening.

  After giving Agent Larry Doss a grocery list, I took a short nap, only to dream that the Mob caught up with me and was roasting me on a large skewer, I wondered how I tasted. I had hoped they got indigestion, or, as we say with the Italian tongue, agita.

  Stuffed Mushrooms

  1 8-ounce can lump crabmeat

  1 pound medium-size mushroom caps

  1/4 cup olive oil (extra-virgin preferred)

  2 cloves garlic, crushed and finely chopped

  1 small shallot, minced

  1/2 red bell pepper, seeded and cut in fine dice

  1/4 pound (1 stick) butter, melted

  Juice of 1/2 lemon

  Salt and black pepper to taste

  1 sleeve Ritz crackers, crushed into fine crumbs

  Heavy cream to taste (if needed)

  1/4 cup water (approximately)

  1/4 cup dry white wine

  1/4 cup chopped Italian (flat-leaf) parsley

  1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

  Place crabmeat in large bowl and break it up into small pieces with the back of a fork. Set aside. Clean mush-room caps and set aside. Heat olive oil kin a saucepan and sauté garlic, shallot, and red bell pepper on low heat until nice and soft, about 10 minutes. Add mixture to bowl containing crabmeat. Into same bowl add melted butter (make sure it’s not too hot; just warm), lemon juice, and salt and pepper, and mix thoroughly. Mixture should be wet and loose. Add Ritz cracker crumbs and mix in well. If mixture is too dry, add heavy cream until you get the right consistency.

  Fill cavities of mushroom caps generously with crabmeat mixture. Place caps in 1 layer on a flat-rimmed microwavable dish. Fill dish with 1/8 inch water and microwave for 2 minutes on high. Let cool for 5 minutes, then drain water from dish and replace with wine. Microwave for an additional 90 seconds. Remove caps from microwave dish and place in 1 layer on regular baking sheet. Sprinkle parsley and Parmesan cheese on caps and broil in preheated oven for 1 or 2 minutes, until golden brown. Makes 12 to 15 pieces.

  VARIATIONS

  To make crab cakes, use the same basic mixture of ingredients (eliminate mushroom caps, olive oil, water, wine, parsley, and Parmesan cheese). To the basic crabmeat mixture, add 1 large egg, beaten, combine well with mixture, then form into individual cakes. Roll each cake in polverized Ritz cracker crumbs until well coated. Heat equal amounts of butter and olive oil in a frying pan, and sauté crab cakes on all sides just until nicely browned. Makes 4 individual cakes.

  It was my first day as a witness for the government. I was getting ready to testify against my cohorts—guys that I did shakedowns with, gang-related things, and many other criminal activities. Was I sorry or in remorse for what I was doing by testifying against them? No, I wasn’t. The Mob had traveled from New York to Florida to come down and kill me. There were two tough hoods with Agro who ambushed me and beat me to a pulp. They left me for dead. No, I wasn’t sorry. I wasn’t afraid, either. Although apprehensive,
it was my turn to get even.

  As I entered the courtroom, I glanced over at the defendants. They glared at me. The judge, a man named Alcee Hastings, said loudly, “Mr. Iannuzzi, after the bailiff swears you in, give the court reporter your full name and spell out your last name. Please speak loud enough so that the jury can hear you.”

  As I was doing as ordered, I looked at the defendants. They were seated very close to me on the right. All of them had smirks on their faces. One of them was giving me the finger. Intimidated I could not be. Not at this point. On trial this day were: Robert “Skinny Bobby” DeSimone, Paul Principe, Salvatore Reale, Ronald “Ronnie Stone” Pearlman, and John “JJ” DeNoia.

  My attention wandered over to the prosecutor’s table, and FBI Agent Larry Doss and Prosecutor Roma Theus gave me the thumbs-up sign. I made a promise to myself that if all went well this day, I would cook them a nice dinner that evening.

  I glanced over at the guilty parties one more time to see if they still were smiling. They were, I was in for a long day.

  Shrimp Scampi Gourmet-Style

  2 pounds large shrimp (under 20 per pound)

  1/4 pound (1 stick) butter

  3 cloves garlic, crushed and minced

  1 medium shallot, finely chopped

  1/4 teaspoon black pepper

  1/2 teaspoon Accent

  1/4 cup heavy cream

  2 tablespoons chopped Italian (flat-leaf) parsley

  Rinse, shell, devein, and butterfly shrimp. Set aside.

  In a large saucepan melt butter over low heat until bubbling (do not let it turn brown and burn). Add garlic and shallot to pan and sauté for about 3 minutes, or until limber. Add shrimp to pan and cook on both sides until pink all over, about 4 minutes. When shrimp are done, remove from pan and set aside. Quickly add pepper, Accent, and cream to saucepan and stir vigorously. Put shrimp back in pan and stir into sauce mixture.

  Pour shrimp with sauce mixture onto a warm serving platter. Sprinkle chopped parsley over everything and served immediately with rice or noodles. Serves 6.

  The trial was in its third week and I was still under direct examination. I’ll say one thing about the government’s prosecutors. They are thorough. The defense attorneys were sharpening their knives waiting for my return.

  I went to the Night Life that evening to see Belinda. Irving came up to me and handed me an envelope and said, “Here’s your second installment $6,250, correct?”

  I looked at him and then darted my eyes around the room to see if I was being set up, but everything look kosher. If anything, I learned to be extremely careful while working with the FBI. “Yeah, thanks, Irv,” I said, then changed the subject.

  Belinda came running over, kissing me, saying how much she’d missed me. I asked her if, when she got through working, she would come to my apartment, and I would fix her something to eat. She gave me a coy smile and said, “Is that all?” I smiled back and said we’d have something light.

  I left the club around ten that night and went to my place to prepare the snack I had in mind. It was a good thing I did some food shopping after getting off the plane.

  Marinated Asparagus Wrapped with Prosciutto

  24 thin asparagus spears

  1/4 cup olive oil (extra-virgin preferred)

  Juice of 1/2 lemon

  2 cloves garlic, minced

  1 tablespoon capers

  Pinch of dried crushed thyme

  Salt and black pepper to taste

  1/4 pound prosciutto, thinly sliced

  Blanch asparagus spears; drain, cool, and place in large, deep dish. Combine all the rest of the ingredients, except the prosciutto, and pour over asparagus. Marinate in refrigerator for 3 to 4 hours. Remove asparagus from marinade. Wrap prosciutto slices around asparagus and place on serving platter. Drizzle marinade over all. Serve chilled with Italian bread and dry red wine. Serves 4.

  Belinda came over at two-thirty A.M. We ate, drank some wine, and talked.

  “That was a nice light snack, Joe. Who gave you that recipe?”

  “Some guy from Chicago. His name is Oniello. We did a couple of burgs together.”

  “What’s a burg?”

  “A burglary—you know, a robbery, a B&E, breaking and entering, like being a crook. That’s how I used to be. I’m honest now.”

  Belinda spent the weekend with me. She left her daughter with a neighbor sitter. We had a good time, but she started to ask too many questions about my flying out after every weekend.

  “Belinda, look, baby, you know I won’t answer your questions, so why are you so persistent? I’m working on a business deal. I told you that. So please try to accept my word,” I said with exasperation. There was no way I was going to tell this baby doll anything.

  “Hey, Joe, I know we’re not supposed to discuss the case, but stop f____ around on the witness stand. You ‘looked like you were unbelievable,’ ” the FBI agent said to me.

  “Listen, Larry, it’s no picnic sitting on the f____ witness stand answering questions all day long. The jury is bored to hell with us as it is. At least once in a while they’re able to giggle or crack a smile while I’m sitting on the witness stand. Anyway, I’m on cross-examination now and you’re not allowed to talk to me about anything pertaining to the case. So shudup!” I ended, smiling at him.

  Agent “Tricks” Tierney, agreeing with me, said, “Yeah, Larry, shut up and let Dogs get started.”

  “I’m going to cook something nice for you guys tonight,” I said, We’ll go out to eat tomorrow. I’m tired of eating all that garbage in those restaurants we go to. I’m glad you guys got this apartment to stay in.”

  “Okay, Dogs, enough bullshit. Start cooking, I’m starved,” Agent Askland said. The guys had picked up the groceries that I gave them a list for. So I was all set.

  Chicken Cordon Bleu

  4 chicken cutlets, pounded thin

  1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted

  2 thin slices boiled or baked ham, cut in half

  2 thin slices Swiss cheese, cut in half

  2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

  1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

  1 tablespoon unsalted butter

  2 shallots, minced

  1/4 cup white wine (sherry) or chicken stock

  1/2 cup heavy cream

  1/4 teaspoon dried crushed oregano

  Capers (optional; see Note)

  Place chicken cutlets on large dish and brush all over with melted butter. Place 1 slice of ham and cheese on top of each cutlet. Roll up each cutlet like a jelly roll and tie well at each with butcher’s string. In another dish, mix together flour and pepper. Toss and roll cutlets gently in mixture to coat; shake off excess. In a nonstick skillet, melt butter on medium heat. Add shallots and sauté for 2 minutes, stirring constantly to prevent scorching. Add cutlets to skillet and sauté approximately 4 minutes total, turning them occasionally until they are golden in color. Remove cutlets and set aside. Add wine and reduce slightly, then add cream and stir, while bringing slowly to the boil. Put cutlets back into sauce, an increase heat, and bring to the boil again. Add oregano and reduce heat. Let mixture simmer until chicken is cooked and sauce is slightly thickened (approximately 10 to 12 minutes). Remove cutlets from skillet and place on warm serving platter; cut away all string. Pour sauce over cutlets and serve immediately. Buttered rice goes well with this dish. Serves 4.

  Note: If sauce gets too thick, add chicken stock gradually. On the other hand, if you need to thicken sauce a little more, add some more butter while sautéing. A few capers may be added for a tart-like taste.

  Cross-examination was tough. Mark Krasnow was an extremely tough attorney. The defense was riding my ass so much that I felt I needed Vaseline or some other ointment to relieve the pain on my bottom. He said things like “You’re lying, aren’t you, Mr. Iannuzzi? Even Judge Hastings called you an unadulterated liar. You put my client Bobby DeSimone at a meeting that never existed. You’re a low-down liar and an actor. These pe
ople didn’t try to kill you. Someone else did. Didn’t they, Mr. Witness?”

  I hated being called Mr. Witness, so I had to retaliate. “You’re wrong, Mr. Shyster. They came there to Don’s Italian Pizza, beat me with a bat and a pipe, and left me for dead.”

  Krasnow hated being called that name. “Objection, Your Honor! Will you please admonish the witness? I want to be addressed by my surname!” Krasnow screamed.

  “Mr. Iannuzzi, will you please stop calling Mr. Krasnow names and agree to his request? I’d like to get over with this trial before Thanksgiving. I know we’re only in the latter part of May, but we’re moving at a turtle’s pace. Continue, Mr. Krasnow.”

  I think the judge was really biased against me and he didn’t care who knew it. Sometime later Congress impeached him. That’s how it went all day long—Krasnow calling me Mr. Witness, and me calling him derogatory lawyer names. Objections all over the place all day from the defense and the prosecutors. It was very tiring.

  “Irving, the veal piccata you serve here doesn’t really taste that good. Who do you have cooking in the kitchen? Must be a new guy.”

  “Yeah, Joe, the other guy quit. He opened his own business. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. Do you have any suggestions?” Irving said with pleading eyes.

  I felt sorry for the guy, so I said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Irv. When Belinda comes to my place tonight, I’ll give her a recipe for that veal dish and you tell your new cook that’s the way you want it prepared. I really don’t want to get involved in your business affairs. I’m not your partner, you know, not to the extent anyway.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Joe,” Irv said. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose on you, but I would appreciate that recipe. That other cook was good, you know. He was with me for a long time.”

  As Irving was talking, two unruly-looking guys walked into the place and ordered a drink from Belinda who was tending bar that night. Their vocabulary was abusive, and Irving’s eyes looked at me. Well, he was paying me to keep control, so . . .