In another skillet, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add celery with their leaves and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and season with salt and pepper. In the same skillet, heat remaining oil. Add eggplant and cook over moderate heat, tossing occasionally until lightly browned, about 3 minutes. Transfer eggplant and celery to skillet with onion-tomato mixture. Adjust seasonings. Cover and simmer gently until vegetables are cooked through, about 20 minutes.
In a bowl, combine sugar and vinegar. Stir well to dissolve sugar. Add vinegar mixture, capers, and olives to vegetables concoction and simmer over low heat to blend flavors, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a serving bowl and serve. Makes about 1 quart.
Note: This mixture can be stored refrigerated for two weeks, or frozen for several months.
Important: Do not overcook! Vegetables should retain their shape and texture.
It was late 1984, and Belinda and I had split up. She wanted a commitment, but there was no way I could give her one. I lived every day in deception and fear, so I advised her to move on. “There’s no future with me, Belinda,” I said. “You’re better off with someone else.”
So she did. She moved to California, and I started to hang around another restaurant, called the Prawnbrokers. I met a lot of nice people there and started to have some fun. I was getting ready to leave the area, so I told Irving he had only one more payment to go and I would be out of his hair. He thanked me profusely for my help and said to me that if I ever needed anything just to call him.
A young lady named Janet came over to my apartment one night when she got off work. She was a bartender at the Prawnbrokers, and she had a bag full of clams that her employer had given her. Janet was a very pretty, petite blond lady with extremely sensual lips, and she had been to my place a few times before for a late-snack dinner. “Hey, Joe, baby, she said, I brought some clams over. How about fixing some of them up Casino style? You know how to do that?”
“Yeah, sure, Jan” I said to her, but, Christ, it’s midnight.”
“So what? Is there a f____ curfew on the f____ things? Come on, make them and I’ll fix you a drink. Just make believe that I’m the other broad—what’s her name . . . Beelinda?” Janet mimicked. I forgot to mention that Janet’s beautiful sensual mouth also had a sailor’s vocabulary occasionally. She was a native New Yorker who’d moved into the area to be near her parents.
“Okay, sweetheart,” I answered laughingly. I’d make the clams the way a friend of mine used to make them when he worked at the Waldorf-Astoria in Manhattan.
Clams Casino
24 cherrystone clams, freshly shucked, left on half shell
1/4 pound (1 stick) butter
1/2 cup diced green pepper
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 cup onion, grated
1/2 cup chopped Italian (flat-leaf) parsley
1 tablespoon anchovy paste (or finely chopped fillets)
Salt and pepper to taste
3 strips bacon (approximately), cut into 1-inch squares
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
Lay clams on a large baking sheet and set aside.
Melt butter in a saucepan and sauté green pepper until soft. Add garlic, onion, and parsley and sauté a little longer. Add anchovy paste (or fillets) and salt and pepper to taste and mix thoroughly.
Spoon the sauce over the clams, and place a piece of bacon on top of each clam. Bake until bacon becomes crisp. Serve immediately. This is a great dish to serve as an appetizer. Makes 24 pieces.
I had gone out one evening with a date, Melanie, to a club in Fort Myers Beach to listen to this great female singer, Betty-or-something-or-other; anyway, she had a fantastic voice and she was a friend. The room was dark and secluded, and unless you were in the room for at least five to ten minutes, you wouldn’t be able to see very much. I was dancing with my date, having a nice time, when I overheard in a hushed voice, “That guy looks like Joe Dogs.”
I danced to another part of the room quickly and became apprehensive. My date noticed this and asked me what was wrong. I tried to fluff it off and was trying to think of an excuse to get out of there, but it would have seemed odd, as we’d just got there thirty minutes earlier. I took a chance and asked her at the table if she would do me a favor and go to my car and get me my .38 pistol, and I told her where it was in the car.
She looked a little concerned and agreed, but asked, “Do you expect a problem? Is there something going on that I should be concerned about? Tell me, Joe, you can trust me!”
I told her that I thought I saw someone in the place who was my arch enemy and that I knew he carried a gun. I was going to excuse myself and go to the car and get my gun, but she said no need and put her hand down her skirt from the waistline and handed me a Barretta .25-caliber automatic.
“There’s eight bullets in there,” she said, “one in the chamber and seven in the clip. I already released the safety, so it’s ready to fire if you need to. Now let’s get the hell out of here and go to my place.”
I looked at her, shook my head in disbelief, and smiled.
I paid the check and we left. Melanie didn’t ask me one question, except how to cook this certain dish, so I complied (in her kitchen, of course).
Pizzaiola Sauce
3 tablespoons olive oil (extra-virgin preferred)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 (16-ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes (fine-quality Italian plum preferred), crushed
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon dried crushed oregano
1 tablespoon chopped Italian (flat-leaf) parsley
Chicken stock (if needed)
Heat oil in a skillet, then brown garlic (do not burn!). Add tomatoes, salt, and pepper and cook over medium heat for about 15 minutes. Add oregano and parsley, and let simmer for another 5 minutes. Add some chicken stock if mixture becomes too thick. Serve over steak, chicken, or fish. Makes 1 cup sauce.
“Show me how to make that rice the way you Sicilians make it. Please?” Melanie asked.
“This isn’t a Sicilian dish. They make this all over Europe, I think, and it’s really good.”
Risotto Milanese
6 to 7 cups rich chicken stock
4 tablespoons butter, divided
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 cups Italian rice (Arborio preferred)
1/2 cup dry sherry
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 black pepper
1/4 teaspoon saffron threads, crumbled
1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (or to taste)
In a saucepan heat chicken stock and keep hot over low heat throughout total cooking procedure. Melt 2 tablespoons of butter In a skillet melt ____ butter. Add onions and sauté until soft, approximately 5 minutes. Stir in rice, making sure to coat grains on all sides with butter. Sauté for 2 minutes. Stir in wine, salt, and pepper and cook uncovered, stirring occasionally, until wine is absorbed, approximately 3 to 5 minutes.
Start adding stock to rice mixture 1/2 cup at a time until each is absorbed. Repeat the process until 2 cups stock have been added. (Be sure to maintain the mixture at a simmer.) Stir frequently. Add crumbled saffron to rice; cook until absorbed. Continue adding stock, 1/2 cup at a time, until rice is tender but al dente, approximately 20 minutes.
Remove saucepan from heat and stir remaining 2 tablespoons butter, plus cheese, into mixture, combining well. Risotto should have a creamy consistency. Serve the dish immediately; risotto doesn’t keep that well. Serves 4.
I had contacted the FBI and told them of the incident that had happened at the nightclub in Fort Myers Beach. Larry Doss had previously told me that the Mob had put the word out to look for me and that there was a big price on my head. I was waiting for word from the FBI about when they were going to move me.
Larry Doss contacted me a couple of days later. “Sorry, Joe, but headquarters in Washington refused to move you. They said that you’re not supposed to be bouncin
g around in nightclubs. Look at it from their perspective, Joe. If you didn’t go to that place, then you wouldn’t have been recognized. That’s how they look at it,” the agent said.
“Hey, Larry, what are they—f____ nuts, or what? What am I supposed to do, stay home and play with myself?”
“That’s just what you’re supposed to do as far as they’re concerned. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”
I got in a big argument with him over the phone and all but it wasn’t his fault. I was the moron. I should’ve told them that I was recognized while I was food shopping or going to the post office or something of that nature. Yes, I was the jackass for telling them the truth. No problem; I had Irving’s money. It’s a good thing that I wasn’t so kosher with the FBI. I’d be up shit’s creek without a paddle now, because for me to move, it takes three months’ rent (first, last, and security deposit), and you have to find a decent rental where they have security. My place has to be thoroughly furnished, as I didn’t have any furniture. Deposits for a phone, electric, gas, new groceries—everything. Because when I moved, no one knew I was leaving. This was the new life I had to live, and to this day it’s still the same.
I had moved north of Fort Myers about forty miles up the road into a little town called Punta Gorda. The place I rented was very secure. There was a guard at the main entrance to the gated community at all times, and they also patrolled around the whole area at night. My rent was $850 a month. The rental office told me that I needed references, so I put $2,550 cash on the table and asked them if they would like to have a couple of more months’ rent in advance; they told me that my reference rating was extremely sufficient. I don’t want to seem redundant but, like I said, thank God for my earning ability and for Irving.
It didn’t take me long to find myself another baby doll. I met this young good-looker at a Ramada Inn lounge. Her name was Lorretta with two r’s. Instant love! Again! Only this one was a great cook, and immaculate in the house, as was that baby-doll Janet from Fort Myers. The third time I saw Lorretta, I wanted to show off some of my culinary tricks. I told her I was going to fry her some chicken, and she said, “Step aside, sonny, and let a Polish girl show you how to make that dish.” And she did. I mean, this lady could cook. I watched her!
Simple Fried Chicken
1 21/2- to 3-pound fryer chicken
2 large eggs
1/4 cup milk
1 heaping tablespoon mayonnaise (Hellmann’s brand preferred)
Flour for dredging, seasoned with salt and pepper to taste
11/2 cups plain dry bread crumbs
2 ounces vegetable oil
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup chicken stock
Cut chicken into 6 pieces (2 legs, 2 thighs, and 2 breast halves) and remove all skin. Make egg wash by combining eggs, milk, and mayonnaise; mix well. Get each piece of chicken good and wet in the egg wash. Roll chicken in seasoned flour, shake off excess, then dip chicken back in egg wash, and finally roll into bread crumbs. Make sure chicken is completely coated.
In a large frying pan, heat oil and butter, then chicken over medium heat, cooking on all sides until nicely browned, approximately 15 minutes. Remove chicken and place on warm plate. With a wooden spoon scrape all browned bits from pan into a bowl or any nonplastic container and set aside. (These drippings may be used to make gravy.) Place chicken back in pan and pour in stock. Cover pan and steam chicken for 30 minutes over very low heat. Serves 3.
I missed the people that I had become friendly with in Fort Myers, and I also missed my income. Irving gave me an additional payment for my outstanding service. At least this is what I told myself. And I really believed it. I was pretty flush at the time. Cash-wise, that is. Although I made a donation every four months to a needy organization and I gave Belinda $1,200, every time I received a payment I still had enough for a good time. It wasn’t like I kept it all for myself. I shared whatever I could with others. It made me feel like that guy Robin Hood. Him being some kind of a hood made me wonder if Robin was from the Gambino’s.
I had been living in this apartment for about six or seven months now, and I left my place to drive to the grocery store. As I drove through the security gate, I noticed a late-model car across the street parked on the embankment. As I made a right turn, I saw his headlights go on. The car pulled right behind me and was following me. I pulled into a parking lot where this large grocery store was and went inside and got a shopping cart. I pushed the cart behind one of the aisles and waited to see if anyone who looked familiar or suspicious came into the store. I watched for about five minutes, then started to shop. I thought to myself that I could have been mistaken. I had my gun with me and I carried it always, ever since that incident at the club in Fort Myers Beach. I was paranoid a lot since then, so I was very careful. When I checked out, I asked the cashier for an extra bag, and I was leaving with my groceries and I held the gun inside the bag, just in case someone tried to surprise me: then I would be able to defend myself. They didn’t, but that same car was behind me again, and soon after I pulled out of that parking lot. I went through the security gate, and in my rearview mirror I noticed that the car went back to its same position on the lawn across the way.
I was on the phone immediately, talking to the guard at the gate, asking him if he knew who was in the car across the street from him. He told me it was a private investigator. He also told me that someone else had called the police, and the police questioned him, and he had to show his ID. The police told the guard that the man was within his rights because it was private property. I called up Larry and informed him about what happened and he said to get out of the area quickly. I was hungry, so I made myself a quick cup of coffee and I ate some leftover cheesecake that I had made.
Cheesecake
COOKIE CRUST
1 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
1/4 cup sugar
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Preheat the oven to 400°F. Combine all ingredients and mix thoroughly. Put the whole mixture into a pie pan. Flatten out and pat into pan. Bake for 10 minutes, then allow to cool.
FILLING
11/4 pounds (21/2 8-ounce packages) cream cheese
4 teaspoon flour
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons sour cream
2 tablespoons milk
4 egg yolks, room temperature
Preheat the oven to 500°F.
With an electric mixer set to medium, beat cheese until soft; add flour and sugar while beating until blended; add vanilla, sour cream, and milk and blend thoroughly; add egg yolks, 1 at a time, beating each well as you put it in. Pour mixture into cookie crust. Bake for 6 minutes. Lower heat to 200°F and bake for 30 minutes more. Do not overbake. Cool on wire rack, then refrigerate. Leave in pan until well chilled. Serves 8.
I took the FBI agent’s advice and quickly packed some clothes. Enough to disappear with. I planned to return a week later to get the balance of my stuff, or whatever a carload could carry. I knew that I would have to leave my exercise machine behind, as it was too big and too heavy to lug by myself. These are the perilous ways I had to live. When I started to leave, I thought that I had no real destination to go to. Before Lorretta and I had split up, I remembered her saying that she was in Savannah, Georgia, one time and how much she liked it. We split up because the FBI figured I should tell her my status with them, and she handled it for a while because she was Polish, but even her nationality couldn’t block the element of fear, so she hit the road.
“Savannah? Why not?” I said to myself.
As I drove through the gate I made a left and, sure enough, old hound dog pulled right behind me once again. I thought that this moron was so obvious that he was a joke. I wanted to go north on Route 1–75, so instead I went south, figuring that I would somehow lose this guy. I was riding on the highway for a few miles, and when I appr
oached the very first exit I came to, I signaled to get off. It was three A.M., so it was deserted outside. No traffic whatsoever. As I was exiting, the other car was tailgating me. I stopped the car on the ramp and put my emergency flashers on. I opened my window and waved my left arm in a circular movement for him to come over to the car, as there wasn’t room for the other car to pass. My .38 was on the seat, and now in my hand. I was told that he was a PI, so there wasn’t that much to worry about. The moron started walking over, and his hands were clean, as I noticed in my rearview mirror. I jumped out of the car in a flash, gun in hand, and grabbed the guy by the hair and slammed him against my car, then down to the pavement. The guy was whimpering, not knowing what was going to happen to him.
“What are you following me for, you ____ so-and-so?” I blurted out. I went on and on for about five minutes with him lying on his back down on the ground, and every so often I’d smack him.
He showed me his ID and told me that he was trailing another man and he made a mistake. I let him get up and I told him that he was a liar and that he wasn’t believable. I was screaming at him and pointing the gun at his head. As he was backing away, he turned and started running down the ramp onto a highway. I fired three shots high in the air and went to his car and took his keys from the ignition, put them in my pocket, and left.
I drove south for two exits, then turned around and headed north toward 1–10 to 1–95. As I was passing the area where the incident had occurred, I noticed the PI walking back toward his vehicle.
The Mafia Cookbook Page 11