On the evening of September 21, 1991, at 7 p.m., FBI agent Robert Marston received a surprising phone call. The caller was Al D’Arco, the acting head of the Lucchese crime family. D’Arco was nervous, sharing that there were associates within the family trying to kill him. “I was told you were someone I could talk to,” he started, his voice filled with anxiety.
Marston could feel the tension. “His tone was agitated and aggressive,” he recalled. After a quick consult with his supervisors, Marston called D’Arco back. He offered to bring him somewhere safe if he was open to cooperating.
A few hours later, just before midnight, Marston and a team of FBI agents arrived at D’Arco’s mother’s home in Bayville, Long Island. They safely transported D’Arco and his son to a hotel in southern Connecticut. By the weekend’s end, D’Arco signed a cooperation agreement, officially becoming one of their key informants.
D’Arco was then moved to a “safe house” in Northern Westchester. While he waited under guard, he often cooked for the agents, sharing delicious Sicilian recipes passed down from his grandparents. His cooking skills shone through; he had previously helped at his family restaurant, La Donna Rosa, in Manhattan’s Soho. The restaurant was famous, busy with tourists, while gangsters conducted their shady dealings in the back. Dishes like wild rabbit-stuffed ravioli and veal pizzaiola were his specialties.
After a thorough debriefing period, D’Arco and his family disappeared into the witness protection program. Before leaving, he gifted Marston a few handwritten recipes, including one he called “Al’s zuppa di pesce.”
The connection between food and the Mafia is intriguing. During my research on organized crime, I found that many mob meetings often revolved around shared meals. Whether they were plotting or reminiscing, food was always present—dishes like fettuccine bolognese and fried calamari. It seems that gluttony plays a key role in their culture, serving as both a distraction and a means of bonding over shared experiences.
As former mobster Joseph “Joe Dogs” Iannuzzi noted in “The Mafia Cookbook,” every meal could be the last, adding to the urgency and enjoyment of their feasting. He experienced this firsthand when he became an informant after facing threats from his own. “Revenge, like my Cicoria Insalata (Dandelion Salad), is best eaten cold,” he quipped.
Why is it that crime families have such a strong connection to food? Perhaps it’s about heritage. Many dishes represent a tie to family and home, echoing traditions from Sicily and Naples. This bond extends beyond just meals; it’s a part of their shared identity.
With all the rich food around, it’s no surprise there are larger-than-life characters in the Mafia. Fat Pete Chiodo, for example, was renowned as one of the heaviest mobsters in history, weighing close to five hundred pounds. His love for delicious food was well-known, even leading to an FBI prosecutor flipping him over pizza during a hospital visit.
Movies and television shows have also helped shape the Mafia’s food reputation. Iconic characters like Tony Soprano indulge in hearty meals while contemplating their lives of crime, showcasing that food is central to their stories. His son, Anthony Jr., clearly inherited this love of good eats, expressing disappointment when his grandmother wouldn’t bring her famous ziti to his birthday dinner.
This blend of food and crime not only makes for memorable scenes in films like “Goodfellas” but also illustrates a unique side of mob culture. In one scene, the owner of Rao’s, a famous Italian restaurant, even plays a gangster while frying steaks in prison. This mix of culinary and criminal life underscores just how intertwined food is with their identity.
In the end, the Mafia isn’t just about crime; it’s a rich tapestry of culture, tradition, and yes, food. As one character humorously noted, life seems to revolve around meals even in the most serious of situations.