262 Forth Avenue, Brooklyn. Cor. Carroll Street, Brooklyn, NY. Tel: South 9135
262 Forth Avenue in Brooklyn was home to Joe’s Italian Kitchen, a joint that knew how to satisfy your cravings for authentic Italian cuisine. The ads boasted, ” Try Us for Real Food. ” This little gem sat right on the corner of Fourth Ave. and Carroll Street. Now, this joint wasn’t in some fancy locale, but let me tell you, the grub was top-notch, and the booze flowed without a single drop of weakness (if you catch my drift).
Here’s a little secret about this place. Behind the scenes, it was owned by none other than Joe Adonis, a heavyweight in the national crime syndicate. This guy had some serious connections, rubbing shoulders with big names like Lucky Luciano, Frank Costello, and Meyer Lansky. But Joe was no flashy frontman; he preferred to operate in the shadows, pulling the strings from behind. That’s where his brother Tony came in, managing the joint with his rough-looking demeanor, owing everything to Joe.
Yeah, I came here for the calamari (wink, wink)
But Joe’s Italian Kitchen wasn’t just known for its mouthwatering dishes. The real draw was the top-shelf liquor that flowed freely, thanks to Adonis. Let me regale you with a little tale that still circulates among reporters and cops in Brooklyn. See, one day, a rookie cop stumbled upon a truckload of Adonis’ liquor, thanks to a stroke of misfortune. The booze was hauled off to the police headquarters, but before Adonis even realized what happened, most of it vanished into thin air. They say it was the finest hooch ever seen in those parts during the prohibition days.
Now, here’s the interesting part. Joe’s joint never faced a raid. Impressive, huh? You see, tucked away in the back of the restaurant was a secret room reserved for the important folks, a place where serious business went down. To enter, you had to slide open a panel and pass through a heavy, soundproof door that was practically impenetrable. The kind of door that could withstand a damn axe. And let me tell you, some mighty important people paid visits to that room. Assemblyman Ambro, former Judge David Malbin, Sheriff John Quayle, Sheriff James Mangano, Patrick Diamond from the Raymond Street Jail, Frank Elly, the big shot from the King’s County Democratic Party, and even the future District Attorney William O’Dwyer. Talk about VIP gatherings!
How ‘about some linguine with a side of brusin’
Like any joint, Joe’s had a back door for deliveries, but it served another purpose. That’s where the mobsters would slink in, avoiding any disturbances to the regular customers. And let me tell you, if any of those “associates” fell out of favor with Joe, well, that’s where the soundproof room came in handy. Ya see, Joe’s got no qualms about gettin’ his hands dirty, if ya catch my drift. The man’s brutality, lemme tell ya, it’s legendary. Ain’t nobody who’s crossed him and escaped unscathed. Once he was done with them, their battered and bruised bodies would be unceremoniously tossed out that back door. Inside the restaurant. All of the customers all knew what went down in there, and they nicknamed that room “The Slaughterhouse.”
Fork & Knife on Top of Napkin, Padded Envelope Under It
But here’s the juiciest bit. Brooklyn’s politicians saw Joe’s joint as the perfect meeting spot for their shady dealings and a way to pay tribute to Joe, who had their backs as well. Discreet envelopes exchanged hands under napkins to these guys, including our city’s finest. Now, what could be in those envelopes, you ask? Well, the rumors had it that they were filled with crisp, green, negotiable bills. It kept the boys in blue happy over the weekends. And you better believe it secured Joe’s continued influence and favors.
Adonis became so damn influential in Brooklyn politics that no candidate stood a chance if Joe blacklisted them. That’s the power he wielded.
In October 1935, Joe shut down the thriving Joe’s Italian Kitchen. He’d later claim that politics wasn’t his cup of tea. Joe had already solidified his position in the political realm, and he had no more use for that joint. But let me tell you, his legacy and the stories surrounding that joint would be etched in Brooklyn’s history forever.