The woman pictured above putting the serious chop on some vegetables is the eminent personification of abbondanza herself- Mamma Leone.
Founder and culinary genius of the eponymous- but now shuttered- restaurant in New York.
Her first customer was Enrico Caruso. He brought along his pals from the Met and a cooking legend was born. At the restaurant’s height, they were serving six thousand meals on a Sunday.
That’s a lot of pasta.
I was one of those lucky kids whose first visit to New York City included a compulsory stop at Mamma’s.
Mamma and her wonderful ristorante came to mind because I recently stumbled upon this on a bargain table of a book shop.
It was written in 1967 by her son and chef/heir of the restaurant, Gene, and as I turned the pages and savored many of the classic recipes, I started dreaming of by-gone “red sauce” restaurants that are now addio.
Chicago, too, had its share of those wonderful places that live on only in memory.
Andiamo!
Here’s another Italian mama who had a popular restaurant.
Her name was Fanny Bianucci Lazar and her landmark restaurant was on Simpson in Evanston.
Fanny’s was known for her “famous” spaghetti, fried chicken (?) and salad dressing.
And although it closed in 1987, I have a bottle of that dressing in my fridge right now,
(No cracks about the “sell by” date. I just bought it.)
Now let’s head downtown down memory lane.
Shall we start with Armando’s?
This was a regular Sunday night dining spot for the Roffe clan. I loved their Shrimp Armando, chicken Tetrazzini and the lasagna.
The waiters wore dinner jackets, I think, and when I was a kid I believed this was the height of fifties posh.
(All for $8.95 max, probably.)
When I grew up and got married, my then hubby was responsible for a memorable Italian restaurant introduction of his own.
The Como Inn.
Joe Marchetti’s baby. My ex adored this place and went often on business lunches. They had a brown bolognese sauce that was delectable, the kids loved it, and soon it became the Ross Family’s beta version of Sunday Night at Armando’s.
Here’s a menu for old time’s sake.
If Como Inn was all about the rigatoni bolognese for me, another Chicago neighborhood, Bridgeport, once held the breaded steak sandwich of my dreams. The place to go was what looked like a little old store that had been converted into a family-run eating house.
La Milanese on May Street.
I went for the arancine, but stayed for everything else. The steak parm was deelish, the radio was always broadcasting something in Italian and the prices were low as Dante’s Inverno.
I saw lots of cops eating there.
I also saw lots of carryout destined for Eddie Einhorn and Jerry Reinsdorf, too. This place was handy for Comiskey Park and the bosses knew a good thing when they found it.
But no trip down pasta e fagioli lane would be complete without a tribute to my favorite old-school Italian restaurant of all-time…
Febo’s.
Located at 2501 South Western Avenue, it began life as a boarding house for Italian immigrants. Presto it became a restaurant that was “famous for nothing.”
This was their motto proudly emblazoned on menus and matchbooks.
Their menu also bore the credo “Una cosa che piacie non fa danno.”
(Very) loosely translated this means “A thing that tastes good can’t hurt you.”
Nothing hurt less at Febo’s than their minestrone soup, a great little house salad, crunchy sort-of deep-fried parmesan-crusted veal parmigiana with crispy slivers of mushroom atop it, and to start it off ambrosial pizza bread.
THE BEST EVER.
What I wouldn’t give for just one more piece.
Che Peccato.
Oh well. When I get really nostalgic, I can always rely on my new/old cookbook. And this looks like the perfect place to start:
And next time I whip up a big batch, you’re all invited for a bowl of pasta fatta in casa.
Now how about some music with your dinner? This lounge singer is not Italian but I hear he’s pretty good.
(And don’t forget to leave him a little something in the tip jar.)
Ciao tutti!
