Ruggerio described his Brooklyn childhood as a series of Dickensian tragedies. After I lost my son, I knew that this has to end with me,” he said. Over lunch, I asked if he was worried that he could implicate himself or become a target of the Mob for going public. Ruggerio was adamant that while he quit the Mob, he didn’t want to get any current Gambino members in trouble. He was circumspect, though, when I asked about more recent activities. As he detailed the shadow life he led while rising through the city’s finest kitchens, Ruggerio openly discussed brutal crimes he committed with mobsters who are dead.
But members of organized crime are, not surprisingly, just as organized about what they admit to-and what they don’t. Ruggerio was candid during our conversations, sometimes shockingly so. A guy walked into the restaurant with a baseball bat and said, ‘You better pay, or I’m coming back and using this.’ I’m this nice girl from Brooklyn thinking, What in the hell?” “I remember we once owed money to a meat company. “When you called about David, my first thought was, is this the FBI calling?” said Dawn DuBois, a former corporate attorney who worked at Le Chantilly. It’s where Ruggerio has been writing his memoirs, which recount his rise to the highest echelon of the New York restaurant world but also reveal the secret he kept along the way: He was for decades-including the entirety of his cooking career-a working member of the Gambino Mafia family. An open laptop rested on a small desk next to the dining table. He was preparing an ambitious lunch menu: goat cheese terrine, mignon of lobster, wood-fired roast chicken, and crème brûlée. Now 59, his refrigerator-size body and T-bone thick hands made him appear too big for the cramped room. “Overnight it was gone,” Ruggerio recalled one afternoon last fall as he sautéed onions in the cluttered kitchen of his modest home at the end of a Long Island cul-de-sac. Within months, Food Network canceled his show, his restaurants closed, and he filed for personal bankruptcy.
Ruggerio initially denied the allegations, but facing 15 years in prison, he pleaded guilty to attempted grand larceny in exchange for five years’ probation and an agreement to pay $100,000 in restitution. The Manhattan district attorney charged Ruggerio with defrauding a credit card company out of $190,000 by inflating diners’ tips-in one instance, by as much as $30,000. If you have concerns about visiting businesses or public spaces, or questions about self-isolation or coronavirus testing, see the latest updates from the NSW Government.This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.īut it all blew up on the afternoon of Thursday, July 2, 1998, when police entered Le Chantilly with a search warrant. The Covid-19 situation is evolving and public health requirements are still subject to change. If you want to support your favourite venues and businesses, ensure you're adhering to current health advice. We’re entering a new phase of living with Covid-19: some of us will be going out like crazy, while others might prefer to stay at home for now. New South Wales is reopening, but the pandemic isn’t over. The remit may be wide, but if you’re looking for restaurants that both define and capture our city’s culinary spirit, stop right here.
That’s why our list includes lively wine bars and other dressed-down eateries alongside the usual fine diners. Or maybe, after several decades in operation, it still feels as fresh and relevant as ever.Īll are equally valid answers when it comes to determining the best restaurants in Sydney. Maybe it pioneered a trend, and remains the most vital example of it. Maybe it’s good value for money and a reliable source of fun. What makes a great restaurant? At Broadsheet, we’re interested in how well a place lives up to its own ambitions, regardless of its age, price point or cuisine.
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