These old photo posts are probably not my most popular posts but definitely some of my most favorite. I usually start with a random query, then something attracts my attention and turns into a short lesson in history. This time, almost by accident, I found a few photos of Charles Binaggio and of course had to find out who Charles Binaggio was.

Charles Binaggio (January 12, 1909 – April 5, 1950) was a Missouri gangster who became the boss of the Kansas City crime family and concocted a bold plan to control the police forces in Kansas City, Missouri and St. Louis, Missouri.

On the night of April 5, 1950, Binaggio and his underboss, Charles “Mad Dog” Gargotta (a notorious enforcer within the Kansas City family), were called to meet some unknown persons at the First Ward Democratic Club near downtown Kansas City. Binaggio left his driver/bodyguard, Nick Penna, at a tavern owned by the mob, saying that he would return in a few minutes. Binaggio and Gargotta then borrowed a car and drove off to the Democratic Club.
Shortly after eight pm, residents in apartments above the Democratic Club heard several shots. Eight hours later, a cab driver going to a nearby cafe noticed that the club door was open; he also heard water running inside. The police were called and they found the bodies of Charles Binaggio and Charles Gargotta inside the club. Binaggio was seated at a desk and Gargotta was lying inside the front door. Both men had been shot in the head four times with separate .32 caliber revolvers. The police theorized that Gargotta had been trying to escape the club when he was shot in the back of the head. As for the running water heard by the cabbie, it came from a broken toilet and was unrelated to the hit.

Some people theorized that Binaggio and Gargotta were murdered by St. Louis gunmen; others said the hitmen came from Chicago. However, it is most likely that the two mob bosses were killed by members of their own crime family under orders from the Mafia Commission in New York The probable organizer of the hit was Gizzo, who no doubt received the leadership of the Kansas City family as a reward. In any case, the murderers were never found.

Charles Binnagio’s grave is at the Mount Saint Mary’s Cemetery.
Murder on Truman Road – an article in Time from April 1950.

I have a lot more of the Life Magazine photos bookmarked and I intend to share them  mostly on weekends, so if this is not something you enjoy feel free to skip these posts in the future.

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The second most annoying trend in food writing after using the repulsive word “foodie” is overusing the word “Chef”. If everyone who just happened to be in a kitchen is considered a chef, then real chefs need to come up with a different work description. Apparently I am in a minority with this opinion and here is the proof – a screenshot of a recent episode of Hell’s Kitchen.

Introducing J – the Food Court Chef:

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Some day I will go out to get lunch and come back dead or it least in a “critical but stable” condition. That’s because unlike the local lunch-reviewing icon who eats in the safety of Johnson County,I have to forage for food around the war zone a.k.a. Independence Ave. Its unpredictable mix of ethnicities, poverty and crime make every lunch trip an adventure.

I am not sure where I ate today. I can see the place on Google Street View (it’s the white storefront to the left of the barber shop).

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I think it was called “Yasmine Cafe” but I can’t find it in the Yellow Pages, Google and anywhere else. This trip started few days ago when I noticed a sign advertising shish-kebab while driving around looking for Mexican food. Today I came to work with a thought to try some middle-eastern cuisine. I drove to the place and walked in. Small clean room with a few tables and booths and no signs of food, decorated with a TV with some Arabic channel, few paintings and a sign that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah. Three guys hanging out in the dining room, watching TV. By the way, on Arabic TV the ticker at the bottom of the screen is moving in the opposite direction.

I started to feel like Jimmy Carter on his way to talk to Hamas, except that he is not Jewish. I asked one of the guys if there is any way I can get some food to go, so one of them went to the back of the building and retrieved a nice guy who could speak English. I asked about food again to which he smiled and said “Do you want to know the menu?” and proceeded to make up and recite the menu from the top of his head. I recognized some items and ordered shish-kabob, rice and salad, and he also offered to get me some soup just to try. I asked him how much this would cost and after minor hesitation he said that he will give all this food to me for 8 dollars. I watched Arab TV for about ten minutes, they were talking about NYSE, probably enjoying the oil prices. Then a group of men walked through the building and all greeted me with As-Salāmu `Alaykum, I actually knew the reply (wa `Alaykum As-Salām) but decided to limit myself to diplomatic shaking of hands. I got my food, paid and left.

The food was actually pretty good and there was so much that I split it in two decent size lunches. I also got a 16 inch flat bread to go with it. I didn’t really like the eggplant soup, it was to acidic for my taste. The rice had some vegetables in it and even a few raisins and was light and tasty. Kebabs were grilled and meaty. Salad had cucumbers and lettuce, nothing weird. If anything, I expected the food to be a little more spicy, but a co-worker who spent some time in the Middle East confirmed that it was pretty close to authentic.

I am not sure if I’d recommend this place with no menu and all, try it at your own risk. I am still alive so food quality is not substandard. So just like Jimmy Carter, I am not only eating lunch, I am also improving Jewish-Arab relations, one kebab at a time.

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* disclaimer: I have no idea who Bob Shaw is, and I was too lazy to Google him.

As an outdoor advertising collector and billboard connoisseur I especially appreciate the home-made signs frequently seen along the streets and state highways. Judging by the effort and expense needed to produce these signs, someone has a real problem with that Bob Shaw guy. The least I could do was to get out of my car somewhere on the NW Barry Rd. (I think) and take some pictures.

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A vicious ham-handed attack was recently perpetrated on the troubadour of the knife and fork and minstrel of all things food – Charles Ferruzza by the humorless militant organized fat people.

I hate to break it to the fat people, but sitting around and reading the Pitch in search of things to be offended at is not a healthy activity you should be engaging in to become less fat.
I don’t have any use for organized anything – labor, religion or fat people. No matter how many politically correct titles you invent for yourselves or how much you lobby to be considered normal size, all you have managed to do so far is to take the livelihood away from the people who made a living working for freak shows.

There are two kinds of fat people – the ones who have a sense of humor about their size and the ones who are angry and bitter. The ones who can laugh at “yo mama” joke and the ones who are offended at a drop of a cupcake. I belong to and know plenty of the former but have no desire to associate with any of the latter.

So the next time you are sitting with another chubby young woman “who seems mortified at having to spend another Friday night with (you) instead of being on a real date”, don’t blame Ferruzza for noticing, with this attitude you’ll spend every Friday night there for the rest of your sad life.

Order some broccoli and lighten up.

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