Bad guys and food have a long history in New Jersey.
Crimes are planned in diner booths and carried out in restaurant parking lots. Mob hits. Political bribes. Tax fraud. Murder for hire. It’s all on the menu. Even fictional New Jersey crime boss Tony Soprano (supposedly) got whacked in an iconic Bloomfield ice cream parlor.
But while Tony’s last words were about the onion rings, the official reports detailing sting operations or conversations about payoffs and contract killings rarely describe the setting, ambiance or why any of the various miscreants, mobsters or other assorted ne’er-do-wells chose a particular restaurant to plot their strategy.
That’s where we come in. The two of us — one of us a veteran reporter well-familiar with the crimes that played out in those places; the other a dedicated food reporter — will be spending some time this summer exploring places that have been settings for major New Jersey criminal cases over the years. Our mission is not to recreate scenes of criminal intent, or even to order specifically what was being served when someone was caught up in some nefarious plot.
We’re more interested in answering the bigger questions — mainly “why here?” And was the food any good?
We picked spots where bribes had been offered, plots hatched, and in one case, a top-level member of organized crime was found murdered. Over the summer, we’ll be eating at the scene of those crimes.
Let’s dig in.
A LUNCHTIME BOAST
When you imagine an undercover sting operation going down at a New Jersey restaurant, a Chili’s Grill and Bar might be the last joint to come to mind. Not just any Chili’s, but the franchise location on bustling Route 9 in Freehold, sandwiched between a Barnes and Noble bookstore and the weathered Freehold Raceway horse track — a much more suitable locale for seedy dealings.
But there we were on a recent spring day, two reporters sitting in the same dining room where Raymond O’Grady, a former Middletown Committeeman, once met with two guys he knew only as “Joel” and “Vinny.”
O’Grady, say authorities, thought they were the muscle for a supposedly crooked demolition contractor.
In reality they were undercover FBI agents.
It did not go well for him.
The purpose of the February 2005 sit-down was to make clear that a bribe was in the offing for O’Grady, according to court filings. He had warned the two men to be discreet. And it would not help his prospects at trial after he was caught on surveillance recordings brazenly claiming to the undercover agents: “I can smell a cop a mile away…”
O’Grady’s cop-detecting senses must’ve taken the day off, however, as then-U.S. Attorney Chris Christie would say at a press conference announcing the local politician’s arrest and repeating the ill-timed boast, amid a wide-ranging corruption investigation that included 10 other public officials.
There were likely no FBI agents on hand when the two of us walked into the Freehold Chili’s, beneath the oversized pepper hanging above the glass doors. Give Chili’s credit for this — of all the generic dining chains, uh, peppering the United States, at least this Texas-based franchise is committed to its theme. Everyone knows its old TV commercial with the “‘I want my Baby Back’ Ribs” jingle, which inexplicably fits the Southwestern aesthetic.
But again, of all the New Jersey restaurants, why here?
Former FBI agents who were involved in the sting won’t say. But the lure of this place for an investigation that became known as Operation Bid Rig probably had more to do with its highway location. Chili’s is not exactly a neighborhood haunt where anyone would recognize anybody. It was a convenient spot to have drinks with some level of anonymity amid an ongoing federal probe that had already cast a wide net in Monmouth County.
Curiously, restaurants of any kind were once avoided like the plague by law enforcement when it came to the kind of surveillance recordings needed for trial and convictions.
Sure, dinner and drinks suggested a relaxed atmosphere that could put them at ease. Getting someone to talk was always easier when sitting down in a diner. The problem was the noise. Microphones picked up the clatter of dishes and cutlery. Waiters taking orders and the din of other tables made it difficult to discern what was being said.
Instead, the FBI would set up cameras and audio recorders in quiet hotel rooms and offices, as the bureau did during the infamous Abscam sting — the bizarre corruption case fictionalized in the movie “American Hustle.”
The sweeping and still controversial federal bribery investigation involving phony Arab sheiks, payoffs for Atlantic City casino licenses and backroom influence peddling would later lead to the arrest of U.S. Sen. Harrison “Pete” Williams, the Democrat from New Jersey, and other high-profile politicians in the late 1970s.
Not that food didn’t play a role even then. The late Mel Weinberg, the non-repentant con artist used by the FBI as an informant in the sting, practically chortled with glee when he recounted in an interview before his death how he accidentally arranged for delivery of kosher corned beef sandwiches and coleslaw to a payoff meeting in a hotel between a politician and an FBI undercover agent posing as an Arab prince.
“Arabs eat kosher sandwiches?” the elected official asked with puzzlement.
Somehow, Weinberg was able to convince him that the so-called emir from the Middle East actually loved Jewish deli food.
“I couldn’t believe what was going on,” Weinberg said, laughing out loud. “I said to myself, ‘If we get away with this, we can get away with anything.’”
Since then, the surveillance technology has changed dramatically. Recordings that were once so bad that written transcripts had to be produced for juries — leading to hours of arguments by defense lawyers at trial debating what had really been said — have given way to micro cameras and high-tech recordings that leave no question as to the conversation at a table.
Even in a place like Chili’s.
THE MAN IN THE ESCALADE
At the center of Operation Bid Rig was Robert “Duke” Steffer, a guy with a checkered past, records show, who quickly became known for the money he was willing to pass around in return for lucrative contracts, court filings would later show.
Unbeknownst to those who would later become targets of a federal investigation, Steffer was working as a cooperating witness for the FBI, according to those court filings. He cruised around in a loaded black Cadillac Escalade in the company of Joel and Vinny, who would meet O’Grady one day to discuss a proposition.
Over lunch at Chili’s, O’Grady sat down with the men. He did not notice the two other FBI agents who sat inconspicuously a few tables away, listening in on the conversation.
“Our boss knows that you’re influential and he knows that in January you’re gonna become the mayor,” Joel told him. “You have a lot of influence.”
They told him if he agreed to give contract work to Steffer, one of them could stop by and drop off “a little early Christmas gift.”
O’Grady allowed that he could be of help, according to transcripts that were later released. He warned them to be careful, but not to worry about getting caught. So came the infamous he “could smell a cop a mile away” line.
Neither the undercover FBI agents at the table, nor the agents staked out a few tables away, laughed out loud.
SMELLING THE FAJITAS
What’s more embarrassing? O’Grady bragging he could smell a cop while surrounded by FBI agents, or saying it here?
The brick-and-paneling inside Chili’s, along with TVs mounted on the walls, had “sports bar” written all over it. Like an unearthed time capsule, the disco beat of the Bee Gees’ “Staying Alive” was playing in the background. And baby back ribs were indeed on the big menu, as were “Big Mouth Burgers,” stabbed with dangerously sharp steak knives that looked like they could be used as serious weapons.
We went in another direction, after the complementary chips and salsa were brought to the table. Southwestern egg rolls, stuffed with chicken, shredded cheese, corn and black beans — a cultural abomination of sorts, but there is something special about combining comfort foods in a state where marijuana sales were just legalized.
Chili’s does offer a pseudo-healthy “Guiltless Grill,” featuring grilled chicken and steak dishes, and Ancho Salmon with a chili rub and citrus-chili sauce — if you trust fish from a Chili’s.
We did put our trust in Chili’s, though, and our result was more savory. Not a bad dish!
While we sat there, we wondered what the conversation was like between O’Grady and his pals when deciding on this restaurant — who suggested it first? Did someone else argue for Applebee’s? Did nobody think to impress the committeeman the FBI agents would later come to call “Shady O’Grady” with an over-the-top meal in a high-priced steakhouse?
Maybe someone was just craving fajitas, so naturally we ordered one. Soon enough, the unmistakable sizzle of a smoking, cheese-covered meat platter was brought to your table.
Unfortunately, it was all sizzle, no steak.
Did it taste as good as it looked? No.
Would anyone be surprised? Absolutely not. You’re at Chili’s. You know what you signed up for.
We escaped with the bill.
O’Grady was not so lucky. Convicted at trial, he was sentenced to 43 months in federal prison for accepting $8,000 in bribes.
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