Al Capone's Walnut Pasta

Cooking Like a Gangster

Today on Kaz Cooks History, we’re cooking like a gangster with this silky, elegant walnut pasta loved by none other than Al Capone. The Chicago crime boss built an empire on bootleg liquor, speakeasies, and sheer charisma—but at the dinner table he had surprisingly delicate taste. Capone adored the home-style Italian cooking he grew up with, and this walnut pasta was said to be among his favourites. It’s rich, simple, and criminally good. So, without further ado, let’s step into his shoes through food.

From Brooklyn Kid to Chicago Kingpin

The name Al Capone conjures up pinstripe suits, cigars, tommy guns, and Chicago in its lawless heyday. He’s become larger than life—a blueprint for the American mobster in films, TV, and video games. But before the headlines and legends, Capone was just a kid from Brooklyn. Born in 1899 to Italian immigrants chasing a better life, he was the fourth of nine children. His father cut hair, his mother sewed, and together they kept the taste of the old country alive in their small New York kitchen.

That kitchen was probably a warm refuge in an otherwise hard world. But by his teens, the streets took hold. Capone ditched school, ran with gangs, and eventually followed mentor Johnny Torrio to Chicago just as America outlawed alcohol. Prohibition turned the city into a gold rush for gangsters, and under Torrio’s guidance Capone built an empire of bootlegging, brothels, and speakeasies. After Torrio was nearly killed, Capone took over the Chicago Outfit, ruling with ruthless violence and surprising charisma. His men controlled politicians, cops, and entire neighbourhoods—and when influence failed, bullets spoke. The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre in 1929 cemented his reputation as both feared and untouchable.

Yet those close to him described a man obsessed with family, food, and appearances. Capone loved tailored suits, good manners, and especially good meals. When he wasn’t running Chicago from a suite at the Lexington Hotel, he was hosting lavish Sunday dinners at his Miami estate—long tables piled with pasta, bread, and wine. He employed a personal chef but also cooked himself; food let Capone play the respectable businessman even as the IRS closed in.

Cooking the Walnut Pasta

Pasta water on, salt in, spaghetti dropped once it’s rolling. Capone liked spaghetti because it was unfussy—perfect at a dining table or behind a closed door while the feds listened outside. While the pasta boils, minced garlic hits a pan of extra-virgin olive oil over medium heat. Stir until it blushes with colour, then add chilli flakes—Capone liked a little heat in everything.

Next come the ground walnuts. Toast them lightly to coax out fragrant oils before ladling in pasta water. The starch emulsifies everything into a glossy sauce. It’s nutty, garlicky, and ready for the spaghetti. Toss through the pasta, shower with chopped parsley for brightness, then fold in chunky walnuts for crunch. Finally, rain down parmesan—Capone was rich, so don’t be shy. The cheese ties it all together into a silky coat. Ready to plate.

Pasta for Noisy Times

The 1920s weren’t just booze and bullets—they were food under pressure. Prohibition reshaped how people gathered, and dishes like this walnut pasta became quiet luxuries in noisy times. In the back rooms of speakeasies—the hidden, password-only bars Capone supplied—Italian restaurateurs served hearty, home-style meals while the real business happened behind closed doors. You’d sit down to pasta like this, share a laugh, and if you knew the right people, a glass of wine slid under the table.

This pasta isn’t loud or showy. It’s soft, rich, balanced—real comfort food. Warm garlic, toasted nuts, salty parmesan. Creamy without cream, rich without fuss. The walnuts give bite, the parsley keeps it fresh, and it’s the kind of dish that makes you forget the world outside for a minute. It’s surprising you don’t see it on more menus.

So that’s Al Capone’s walnut pasta—a dish bridging two worlds: the Neapolitan comfort of his mother and the fast, flashy danger of 1920s Chicago. Simple ingredients, bold flavour, a touch of class—and a reminder that even the most feared men in history needed something good to eat.