Joseph Sabino Mistick: Remembering Johnny Fusilli, faith and friendship

It might be Patsy’s, Sinatra’s old joint, if you’re from New York City. In Philadelphia, Dante & Luigi’s or one of the other old-time places scattered among the neighborhood rowhouses and apartment buildings might be your go-to joint. But if you are from a certain part of Pittsburgh, Johnny’s in Wilmerding is it for you.

These are the places that some of us go to as part of our routine, to keep us steady, keep us on track, a break from the turmoil of our daily lives. Sometimes, when we need something familiar in a crisis, they are that island that we swim to. And, even if we can’t get there immediately, just the thought of going there soon is enough to get us through a tough day.

The passing last week at age 86 of Johnny Fusilli, the founder and namesake of Johnny’s, was a reminder that we all need those places where we belong, where we can relax with familiar food and familiar faces and leave our troubles on the sidewalk outside. For those of us who grew up in the old blue-collar towns in the Turtle Creek Valley, that’s always been Johnny’s.

Johnny’s mother, Eva, taught him to cook when he was a kid, and he never lost his love for making people happy with a good meal. After he stood in for a chef who quit at a Monroeville restaurant, Johnny the cook became a chef, eventually opening his own place, where his signature dishes packed them in.

Ron and Kim Zummo, the current owners of Johnny’s, still serve his vinegar pepper pork chops, Chicken à la Johnny’s, beans and greens, and wedding soup. And they still make the veal or chicken saltimbocca just the way Johnny made it, the best in the world.

When I reviewed Johnny’s for the Pittsburgh Quarterly in 2010, I wrote that Johnny’s saltimbocca “delights all your senses — even your sense of hearing — since it starts with Johnny loudly pounding your veal in the kitchen.”

He really loved it when you went off menu and said “cook for us Johnny.” Those challenges brought out his “passione.” One day, I asked Johnny if he could do anything with a brown paper bag full of dandelion greens I had been given, and 20 minutes later those greens came back prepared three different ways. Memories are made of times like that.

I went to high school with the Fusillis, just across the park from the restaurant, and Johnny always approached my table singing our high school alma mater. “Westinghouse Memorial, the best school in the land … .”

We sang the second verse together, in a rising crescendo that never brought anything other than understanding smiles from the other diners. “We promise that we’ll honor thee, we are a faithful band.”

Faith is still our saving grace, especially in these times in which we are a divided nation. Our politics may be broken, but our communities are still strong. In neighborhood joints like Johnny’s, we still find friendship and kindness and understanding and forgiveness.

Whatever your politics, it doesn’t matter. So reach out to those old friends you have like Johnny Fusilli. And meet them in a place like Johnny’s. It will do you good.