New Yorkers are going gaga for Lady Gaga’s dad’s Italian restaurant: ‘We’re mobbed every night’

Named for a relative, Joanne’s is a West 68th trattoria. Downtown side of the street. Below a few stone steps.

The owner — Joe Germanotta, Lady Gaga’s dad.

Small. My kitchen’s larger. Steps lead to the bar then two jammed crammed slammed-in rooms. Customers ass-to-ass were hanging off light bulbs. Donald’s inaugural was roomier. From behind a curtain another small VIP private room. Wooden table. Maybe for Gaga were she not then rehearsing for “SNL.”

Joe Germanotta is Lady Gaga’s dad. Getty Images for NARAS

Served was pasta, meatballs, salad, wine. Tasty but forget looking like a House Beautiful closeup.

Every inch of the room’s mobbed. A drag queen wearing all black flitted around squealing, screaming, shrieking. The mostly female audience loved it. Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden wasn’t as popular. Said fierce defender of gay rights Joe: “This was supposed to be a listening party for Gaga’s new album ‘Mayhem.’ All we did was announce it on social media.”

My fellow VIP diners included a trans person who books events in China and now pairs with Germanotta for a series of moneymaking drag evenings, magician nights, amateur specials. “Business was down after the pandemic,” said Joe. “We were concerned. Now with special events we’re mobbed every night.”

Two other females decorated our table. The low-cut necklines reached beneath their sneakers.

“Business was down after the pandemic,” said Joe. “We were concerned. Now with special events we’re mobbed every night.” Matthew McDermott

Look, I only know that Joe Germanotta has his own cookbook out. Joanne Trattoria is mobbed every night. And he’s there every night.

On a positive note

Letters to me. Some begin with “Dear Stupid”:

Barbara writes that her husband just passed away “and he’d love to see a mention of this in your column.” OK.

Marty: “My father was a Tammany Hall leader in the ’40s. I’m wondering if you knew Ed Loughlin?” No.

Rose in Carmel: “I am praying for the sweetest lady.” Ohhh, thank you, thank you. I was afraid she maybe meant Pelosi.

Jim from Chicago: “Glad you’re up and at ’em, Cindy.” Ohh, thank you, thank you.

Can’t believe they’re all nice. I’m accustomed to getting pelted by tomatoes.

From Doris Rose: “You make my day every day that I read your column.”

Staten Island Chuck’s three handwritten pages explain exactly what 19 vitamins, tonics, pills, oils and powders I should take daily.

Oy! The pork was chopped

Me, I’ve befriended every NYC police commissioner since whoever served Prohibition’s Jimmy Walker. We’ve partied together. Done raids together. They’ve been to my home. Given me special VIP ID cards.

So I’m at Due restaurant, between 79th and 80th on Third Avenue. Manager Ernesto says he recently served Jessica Tisch “fusilli with radicchio and pancetta.” He writes it on a torn piece of white paper. Realizing this scoop beats Zelensky’s tailor’s name, I print it. Oy. I am now informed she is kosher. No pancetta was had!

So if I end up in chains, kindly just send me a salad.

Joe Germanotta: “There’s more important things in life than money — but they won’t go out with you if you’re broke.”

Mumbled only in New York, kids, only in New York.