Two blocks north of Roberta's on Thames St. just past Morgan, in one of those old, brick factories turned artist lofts building where I had moved to three years ago this summer from Portland, Ore., I remember setting my first meal over a spread of newspapers in a studio with a built-in stage. I don't remember what I had cooked then exactly - and that's not the point. What I want to write instead is about the neighborhood - gritty and tattooed - yet food and eating there are inspired. Bushwick has become New York's "culinartists'" retreat to find the voice of food. I think they have an extemporaneous style, revealing the creativity of their own disciplines, and what nature (the flavors and notes of food) can do - to sing out in us: Wow, this is good! In their own right are artists' visceral originality: they know what to do with their wares, and they know how to follow the mouths of their ingredients. When Shinobi, a ramen house, opened on Grattan Ave. west of Thames, sure it's about traditional slurps, but the vibe is more like after a band recording. Narrows, the oyster bar, is a "norm corps" dimension of cocktail cool. Roberta's world-class food is a nuance of the creative-anonymous sect. The octopus ceviche at Union restaurant was kind of what I had expected of a Brooklyn genre. My first night in Bushwick on stage eating my food under warehouse environment conditions changed my notion about food. It's not a big deal. It's who they are.
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