Roberta’s is the iconic restaurant in Bushwick that put the neighborhood on the map as an essential foodie destination. Anthony Bourdain is a fan (of course) and the New York Times call Roberta’s “one of the more extraordinary restaurants in the United States.” We agree. Start with a brick oven pizza to share — we prefer any that include their house-made spicy honey — but be sure to try one of their always-changing, seasonal entrees. The waits are tremendous, so get on the list early. Thankfully, they have a large bar where you can enjoy a craft beer or frozen cocktail while you wait.
What more can we say about this razor-wire resort that hasn’t already been said? New Brooklyn pizzeria. Rooftop farmer. Erstwhile beekeeper. Bread bakery. Internet radio station. The place is a hillbilly-hipster juggernaut. Never mind that the Clintons ate here. Alice Waters kicked in cash to help grow the garden. And Michel Bras came by one night to tuck into the fried chicken. It takes about 12 conversations with ten eccentrically clothed individual waiters to finally get one of them to bring you your Mini Famous Original pizza while seated at the outdoor tiki bar on a weekday afternoon, but when it finally arrives, it’s a very good Mini Famous Original pizza, and you’re practically ecstatic.
One of the more extraordinary restaurants in the United States… For the last two years, though, and increasingly over the last 12 months, the pizzas have been joined by the more-formal fare that a gas stove and huge ambition can create: delicate salads of foraged greens and home-grown flowers, cured meats of great complexity, painterly pasta dishes, aged roasted meats…
These are extremely beautiful plates of food, artfully designed. The cuttlefish, in particular, would not look out of place on a starched tablecloth at Per Se. They are delicate of flavor, free of excess fats or salts, as pure an expression of new American cuisine as you are likely to find anywhere. It is shocking, and wonderful, to eat them in this cinder-block garage space six stops into Brooklyn on the L, a ratty old ski lodge built for bums interested in food rather than powder.