Bushwick for the Fun-Seeker

"Wait, wait, wait!" I clutch my companion's arm, and we halt in the middle of an empty, silent block in northwestern Bushwick. A plastic, non-Whole Foods grocery bag tumbles by on a breeze. We are not strangers to lowly neighborhoods, nor do we doubt our ability to traverse them safely -- that nerdy guy from MTV probably lives somewhere around here... but something is a little off right now. "What is that smell?"

"I think," she said, "I think that is the smell of industry."

Mmmm, Bushwick. If it's not the reek of Boars Head or the fumes of a chop shop offending your adventurous little nose, it's only because a banshee 18-wheeler just breezed by. Or pretty frequently, you just smell pot wafting from what looks like an empty warehouse. Right now, the W'burg-ward side of Bushwick is somewhat lively. If you read the New York Times Real Estate section, you may have been led to believe that the hood is "hot" or even "really super hot," but in truth, it's just full of dirty kids with a penchant for cute vegan food, whiskey bars with iPod DJs and hastily but lovingly produced rock shows in little shit-hole venues.

"Is that the spot? Where that noise is coming from?"

"No. No, that's a... a shirt-making factory."

The question is, can we find any of it? Bushwick, Brooklyn is evolving. And as is the case with evolution, sometimes you end up with some curious species. Horses once had toes, the Bowery will soon be all luxury condos, and, currently, the Bushwick landscape appears to be mated from Mad Max and Kids Incorporated. Everything here, including the L train that services it, is in the pre-stardom phase of its career. Allow PAPERMAG to show you around the promise and the pee-yoo.

THE SYRUP ROOM, 100 Ingraham St., (917) 608-2467.

We found the spot, finally. They have a green light bulb -- a single, green light bulb. The Syrup Room, a rock club, would seem a bit loath to project a "Come One, Come All" attitude. Inside was nice, though. At this point in its life, it's a little "thrown together." Naked incandescent bulbs lit the stage in front of a sheet draped on a wire, making anyone performing look like a shadow puppet act, and between the cinder block walls, the pile of coats on a sidelined electric organ, and a stray music stand, this could have been anyone's parents' basement. But it felt like the crowd was excited to be there, and that's what makes us call back for a second date.

Proton Proton headlined that night, but the Syrup Room plays host to better known acts too (Black Dice, Gang Gang Dance, Bravo Silva, all just recently), and as it scrimps and saves, the whole outfit should one day be able to redecorate, or move into a more conventional location, as did we, after we finished our frosty cans of PBR ($3).

(NOTE: At the time of this article's publication, the Syrup Room was on hiatus, indeed, bringing itself up to code. They're slated to reopen Apr. 28th with a performance by Oneida while come May, there are plans for a Man Man and Akron/Family double-billing and, enticingly, the venue's very first play.)

KINGS COUNTY, 286 Siegel St., (718) 418-8823.

I'm not about to start testing this thesis, but there must be only one rusty metal door in Bushwick you can yank open to be greeted by the sound of Young MC. What's even more surprising is that the inside of King's County is neat, comfortable and not tacky. This is a deadpan whiskey-drinking bar. There is some unidentifiable animal's horned skull atop the dark, ornate back bar. There is an alley out back for smoking. And the bar stools weigh a ton, offering purchase to the tipsy with a seeming "Whoa, guy. Steady there." On this particular Friday night, only a handful of females were present, but girls need not feel intimidated. The vibe is one of honest, innocent, inebriation. Friends check up on one another here. As for the booze, my companion was served a vodka cranberry so tall as to make her say, "OH," ($6) and I was served a murderously ample glass of Jack ($5). The iPod started to play some German techno, but then skipped abruptly to Arrested Development, and I lost track of any conversation after that.

LIFE CAFE, 983 Flushing Ave., (718) 386-1133.

Our next task, finding worthy food, would have even level-headed people running willy-nilly for the L. But you're going to bear with us. -- at least because, out here, you're afraid of willy-nillying yourself into derelict outer Bed-Stuy.

Now, I believe most people have seen The Muppets Take Manhattan, so most everyone should appreciate that if, sometimes, a diner features offbeat or "zany" table service or even a kitchen that spews greasy smoke, it must be in the spirit of family. Bushwick's Life Cafe (by the same folks who brought you the Life Cafe of Rent fame in the East Village) is noteworthy not because it offers an elegant dining experience, but because the whole gang is there, noon and night.

Walking by at 3 p.m. on a Friday, I found the bar packed. Returning for a late weeknight supper, the tables seemed to fill up as the hour drifted from conventional dinnertime (dinner is served until midnight). And yes, there was kitchen smoke, and yes, the waiter very nearly stole our ketchup to give to another table who got their food before us, but I felt a living portrait of the neighborhood was arranged around me. Skinny-jeans guy who wears sunglasses indoors; two beautiful, dark-haired girls swimming in vintage sweaters; a long-time resident in NYPD T-shirt and Yankees cap.

The food was perfectly fine. The mega burrito ($6) and the mucho macho nachos ($8.75) are a little melodramatically named -- both left me and my company un poco peakish, but here, cheapness is tempered by the availability of things like tempeh, seitan and organic mesclun. And there are specials, anyway. And the bar is dirt cheap; a can of PBR is two bucks. Cue Ben Folds. We can be happy underground.

THE WRECK ROOM, 940 Flushing Ave., (718) 418-6347.

If Bushwick were a youngster and its mom were buying him bars at SEARS, its mom would've bought the Wreck Room with a pacifying, "You'll grow into it." Wee little Bushwick might've protested. The space is in mimic of a large basement revamped for entertaining, with dark wood paneling and shimmery Art Deco wallpaper. There's a big amp-on-a-stick through which someone's favorite music blares, two pool tables and a Playboy pinball machine. The pun is completed with a wrecked car theme that starts with slouchy-comfy car seat benches (I'm not going back without an underage date) and ends with random Cadillac grills adorning the walls. All in all, it's boxy and a little ungainly.

In March, however, rock promotion king pin Mr. Frank Wood arrived with a three-ring circus of loud acts, hatching the phrase, "mini Otto's Shrunken Head." In this capacity, the Wreck Room could be a star and could well turn this block into a destination.

The drink menu is in the same spirit as Life Café's. Grab a cheap 22, or spring for one of the area's rare luxuries like Guinness on tap or Chimay ($7).

POTION CAFE, 248 McKibben St., (718) 628-5470.

Turning back toward Williamsburg takes us up Bushwick Avenue, which, with its regular foot traffic, is our one contestant for the title of "main drag." A right on McKibben leads to one of the neighborhood's main hubs of colonization, a pair of massive converted factories. With their hanging flags and Christmas lights and emanating Radiohead, they give the impression of a pair of misplaced college dorms. The communal coffee shop, Potion, is not so much like a cafeteria as it is like a stop back at Mom and Dad's to be offered a bite to eat and to be reminded what "clean" looks like.

This, our last stop, is hipster Bushwick at its best. It's cheap, friendly, low-key and faux-socialist, but also sanitary, well behaved and high-quality; the hummus is homemade, the art on the walls is actually good, the music is appropriate and not begging for attention. The small cozy space begs you tread lightly lest you be asked to go play outside.

Two big, hummus-slathered bagels (one with tomato and emmentaler -- a veritable sandwich, I say!) and two mugs of orange spice black tea (by Stash) cost $8.50, at which I scoffed and threw a 40 percent tip. Thanks, folks! See you next weekend.

Visiting any of these fine, aforementioned establishments will take a little more planning than Mapquest can afford. The L train is truly unpredictable on weekends -- during the day it's often shutdown, after 11:30 p.m. it's usually shutdown.

If you prefer, you can experience Bushwick lite within blocks of the Montrose stop. Joe Mama's (285 Bushwick Ave.) and No Name Cyber Café (253 Bushwick Ave.) are pleasant, easily accessible and comfortingly accompanied by vintage-y stores.