Butcher Bay

Certain talents can successfully apply the same approach to virtually any role -- Ken Burns' slow zoom infuses both jazz and baseball with meaning, and Eastwood's grimace carries the day whether he's playing a preacher, cowboy, or space cowboy. Tackling grub with singular purpose, Butcher Bay.

A wood-paneled seafood shack scuffed up with peeling paint, speckled mirrors, and a hopefully random portrait of a Bandito, Bay's the aquatic half of a man-food squeeze play from the owners of down-the-street Black Iron Burger Shop. Both the raw bar and the beach-food menu -- boiled blue crabs, fried clam bellies, etc -- are prepared mid-Atlantic style (spicier than New England), buttressed by non-oceanic boardwalk fare like jalapeno-cheese cornbread, chili dogs, and other stuff that'll make you avoid the guess-your-weight booth. Washing it down-wise, Bay's pouring an in-flux mostly American wine list ($6-$8 by the glass), plus several also TBD boutique American lagers guaranteed to be "cheap and cheerful" (though if it's cheap enough, any beer can make you cheerful).

Once the community board approves, Bay'll break out a full bar -- the same approach that's made you feel like a talent, whether it's in your apartment, or stashed in your bottom desk drawer.