Restaurant review, Battersby: Food Talks, Mouths Listen.

On first glance, Battersby looks like every other twee Smith Street eatery. The narrow, brick-walled space can hold no more than 30 diners—a young neighborhood crowd who enjoys gabbing and knocking back bourbon-based cocktails under flickering candlelight. Overlooking what's quite possibly Cobble Hill's tiniest restaurant kitchen, a long mahogany bar anchors the flow. Plates of artfully rustic food grace the tightly clustered wooden tables.

But something's different. A peek at the menu reveals none of the holier-than-thou artifice that often mars the Brooklyn dining experience. Bucolic-sounding farm names and heirloom vegetable varietals aren't advertised. Nothing is described as being "foraged" or "rooftop-grown." Sure, some of it might be—but the mentality here doesn't force-feed you the dogma. The food speaks for itself.

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