With the news of Eric Hara's resignation from David Burke's empire ringing through the blogosphere, I felt compelled to dig up one of the lost clips from the BubbleQ.  When speaking with John Tesar (formerly of the Mansion at Turtle Creek in Dallas), he mentioned two new projects with David Burke.  Could he be Hara's replacement?
 

Eric Hara's Resignation [via Eater]

Have you seen this goat?

Walking by our favorite goat themed restaurant in the West Village last night, one of our favorite tipsters, Adeel, noticed something was missing, and snapped this cell phone picture.

Just making sure the goat wasn't out for a late night stroll, we sent out our trusty photog, Dave, to see if Cabrito's cabrito was still missing:

[Update]

When asked about the goatnapping, our friends at Cabrito say they "don't know anything about it."

If you have any information about the whereabouts of this goat, please contact us at info@livethelushlife.com. We just hope the little guy's all right.

With the president telling the world he’s got a plan to save everybody’s economies and casual lower-impact fare on every restaurateur’s mind, isn’t it a little Clinton-era for a name chef to fly into town to cook Japanese-French fusion in a beautifully appointed restaurant on the western tip of Soho? Well, we at Lush Life are suckers for a good throwback (I’m still bumpin’ Latyrx like it’s ‘98), and Archipelago is no exception. Being fortunate enough to attend a friends and family seating, we got a taste of what their site means when it proclaims a “new wave of French-Japanese nouvelle cuisine.” In culinary terms, it’s not far off from Asiate, the first restaurant that comes to mind from that proclamation. The kitchen perches itself on a high-wire with Salmon crackling in one hand and Cabernet-Yuzu reduction for a reinterpreted Cote de Beuf in the other. Like Norie Sugie, Chef Osaka seems to be plenty cool with taking risks when culling preparations from both cultures. The space is decidedly different, though. The warmth of the room’s design, the open kitchen, and the casually confident service immediately encourage you to relax, you’re safely downtown, not umpteen stories above Columbus Circle.

Highlights included Usuzukuri, an artfully composed appetizer featuring Fluke cradling bites of scallion and yuzu bathed by a clam gelee. The sensation that this thing is great doesn’t hit you until the finish. There’s a definite pay-off in the restraint placed upon the flavor of each ingredient to create a harmonious plate. The menu has an entire section between mains and dessert, Shokuji. I thought, “Alright… clever… ‘Appetizer: The Sequel.’” After ordering the Chawan Mushi, I don’t care whatever American dining habits may eventually make of the course. It’s my official remedy for winter. At first glimpse, it’s deceptively plain. As a server uncovers a small pot there’s no fanfare for the single large ravioli staring up at you. Breaking it releases a perfectly spiced filling of green curry that enlivens the layers of dashi custard and sticky rice risotto that were hidden beneath it. Made aromatic by the chicken jus that ties it all together, this is an intensely satisfying dish that would be perfect alongside a good lager at the bar while the wind howls outside.

More surprising than the Chawan Mushi was a vodka martini that explodes the notion that a vodka martini be little more than a chaser for post-Botox treatment pharmaceuticals. Yeah, that is my notion. The Parisian uses Grey Goose as a canvas upon which to delicately paint an aperitif teeming with soft and savory flavors. This is not just a Vesper without gin and bitters. And this wouldn’t be the Lush Life if we didn’t tell you how to make one (way easier to make than Usuzukuri), so before you get to the slideshow here’s our adaptation of GM Susan Lee’s recipe…

The Parisian

<sup>2.0 Grey Goose
1. Lillet Blanc
Splash of Noilly Prat
Coarse-cracked Pepper & Maldon Salt or Fleur de Sel.</sup>
_{Prep: Combine all ingredients over ice rinsed with Noilly P. and stir thoroughly.
Serve: In a coupe with Nicoise olives for garnish.}

How loyal are you to your friends?

Guess what?

We don’t care because whatever the answer is, we’re way better to our friends than you.

Why?

It all started on a dark and stormy night… Matty and I were having some fun listening to old punk songs, and inspired by recent adventures, getting anesthetized by Martinis. Having drank our way across my bar from Aviation to Hendrick’s and almost making it to Zuidam, we were pre-gaming for a night out at D‘or. If I was going to spend the night in Amalia’s basement being fed things like Tahitian Vanilla Rose Petal Eau De Vie I was going in there well-fortified for the experience. Hey, it was our friend Troy’s 30th Birthday.

As we trudge out in the rain with Tecate’s in hand, Matty gets a text from our host, saying the party’s moved to THE HILL. I’ll admit it, with little deliberation, we were ready to abandon ship with Troy’s bottle of Rhum Clement VSOP and do something reasonable on a rare Friday night off. Then he gets the text. “Dude, I NEED you to get over here.” Matty’s got that Irish loyalty- like that crazy guy in Braveheart. He wasn’t abandoning our friend on his birthday, and against better judgment, I wasn’t bailing on the team, either.

First and foremost, I give credit to whatever faith healers and clergy men it took to exorcize the puke & stale chocolate stench that was Dip, The Hill’s previous occupant. All I smelled when we broke through the huddle of smokers desperately trying the share the 4 ½ feet of awning space that wasn’t taken by drunk people necking like its junior prom at the end of the world was fresh paint- and the desperation of 200 people trying to figure out if they were cool for being there.

We were there to party with a salty crew of seasoned bartenders and nightlife pros who’ve all seen worse, so we didn’t care and neither did they. The tequila was flying, booze was flowing, and friends were behind the bar. It coulda been a Klan rally and we’d have been comfortable at the end of the bar.

The joint itself looks like a dentist’s office and Best Buy fucked to produce a baby that inexplicably had a bar in it. Soothing earthtones abound in the soaring space from floor to 24 ft ceiling. A battery of flatscreens stretches the length of the bar and then scatter about the rest of the space. They were mercifully off. It actually made the place look fairly classy for an upscale sports lounge that I feel guilty calling the brainchild of MTV’s own blonde on blonde. Can an idea that bad be called a brainchild? A bottle of Hendrick’s to the first person to tackle that thesis in their comments.

I can’t slam the place for existing when it’s location is taken into account. Two blocks south undoubtably there are two women trying very desperately to convince themselves they’re still girls by dancing on the bar and rubbing their breasts together in Vertigo while the nine people in the lounge are doing their very best to pretend like this is awesome- just in case somebody sees them. Forever 21 is only a store, ladies. There is no magic in those frisky cotton blends. They’re sewed by kids in Bangladesh like everything else. Yup, welcome to Murray Hill: The Mecca of stunted growth for the post-college, pre-marriage middle managers of NYC.

The Hill is kinda like Tonic with a fresh coat of reality TV celeb buzz and furniture whose Scotchgarding hasn’t been thoroughly tested yet. I wasn’t gonna call it Long-Island-Classy until I got handed a giant plastic old fashioned glass full of whiskey. At that point, I had no choice.

I wish there were more to say about the place. I can’t say the owners were present for this semi-soft open. The few natural blondes (both genders) that were there all looked like one half or the other of “Spiedy.” To their credit, the décor’s neutrality actually gives the place a look that says, “We know this’ll be something else within the year, so why waste time and money on something that’ll be difficult to paint over?” It’s great that somebody involved in the project gets to seem savvy, but I don’t get a whole lot to write about. They’ve got Compass Box Scotch. Nice surprise, there. The upstairs lounge area fooled the crowd into thinking it was VIP as they all crammed the ground floor. That was funny.

For the record, Troy is the greatest drunk since Dudley Moore.

Soaking in the MMM-tsss, MMM-tsss of generic lounge music from 1999, I got to thinking about the night started: With enough gin to make this experience oddly pleasurable and a call from a friend in need of comrades to party with- regardless of where the party was. So to commemorate the occasion I offer you, our friends, a cocktail recipe fit for the king of The Hill. And Friday night, standing out amongst the sea of distressed Tees, that guy was wearing a shirt and tie that whose color could only be described as Jerry Garcia Salmon.

The Battle of Troy Martini

2 oz. Hendrick’s Gin
¼ oz. French Vermouth
2 dashes Lemon Bitters
Creole Shrubb Liqueur

^{Thoroughly stir all ingredients with ice in a glass rinsed with Shrubb.
Strain into a plastic glass, garnish with a Bud Light cap filled with glitter from an Ed Hardy shirt.
Chase each sip with a tequila shot.
Repeat until turning thirty is a distant and hazy memory.}

Lush Life never met a pork belly it didn’t like- especially if that pork belly is miso glazed and butterscotch coated.  And, as expected, Sam Mason delivered his signature dish along with about a dozen other incredible dishes at last night’s Finger On The Pulse event at Hope Lounge. 

All summer long we’ve enjoyed the events put on by Greg and Darren Bresnitz from Finger On The Pulse, and last night, we got a chance to talk with them about their uncanny ability to bring food, booze, music, and art together- all at a reasonable price.  “Our friends can’t afford a plate at Tailor, but tonight they got a taste of the good life,” said Greg.  And, tonight, their friends (of which, they must have hundreds) dug into a stylized assortment of barbecue standards with Sam’s flavor-centric haute stylings perfectly framed by a greasy paper plate that barely held the feast together.  It’s honestly surprising with downscale being the trend among NYC’s culinary elite that an event like this could happen all for the price tag of just $5. 

Chef Mason brought out his [un]usually spiced twists on paper plate standards such as a thoughtfully harissa-laced potato salad and one of the most useful advances in molecular mixology to date:  vodka watermelon gel shots that didn’t crumble at the touch of a fork, allowing everyone to get the mouthful they always wanted.  This was all before he made his way back to his homebase, Tailor, where he was prepping for a primetime rush made even more difficult by a party of 40 seating at 9 p.m.

Of course, the food line wasn’t our only stop at the event.  $5 PBR and Le Tourment Verte Absinthe shot specials that brought the taste of the 80s back (ice cold cheap American beer and something that faintly tasted of Pierre Cardin cologne- put the two together and you’ve properly distilled a Member’s Only jacket and gotten a fine buzz).  Top that off with sangria (that was far better than it had to be), the crowd found enough inspiration to groove along to the non-stop DJ sets provided by our hosts Finger On The Pulse, Miss Toats, and Live Forever. 

Finger On The Pulse throws these events at least once a month, and if you’ve missed them this summer, make sure you make it to the next food, booze, music, and art orgy happening sometime around Halloween.  These guys are all about bringing you under the radar quality- making sure you’re that much cooler than the hipster telling you they made out with Mickey Avalon.  Let’s just hope they got a mouthful of that watermelon gel before they got a mouthful of Avalon.

Matt Gardner from the Flying Saucer in Kansas City's Power and Light District pairs Kansas City beers with some barbecue favorites on a Fox Morning show.  Check out the video and let us know what your favorite beer and barbecue pairs are for the Fourth.

When you have a hankering for some healthy Asian food but you're too lazy to leave the couch, may we suggest calling Rice.  Not only will they bring you one of their many delicious meals, but they'll do it in this nifty van that runs entirely on Waste Vegetable Oil, which is then recycled by Added Value, a farm in Red Hook.

If you're not going to spend Cinco de Mayo on Alma's amazing roof deck sipping blood orange margaritas or enjoying one of the incredible tequila flights at Elote, we have some slightly more questionable, but definitely more economical options to celebrate your (doubtful) Mexican heritage.