Drinking at Jersey City’s baijiu bar.
When my date suggested grabbing a drink Sunday night at the Golden Cicada in Jersey City, I thought that I’d discovered a kindred spirit. But as we scurried from the PATH train down the blowy, open sidewalk, I became less confident. It was only a second date, and when I told him I’d moved to New York City “to follow my dreams,” he asked if my dream was to ride the PATH train to a bar in Jersey City. I laughed.
“My dream,” I said, pulling up the hood of my coat against the wind, “was to ride the PATH to a baijiu bar in Jersey City.” We paused at a crosswalk.
“Wait, it’s a baijiu bar?” he said.
“You didn’t know?” I asked, pulling my hood down to look at his face.
“I just Googled the address after you mentioned it the other day,” he admitted.
We started walking again. It was too late to make new plans. Read More