{"id":108333,"date":"2017-03-03T14:54:10","date_gmt":"2017-03-03T19:54:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=108333"},"modified":"2017-03-03T15:13:58","modified_gmt":"2017-03-03T20:13:58","slug":"journey-to-the-west","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2017\/03\/03\/journey-to-the-west\/","title":{"rendered":"Golden Cicada"},"content":{"rendered":"

Drinking at\u00a0Jersey City\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>baijiu\u00a0bar.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Photo by Dave Cook, 2011.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

When my date suggested grabbing a drink Sunday night at the Golden Cicada in Jersey City, I thought that I\u2019d discovered a kindred spirit. But as we scurried from the PATH<\/small> train down the blowy, open sidewalk, I became less confident. It was only a second date, and when I told him I\u2019d moved to New York City \u201cto follow my dreams,\u201d he asked if my dream was to ride the PATH<\/small> train to a bar in Jersey City. I laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy dream,\u201d I said, pulling up the hood of my coat against the wind, \u201cwas to ride the PATH<\/small> to a baijiu<\/em> bar in Jersey City.\u201d We paused at a crosswalk.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait, it\u2019s a baijiu<\/em> bar<\/em>?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t know?\u201d I asked, pulling my hood down to look at his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just Googled the address after you mentioned it the other day,\u201d he admitted.<\/p>\n

We started walking again. It was too late to make new plans.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Baijiu<\/em> is a divisive topic among those who know about it. The high-proof Chinese liquor is all fire and funk, and it can give you a remarkable high. Most people hate it, but given the chance, I\u2019ll empty out whatever bottles you have in your cabinet. Just last week, I goaded a friend into draining two flasks of Red Star erguotou<\/em> with me. I don\u2019t remember eating all the hot dogs we\u2019d ordered to his apartment, but he told me I had my eye on doing all his dirty dishes before he put me in a cab.<\/p>\n

Another friend had told me about the Golden Cicada a few months ago. Unlike the chichi restaurants and cocktail lounges in Manhattan that attempt to elevate baijiu<\/em>, or match it to Western tastes, this place was apparently a \u201cdive,\u201d though that term doesn\u2019t hold much water in New York, where people routinely refer to cocktails lounges with new leather seats as such. But nearing the bar, I laughed out loud, delighted to see just how divey Golden Cicada really is: a lone brick box on the corner of a mostly empty cross street, a green and yellow neon Tsingtao sign flickering in the window.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it even open?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll find out,\u201d my date said, pushing the door open.<\/p>\n

I blinked my eyes when we walked in\u2014the space was completely dark except for a single fluorescent light and the faint blue glow of the television above the bar, set to the Oscars\u2019 red carpet. The refrigerator in the back was stocked to the brim with green cases of Tsingtao beer. Two solemn men nursing heavy pours of brown liquor turned to look at us, and the bartender, a Chinese man named Terry, drifted over when we finally sat down. We ordered two shots of Maotai<\/em> and threw them back. I chattered awkwardly and too quickly in Terry\u2019s direction about how I\u2019d heard about the spot; I regurgitated everything I knew about Maotai<\/em>. My voice sounded thin in the dark, hollow space.<\/p>\n

Terry smiled softly, turning back toward us. He placed two plastic packets in front of us, each containing a gold and orange pendant shaped like a cicada, attached to a gold chain. A reward for taking the baijiu<\/em> shots, he said. I tore my package open and put the necklace on, admiring the enamel veins set into its wings.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re in!\u201d one of the men at the bar said, brightening up. Terry hit a Tsingtao-branded gong on the counter twice and brought us a round of beers.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you Chinese?\u201d Terry asked me, and I said yes. \u201cSo you must know about the Golden Cicada.\u201d I shook my head. \u201cIn Journey to the West<\/em>! The monk!\u201d<\/p>\n

He was referencing the Ming Dynasty novel that recounts the story of the Monkey King, Pig, and the monk Tripitaka\u2019s journey to India to retrieve a set of Buddhist scriptures. I told him my mother had read the stories to me when I was a child.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe monk, Tripitaka. He\u2019s also known as Golden Cicada,\u201d Terry pointed to the pendant. He launched into a wild soliloquy about how one could draw a connection between Journey to the West<\/em> and all of Shakespeare\u2019s plays, how the archetypes of humankind could be identified in its four main characters.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh come on,\u201d I said, laughing.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, I didn\u2019t know anything before I moved here twenty-five years ago. But you young people, you young Chinese Americans. You should read it. Especially now<\/em>,\u201d he said. \u201cNow you have to know history.\u201d<\/p>\n

I took a long sip of my beer, bemused to have landed here again so quickly. Brief excursions outside New York, second dates with half strangers, one drink too many. I always hope for them to operate like the capsule episode of a familiar television show: a quick conceptual break from the usual plots, the same old characters.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy first wife,\u201d Terry said, looking around bar, \u201cshe was named Golden Cicada. Her father named her that, I named the bar after her. I didn\u2019t know what it meant at the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

We talked a little more about Journey to the West<\/em>, about Thomas Paine, about Terry\u2019s recent acquisition of beachfront property in Nicaragua. Two beers later, he\u2019d coaxed us into singing karaoke on his television. They played Frank Sinatra\u2019s New York, New York<\/em> for me, but I didn\u2019t even make it to \u201clonging to stay\u201d before one of the regulars, a man with white hair, stole the microphone out of my hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou gotta belt it out, girl,\u201d he said, and he roared into the mic about his \u201clittle town blues\u201d melting away.<\/p>\n

\u201cNext time you come,\u201d Terry said when I sat back down, \u201ccall ahead. You never know when I\u2019ll be closed.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Wei Tchou is a member of\u00a0<\/em>The New Yorker\u2019s\u00a0editorial staff and\u00a0is one of the\u00a0<\/em>Daily\u2019s correspondents<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When my date suggested grabbing a drink Sunday night at the Golden Cicada in Jersey City, I thought that I\u2019d discovered a kindred spirit.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":992,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[22700],"tags":[22694,27658,3366,6037,27656,27659,664,1328,3308,27655,27661,27657,11645,17648,27662,27660],"class_list":["post-108333","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-correspondents","tag-baijiu","tag-baijiu-bar","tag-bar","tag-chinese","tag-chinese-liquor","tag-cicada","tag-dating","tag-drinking","tag-frank-sinatra","tag-golden-cicada","tag-jersey-city","tag-journey-to-the-west","tag-karaoke","tag-liquor","tag-new-york-new-york","tag-terry-at-golden-cicada"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nGolden Cicada: Drinking at Jersey City\u2019s Baijiu Bar<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"When 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